𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐝 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞

***

The fifth game was drawing to a close, with just over two minutes left on the timer. Those who had already completed the challenge were quietly celebrating in their minds, thanking every saint they could think of at that moment. Only one participant still hadn’t crossed the bridge. Jun-Hee sat calmly on the bench, motionless, staring at the floor. Every second dragged painfully. Her injured ankle throbbed, causing her significant discomfort even while sitting. With a heavy sigh, she rose from the bench and approached the edge of the bridge. Her eyes followed the spinning beam tracing another circle. What if… I actually can do this? Bending her injured leg slightly at the knee, she swallowed nervously, keeping her gaze on the beam as it touched the bridge. At that moment, Jun-Hee jumped in place, testing whether she could even attempt the challenge without help. But the small hop only made her wince in pain, forcing her to sink to her knees, realizing her strength was slowly leaving her. Maybe… this really is the end… Maybe it’s time to just give up and accept it. She slowly turned her head toward the other players on the far side of the bridge. Gi-Hun and In-Ho stood together, watching her every move. In Gi-Hun’s eyes was a desperate faith in the best possible outcome. Rising to her feet, Jun-Hee tried to steady herself. — Mr. Gi-Hun… Mr. Yeong-Il! — she called, looking straight at them. Tears ran down her cheeks, but her gaze remained tired yet determined. Her lips trembled. — Thank you…! — she continued, crying out with a sad smile. — Thank you for playing with me! Please… take care of my baby! Keep her safe! — Jun-Hee! — Gi-Hun jumped to his feet, nervously looking at her. She took one last look at her friends. Gi-Hun’s heart froze. Jun-Hee inhaled deeply… and stepped forward. For a brief moment, her body hung in the air before disappearing into the darkness beneath the bridge, leaving only an empty platform and the vacant bench, which now seemed far too large and lonely. — "Player 222 — eliminated!" A chill ran down Gi-Hun’s spine. His heart dropped at the sudden announcement. Player 456 slowly crouched down, clutching his head. — No… no… — he muttered to himself, unable to believe what had just happened. His gaze fixed on the empty bench, tears almost frozen in his eyes. In-Ho stood nearby, shoulders tense, fists clenched. The Frontman merely stared at the bridge, saying nothing. His expression was cold and focused… yet inside, everything ached. He saw Gi-Hun losing someone close once again, and the helplessness weighed on him, leaving only a burning desire to protect him at any cost. Now, only two of their team remained alive. They would have to fight even harder to not lose each other. The timer hit 00:00. A female voice from the loudspeaker broke the heavy silence: — "Time allotted for the game has ended! Players, please leave the game area!" The VIP guests continued to watch the game calmly, openly showing satisfaction with how events had unfolded. — What a sacrifice! — the third guest exclaimed with admiration, leaning back in his chair and slowly clapping. — True drama! She knew she couldn’t make it, and yet she stepped forward, trying to prove herself. Isn’t that beautiful? — Hm, beautiful… or foolish, — the first guest mused, tapping his fingers on the armrest. — She just left a child an orphan. — But maybe he has a father? — the second guest asked, eyes glued to the scene outside. — Children don’t just appear out of nowhere. — If there is a father, he’s useless, — the first guest replied, leaning forward. — A real father would never let a pregnant woman end up here. That’s all you need to know. The conclusion is obvious: this baby isn’t needed by anyone here. For a moment, everyone fell silent, reflecting on the thought. Then one of the quiet VIPs, who had remained silent until now, spoke in a low, steady voice: —We can include him in the prize fund. — Include the child in the prize fund? — the second guest repeated, frowning slightly. — That sounds… new. Even bold. — He isn’t a participant, so he doesn’t have value for the game on his own, — the quiet one continued. — Now he can be used as a point of interest, or… a control element. — Money and a newborn… what an intrigue! — the third guest smirked. — Using a child like this doesn’t break the rules, it just adds a new layer to the game! Players will fight not only for wealth but for another person’s life! Isn’t that wonderful? — Moreover… — the quiet VIP shrugged. — It’ll be interesting to see how Player 456 reacts… and as we can see, his reaction directly affects the Frontman. This will make the finale even more thrilling. The Black Square stood aside, silently observing their conversation like a shadow among brightly lit masks. His still posture contrasted with the guests’ animated gestures. He tilted his head slightly, eyes scanning each of them, then slowly pulled a radio from his pocket and spoke dryly: — Bring the baby from the room. It seems our esteemed guests have new plans. His voice betrayed no emotion, no hesitation — only cold, ruthless command. The guests perked up even more, some clapping, others leaning forward with predatory grins. Down below in the game hall, the players returned to the living quarters, unaware of the managers’ decision. Climbing the now-familiar pink steps, each participant focused on only one thought: tomorrow would be the final game. Tomorrow would be decisive. Who would take the prize money? Whose soul would remain trapped forever within these walls, wandering silently, seeking their offender? Gi-Hun looked up. The bright lights stung his eyes, making him squint. His thoughts were jumbled, his heart still racing from everything he had experienced. He remembered how determined he had been when he first stepped in here: to stop the games, save those who still could be saved, find a way to end this monstrous hell. But now, after every loss, every desperate scream, every drop of blood — even that goal seemed unclear. Somewhere deep inside, he no longer knew if he was playing for an ideal, or just trying to survive until morning. Every attempt to change anything seemed doomed to fail. Yet there was one anchor that offered even a sliver of relief. Or rather, one person. Yeong-Il. Gi-Hun glanced at him walking beside him. His presence was like a quiet harbor amid chaos. While he was there, Player 456 felt he could not give up, could not completely break. He didn’t know what awaited them tomorrow. Didn’t know if they would both survive. But now, with the hollow echo of footsteps in the empty corridors and the oppressive silence around them, only one thought persisted in Gi-Hun’s mind: We’ll get out of this together. We’ll end these games together. Returning to the living quarters, the players found that only nine beds remained — exactly the number of survivors left after the fifth game. The soldiers followed, closing the heavy doors with a creak. — We are pleased to congratulate all surviving players on winning the fifth game, — one soldier said in a steady voice. — To celebrate, we have prepared a special gift. But before we hand it over, we would like to announce the results of the game. Bundles of bills began falling into the collection box suspended from the ceiling. Everyone immediately stared upwards, mentally calculating the sum. The electronic display lit up: 44.6 billion won. — However, we have an important announcement for you, — the soldier continued. — Due to the events of the last game, there will be changes in the distribution of the prize fund. The baby, left without guardians, will now be included in the prize system and considered an object of distribution. A heavy silence settled over the room. Gi-Hun clenched his fists, his internal rage freezing his body. He couldn’t believe that here, among these people, a decision about a child was being made as if he were part of the game. This… is unimaginable. In-Ho merely crossed his arms, watching the soldiers with cold scrutiny. The other players froze, realizing the cruelty of the decision. — This isn’t a joke? — one participant’s voice broke the silence. — You’ve included a child in the prize fund? — That’s correct, — the soldier answered calmly. — Now that you’re informed, we ask all of you to accept your special gift from us. Each player was handed a black box, its lid adorned with a neat pink bow. Inside were clothes: a snow-white shirt, black jacket, black trousers, and black shoes. The heavy silence gradually gave way to quiet fuss — players cautiously examined the new outfits, running their hands over the fine fabric. Now it was clear to everyone: this evening would be their last before the final game, and every moment felt like preparation for something ominous and inevitable. •••TO BE CONTINUED•••