𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐝 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞

***

This morning the disgusting wake-up melody that had been haunting the players even in their dreams sounded for the last time, announcing the start of a new day. Perhaps their last day. In-Ho was still sitting on the bed, unable to close his eyes after the nightmare. His tired, ravaged expression was no different from the faces of the other contestants — those who had no privileges, no power over the horror that unfolded within these walls. While the others guessed what the soldiers might serve for breakfast today, he sat silent and motionless. The Frontman knew: they would not be fed anymore. Why waste food on those already doomed? Once that claim could be argued — someone had to survive to the finale, so food made sense. But now that didn’t matter. Any care would be nothing but another mockery of these people — a reminder that they were kept alive only until the moment when they were made to face death head-on. Gi-Hun sat down next to him, sighed deeply and watched the others. — Won’t they even give us raw potatoes?.. — he muttered, feeling his stomach knot with hunger. After yesterday’s “special gift” — the lavish dinner that finally let them eat their fill for the first time in days — the hunger had only sharpened. It was as if the meal itself had been a treacherous trap, and perhaps that was precisely what those watching the games intended. In-Ho’s gaze lingered on Gi-Hun without meaning to. Gi-Hun wasn’t complaining, wasn’t cursing anyone or anything — he had only said he’d be grateful even for a raw potato. Not for a feast, not for promised riches, not for comforting words. Just a potato. And that stung the Frontman’s conscience even more than all the screams and accusations he had heard over the years. — Yesterday’s dinner was probably the last proper meal we’ll have for a long time, — he answered, the weight in his voice evident. A familiar female voice came through the loudspeaker, immediately drawing the players’ attention. — "Players, please proceed to the game area! The final game will soon begin!" Looking at Player 456 with pain, In-Ho rose from the bed hesitantly; his legs felt like cotton from the mounting tension, his chest tightening. Gi-Hun. It’s time. In-Ho swallowed nervously, clenching his fists. Silently, almost as if about to say it aloud, he made himself a vow: “I won’t let them take you from me again.” I will kill them all for you. I will burn this damn world to ashes... for you. The players lined up and, following the soldiers, moved down the corridor. Perhaps for the last time they passed the pink walls, descended the many steps, preparing to meet the final trial face to face. Each of them was sure they would win, sure they would leave the others behind. Yet at the same time everyone felt a wild, almost animal fear squeezing their chests, making their hearts pound as if trying to break free. In the corridor’s silence, only the monotonous sound of footsteps echoed off the walls, as if counting down the seconds to the inevitable climax. Gi-Hun, as always, walked at the very end. Lost in his own thoughts, he kept returning to the closeness of the previous night, to the midnight conversation — clinging to those memories as if they were the only thing that could support and shield him from the approaching dread. Soon the contestants entered the game area and looked around bewildered. Three enormous pillars towered before them — so tall that merely looking up made the head spin. Cold, gray concrete peeked through the peeling paint. — What the hell is this? — Player 100 complained, adjusting the bow tie at his neck. — What are we supposed to play here? In-Ho froze, staring at the pillars, and for a moment it seemed he had lost touch with reality. One memory surfaced above all: Gi-Hun lying motionless at the foot of one of the pillars. A blank, glassy gaze staring upward. Blood slowly spreading across the cold surface around his head. And In-Ho, in the Frontman’s suit, on his knees beside him, crying, hands rubbing his head. "Mr. Seong… You won… You managed to stop the games… get up, Mr. Seong… I beg you." Every desperate plea that the Frontman had whispered could be heard in that memory, uttered in the hope that Gi-Hun would blink, move, get up from the floor. The soldiers gradually herded the players into a small lift to take them to the top. One of the masked guards jabbed the barrel of his gun into In-Ho’s back to hurry him, making him nearly stumble. In the cramped lift, Gi-Hun struggled to steady his breathing, glancing around. His eyes dropped to In-Ho. The Frontman’s face remained almost expressionless, calm, but his eyes — slightly narrowed, looking from under his brow — betrayed something else. There seemed to be a hidden flame there, a taut resolve. Player 456 felt that behind that outward composure lay a readiness to act, to go to extremes… for him. When everyone had been brought to the top, they froze, afraid even to move. In that taut silence the only thing audible was the thudding of their own hearts ringing in their temples. — So what are we supposed to play at this height? — someone echoed Player 100’s nervous question. — "Welcome to the final game! It’s called ‘The Flying Squid!’" — the familiar female voice announced through the speaker. — "This game will be played in sequence on three pillars shaped as a square, a triangle and a circle. From each pillar you must push at least one living player off the platform; then the remaining players may move to the triangular pillar for the second round. In the second round you must again push at least one living player off, then move to the circular pillar for the third round. The same rules apply in the final round; after it, the remaining contestants will automatically be declared winners. If during any round you fail to push a player off, all remaining contestants will be eliminated!" The Frontman involuntarily clenched his fists. Turning his head, his glance fell on Player 456, standing there bewildered. There was no room for mistakes now. — Gi-Hun, — he said softly, — just stay behind me and hold on to me if you need to. I’ll protect you. He paused. Seeing anxiety in Gi-Hun’s eyes, he tightened his fists and added, almost in a whisper: — Just trust me… we’ll get out of this. I promised. That resolute look and the steady words inspired hope of escape. Gi-Hun only nodded silently, following In-Ho’s request. Someone panicked and stepped backward without looking. His back struck cold metal — a long iron pole no one had noticed in the general chaos. A sharp click sounded as a mechanism triggered, and the button next to the pole, directly under the player’s foot, lit up green. The electronic timer blinked to life: 15:00. That was the amount of time allotted for making a choice. 14:59. 14:58. 14:57. All the players turned to one another, burning looks exchanged. Now each of them considered who they could push so they themselves could advance. Amid the tense silence one player stood out — number 125, Min-Su. He stood apart from the others, trembling with a fine shake. His eyes darted frantically, his lips moving soundlessly. After Nam-Gyu and Thanos died in the fourth game, he had never parted with the cross pendant the rapper used to hide beneath his tracksuit. The cross wasn’t just jewelry — inside, like a tiny box, were drugs that Thanos and Nam-Gyu had used before each game to blunt fear. When Min-Su opened the little lid there remained a single tablet — the last dose he had taken before the fifth game. Now, as time went on, withdrawal was slowly gnawing at him. Instead of opponents’ faces he saw animal jaws; twisted smiles became snarls. Every rustle sounded in his head like a hammer blow. Min-Su squeezed his eyes shut, but the visions wouldn’t fade. The others exchanged looks and whispers, already having decided who to throw first. They pushed forward Player 203. Under threat of being the next to fall, he grabbed the pole and walked straight toward Min-Su. Player 125 froze, fists clenched. The figure advancing on him blurred and smeared. All he could see was one big blot that, as it drew nearer, suddenly turned into… a girl in a green tracksuit. Min-Su recognized Se-Mi — the only person he could trust here. She had also died in the fourth game, unable to escape the killer in the red vest, and Min-Su had seen it with his own eyes. He had not been able to help. He sniffed and stood rooted to the spot. He could not believe what he was seeing. Se-Mi’s image smiled gently and reached out her hand, whispering: "Min-Su, come with me…" With trembling hands Min-Su reached out, tears welling in his eyes. — Se-Mi… But instead of a warm feminine hand he felt only icy metal. In the same instant he felt a powerful shove to his chest. Losing his balance, Min-Su’s body tumbled down, leaving only a loud, desperate scream behind. Only after a dull thud echoed from below did the loudspeaker announce: — "Player 125 — eliminated!" A metallic screech followed — a narrow gangway began sliding out from the square pillar toward the next one. That meant the second round had begun, and again someone had to die. Carefully crossing the gangway, the players moved to the triangular pillar. There they found the same iron pole and a button glowing red. In-Ho continued to stand in front of Gi-Hun, shielding him. His eyes, looking from under his brow at the others, were unnervingly calm — and that calm made him an intimidating figure to the cluster of contestants gathered opposite. — Hey, quiet one! — Player 100 shouted, stepping forward. — He’s already won once — why are you protecting him? — You want this jerk to take all the money again? — Player 203 sneered. — He’ll take your share too! In-Ho didn’t move, continuing to stand silently. He remained between Gi-Hun and the others, firmly covering him. The VIP-guests watched the scene with interest. — I am so curious... what will our Mr. Frontman do now? — the third guest said with a smirk, sipping expensive champagne. The Black Square stood apart, still expressionless. His pensive, cold gaze behind the mask was fixed on In-Ho. Mr. Frontman. Take off your sheep’s clothing. It’s time to bare your fangs. •••TO BE CONTINUED•••