𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐝 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞

***

After Gi-Hun stepped onto the solid platform and the loudspeaker’s voice announced the successful completion of the trial, the other players began moving forward one by one, jumping in unison. The beam spun without pause, knocking down anyone who mistimed even for a split second. One wrong step — and the body plummeted down, leaving behind only a desperate scream that was cut short by a dull thud against the concrete floor far below. The metallic grind of the mechanism, the sharp slap of shoes upon landing, and the heavy breathing of those still on the bridge merged into one unbroken rhythm of dread. Every sound was a reminder: player 456’s success hadn’t made the trial easier — each of them now faced their fear alone. Panic gradually took over. Players lost their rhythm, glanced nervously at one another; some froze in place, unable to jump. And the more they gave in to fear, the more frantic their movements became — and the greater the chance that someone would fall. Some participants, finding the last scraps of courage within themselves, nimbly leapt over the “jump rope,” nearly losing balance with each movement, yet pressed forward, fighting to keep their rhythm. Step by step, one after another, they reached the finishing platform at the far end of the bridge. Relief replaced the tension on their faces — the trial was over, though their hearts still pounded in their temples and their hands shook from strain. In-Ho was still standing at the start of the bridge. His eyes darted frantically between the spinning beam and Gi-Hun on the other side. Now, this deadly trial separated them. — Yeong-Il! — Gi-Hun shouted, clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white. — Just start jumping! In-Ho silently looked at the timer. Time was slipping away like water through his fingers. His heart pounded in his chest, and a cold sweat broke across his brow. Gi-Hun. You once called me your superhero. But how can I be that, if I’m afraid... of my own game? The Frontman slowly approached the edge of the bridge, feeling the sweat gather on his forehead. His heart thudded faster. And then, a soft voice sounded behind him — Jun-Hee’s: — Mr. Yeong-Il… he’s waiting for you… he needs you. In-Ho turned slightly. In her eyes there was no reproach, no fear — only quiet understanding. As though she saw more than she should have. And those words became the final push. I must do this. I must be strong, Gi-Hun. Be strong... for you. The VIPs were riveted to the scene, watching the Frontman gather himself to cross the bridge. — Ah, finally! — the third one exclaimed with delight, leaning back in his chair. — The Frontman steps into the arena. This isn’t just a game anymore — it’s a real performance! — A performance where the lion finds himself in his own cage, — the first sneered, adjusting his mask. — Let’s see which wins: his game, or himself. And how far is he willing to go for that player? — the second VIP-guest tilted his head. — I’d wager a fortune he won’t fall to the beam — but to his own feelings. In-Ho lifted his gaze to the spinning beam, dizziness washing over him with the strain. Slowly, as if overcoming himself, he took the first step...  and jumped onto the bridge. Landing on both feet, he froze for a second, feeling the beam whistle past. Then he darted forward, jumping again. With each attempt, his breathing grew heavier, his movements sharper. A ringing filled his ears. Fighting to keep calm and not let fear stiffen his body, he pressed on, stealing glances at Gi-Hun. Player 456 followed him as though he himself stood on that bridge. His eyes flicked in rhythm with In-Ho’s movements. — Come on! — Gi-Hun screamed, his voice breaking. — You can do it! The beam spun with a menacing whistle again and again, ready at any second to knock In-Ho down. But he kept going. Each jump made Gi-Hun’s heart seize with fear and then release in relief when In-Ho landed on his feet once more. The closer In-Ho drew to the finish, the harder his breath came. His lungs felt crushed from within, each inhale sharp with pain. He clenched his teeth, battling the urge to stop with every jump. I must make it to the end. I can’t leave you alone. One last jump remained. In-Ho’s legs trembled, his muscles refused to obey. He was so close to the edge of the platform it seemed he could reach out and touch the solid ground where the others stood. Summoning the last of his strength, he leapt, surging forward — and for a moment, it looked like he had made it. And then, the Frontman felt the ground slip away beneath his feet. He stumbled, his body tilting sideways. Gi-Hun instantly lunged forward, seizing his wrist with all his strength to keep him from falling. — Yeong-Il!!! — Gi-Hun’s desperate cry echoed through the hall. In-Ho instinctively grabbed back, clenching the hand with everything he had. His heart thundered so loudly it drowned out everything else, his muscles shook from strain and fear. — I’ve got you! — Player 456 shouted in panic. — I won't let you die, do you hear me!?! Gi-Hun strained his arms to the limit, feeling them burn from the effort. Planting his feet firmly on the solid platform, he pulled In-Ho toward him. For a moment it seemed both would slip, but at the last second balance returned, and they crashed down together onto the platform, knees and elbows smacking against the hard floor. — “Player 001 has passed!” For several seconds they lay motionless, gasping for air. Player 456’s fingers still clamped around In-Ho’s hand in a death grip — holding him as though he could still fall back into the abyss, vanish forever. The Frontman exhaled weakly, feeling his wrist painfully bound in that grip—and that pain, strangely, calmed him. But Gi-Hun couldn’t hold back. Tears welled up in his eyes, and with a sharp tug he pulled In-Ho toward him, clutching the front of his jacket and shaking him slightly. — Damn it… — Gi-Hun’s lips trembled as his voice broke into a shout. — Damn it! I almost lost you! Before the Frontman could say anything, Gi-Hun crushed him into a desperate, trembling embrace. — Yeong-Il... How could you... In-Ho could feel Gi-Hun’s shoulders trembling. And suddenly, through that touch, his fingertips traced sharp, carved shoulder blades beneath the fabric. Gi-Hun. You’ve grown so thin... and it’s all because of me. In-Ho’s heart clenched with the realization: this was entirely his fault. The pain of knowing he hadn’t protected Gi-Hun sooner pierced him through. — Gi-Hun… — he whispered faintly, catching his breath. — Thank you... The VIPs eagerly watched every movement on the bridge, reveling in the unexpected drama unfolding before them. — Ha! — the first laughed, leaning back in his chair. — Player 456 truly is devoted to his goal… and he has no idea who he just saved! — Oh, indeed... — the second guest smirked, sipping his champagne. — Rescuing a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Magnificent! — Fantastic! — the third exclaimed, leaning forward slightly. — Now that is the display of genuine emotion! He turned to the two silent VIPs sitting further away. They hadn’t spoken a word the entire game, but in their eyes was something beyond simple interest. As if they saw not a game, but something far more important. The Black Square remained apart as always. His voice rang quiet yet clear, making everyone turn for a brief moment: — We’re pleased you’re enjoying this game. But the most important part lies ahead. He shifted his gaze back to the players who had crossed the bridge. Player 456. Player 001. We await the finale with anticipation. In-Ho still sat on the floor, shaken by what had just happened. His ears rang, and in his mind the moment of falling replayed over and over — the empty void beneath his feet, just as terrifying as for any other player. Beside him, clinging tightly, Gi-Hun sobbed softly, wrapping his arms around his shoulders as though afraid to let go again. And in that embrace, In-Ho felt only one thing: today, for the first time, someone had saved him. Gi-Hun. Today, you are my superhero. •••TO BE CONTINUED•••