𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐝 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞

***

I beg you… love me. Love me, Gi-Hun… Those words were stuck in Player 456’s head like they’d been carved into stone, and it felt like he couldn’t think of anything else. Lying on his bed, he stared silently at the ceiling. The soldiers had announced lights out half an hour ago, and all the other players were already asleep, some snoring softly. But that suffocating silence, that suspicious calm, made it impossible for Gi-Hun to rest. Again and again, his mind returned to that intoxicating closeness from just a few hours earlier, making his cheeks burn with embarrassment and his heart race. He swallowed nervously, closing his eyes. Yeong-Il… Slowly, his portrait formed in Gi-Hun’s head. Those heavy-lidded dark eyes — always calm and distant, but in that moment glittering with tears, too alive to hide the pain he’d carried all this time. Those lips, trembling as they whispered sacred words. Those arms — hesitant yet greedy — his palm trying to memorize every curve, every inch of Gi-Hun’s body like something priceless… as if he wanted to touch him longer, touch him differently. Yeong-Il… Now I finally begin to understand what you’ve been hiding all this time… The memories made warmth spread slowly but pleasantly through Gi-Hun’s body again. Lost in those sweet daydreams, he didn’t notice the quiet creak of footsteps until a familiar whisper broke the silence: — Gi-Hun… are you awake? Player 456 opened his eyes, making out In-Ho’s silhouette in the dim light. — No. I can’t sleep, — he breathed. The Frontman carefully sat on the edge of the bed. For a while, they both lay there in silence, staring at the ceiling as if searching for the right words. Then In-Ho slowly lay down beside him. The narrow bed became crowded, his shoulder brushing against Gi-Hun’s, and Gi-Hun froze, afraid to move. — Yeong-Il… — Player 456 finally broke the silence, still staring upward. — Are you afraid of tomorrow? — Yes, I am, — In-Ho answered simply. — Um, you know… I used to think the worst thing was being afraid to lose, — Gi-Hun sighed thoughtfully. — But now I think it’s even scarier to be afraid of winning. — Why do you think like that? — the Frontman turned his gaze on him. — Because then… you won’t be there, — he said heavily. — And… I’ll realize it was all for nothing. I never stopped these damn games. Winning without that doesn’t mean anything. He fell silent for a moment, gathering courage, then whispered: — Because evil will still exist. The ones running this hell… they’ll bring others here again. New players will suffer and die — just like us. And the masked leader will only watch, doing nothing. Gi-Hun’s words made the Frontman flinch, a crushing weight settling in his chest, as if the very air had grown thick. He wanted to vanish, to sink into the floor, but instead he stayed, heart racing, listening. Gi-Hun spoke with hatred about him, never suspecting that this "masked leader" was just inches from his shoulder. If anyone else had said this, In-Ho would’ve let it slide without a second thought. Other people’s pain rarely mattered to him. Other people’s lives, even less. But Player 456’s words pierced him like a needle. Because Gi-Hun hated his true self. He hated In-Ho. The thought burned like a coal inside him. The Frontman bit his lip, trying to silence the scream rising in his throat. — Not everyone who does terrible things… — he forced out in a hoarse voice, — …does them out of malice. Sometimes it’s suffering no one ever noticed. In-Ho went quiet, as if scared of what he’d just said. Another second, and it felt like he would break, confess everything, scream into Gi-Hun’s ear: "Damn it, look closer, stupid Seong Gi-Hun — it’s me, I’m the Frontman!" But instead, he lowered his gaze and continued softly: — I used to be a police officer. I met people who did awful things. And not all of it came from cruelty or hate. Often it came from pain, loneliness, misunderstanding… Sometimes they simply didn’t know how else to show their feelings. Gi-Hun listened intently, not looking away. — So…? — he asked carefully. — That’s why I think… — In-Ho said quietly, — …the Frontman must have his own pain too. Maybe he’s a broken man, crying out, trying to make others see his pain… but no one ever did. So now he answers pain with pain — just because he doesn’t know any other way. Gi-Hun froze, taking it in. The idea that the masked leader wasn’t just a sadist but a man with a tragic past refused to settle in his mind. Yet In-Ho’s words sounded convincing. The Frontman paused, exhaled softly. — Gi-Hun… — he began quietly, as if afraid to speak. — Tell me… if someone who had done terrible things was really broken, suffering, trying to be heard… could you understand him? In-Ho swallowed hard, each word heavy with the fear of being rejected. He searched Gi-Hun’s eyes for even the faintest hint of understanding. Player 456 stayed silent, his fingers clenching the fabric of his pants. His gaze wavered, lips trembling. — I… I don’t know, — Gi-Hun finally whispered. — Even if I wanted to, it’s hard to imagine… The Frontman let out a faint, almost invisible breath. For a moment, the anxiety loosened its grip, but the fear lingered: what if Gi-Hun turned away once he knew the truth? Still, somewhere deep inside, In-Ho sensed a fragile hope — and it warmed him, just a little. Silence settled between them again, broken only by their breathing. The whole world seemed to shrink to this narrow bed, where each tense inhale sounded too loud. At last, Player 456 rested his head gently against In-Ho’s shoulder. In a whisper, almost inaudible, he said: — Yeong-Il… I’m scared… — His voice trembled. — I want to go home… In-Ho shifted closer, feeling Gi-Hun’s nervousness. He gently touched his shoulder with his hand. — Tomorrow… — he murmured, — …please, whatever happens, stay close to me. Even if we end up as rivals. The threat of the games, the fear of losing, and the terror of losing someone precious all hung over them like a storm cloud. Yet in that tiny space, in that fragile moment, they were together — and that was enough to calm them. Gradually, their breathing evened out, their hearts slowed, though a quiet unease lingered deep inside — like the air after a long, hidden storm. Wrapped in silence and shadow, they drifted into sleep, knowing that the morning chime would bring the final game that would decide everything. In his dream, In-Ho once again found himself in that familiar VIP room from the past. Everything felt painfully real: the silence, the soft glow of the lamps, the smell of expensive liquor — and the terrifying emptiness around him. He was utterly alone. Before him stood a glass wall, revealing a grim landscape. A tall concrete pillar rose above an endless void. And on its edge stood… Gi-Hun. He stared down into the abyss. His eyes were empty — no hope, no will to fight. Only bottomless despair. — Gi-Hun! — In-Ho shouted, as if his voice could reach him, but the glass smothered every sound. He slammed his palms against the cold surface, but the glass only shuddered with a dull vibration, refusing to break. Everything around him seemed to mock him, turning his voice into one endless, silent scream. — Gi-Hun!!! Player 456 slowly lifted his head. Their eyes met. Gi-Hun’s gaze was filled with hurt, accusation, and deadly exhaustion — as if blaming In-Ho for his downfall. Tears welled in In-Ho’s eyes. He pounded his fists against the glass, pain shooting through his knuckles, but he didn’t stop. — Gi-Hun!!! — he cried, his voice breaking. And then, Gi-Hun stepped forward. His body vanished into the void, swallowed by the darkness. The world began to fade, losing its color, collapsing with him. In-Ho screamed, breaking into sobs. He beat the glass in despair, blood from his split knuckles staining the cold surface. — Gi-Hun!!! No!!! …And then he jolted awake. Sitting upright in bed, gasping for air, drenched in cold sweat, his heart thundered wildly. For a few seconds, he didn’t know where he was. His palms trembled, as if the glass were still beneath them, as if he could still hear his own scream. Only the faint glow of the digital clock slowly pulled him back into reality. And when his eyes finally landed on Gi-Hun sleeping beside him, the Frontman let out a shaky sigh of relief. You’re here. You’re alive. Gi-Hun. I’ll do everything to save you in the end. •••TO BE CONTINUED•••