𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐝 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞

***

Now there were only eight players left. The tension in the second round was rising with every passing second. In-Ho still stood in front of Gi-Hun, glancing at the others from under his brow, shielding him with his presence. The Frontman no longer feared showing his emotions, no longer feared revealing who mattered to him and whom he intended to fight for — literally. It seemed as if, any moment now, he might snap, scream, and charge at the others, fists swinging. Gi-Hun. If I can’t hold back anymore… if I have to… — Why are we hesitating? Let’s just push him off and be done with it! — shouted Player 203, swinging sharply toward Gi-Hun. — Yes, yes! — someone else in the crowd echoed. — He got his share; now it’s our turn! We’ve earned ours fairly! — No one objects to this decision, so it’s six against two! — Player 100 glanced at In-Ho, crossing his arms. — The decision was made democratically! Player 203 approached the pole, grabbed it, and squeezed as if trying to snap the metal in half, then kicked the button. The countdown timer on the digital display lit up again: 15:00. 14:59. 14:58. 14:57. — Step back, or I’ll push you both off! — he yelled, breathing heavily and taking a threatening step forward. In-Ho noticed the brief confidence in him, the slight relaxation of his body. For a moment, the Frontman allowed himself to focus inwardly: all it would take was a precise pull. Gi-Hun. Now or never. In-Ho yanked the pole toward himself, snatching it from his opponent and leaving him momentarily stunned. Player 203 barely had time to react before In-Ho pushed, toppling him to the ground; he hit his back against the concrete with a dull thud and, in panic, shuffled backward, losing the courage he had just gained. The crowd recoiled for a moment, exchanging glances. No one dared attack first now: the contrast between the calm composure of the Frontman and their own fear of falling was too stark. — This won’t work out… — Player 100 murmured cautiously, licking his dry lips. — If we start pushing each other recklessly, half of us will die. We need another way. — I suggest drawing lots, — someone in the crowd spoke up. — We’ll tear the shirt into strips. Whoever draws the short piece gets pushed off. No one dared object. Several people hurriedly tore at the fabric with ripping sounds. Their fingers trembled so violently that the edges looked ragged. Someone kept glancing at the timer, where the countdown mercilessly marked the seconds until the round ended. — We shouldn’t approach one by one, — one player interjected, casting a quick glance at the pole in In-Ho’s hands. — Let’s tie the jacket sleeves together. If someone slips, we’ll hold them. — That’s right, — Player 100 nodded. — Quick! Time’s running out! Silently, they began removing jackets and tying the sleeves into tight knots. Soon, a long chain formed, and holding onto each other, they moved forward. Gi-Hun, standing behind the Frontman, noticed how the opponents’ hands trembled, their eyes darting around — no one wanted to be chosen. Behind the mask of feigned bravery hid genuine, wild fear. In-Ho remained still, gripping the metal pole. Outwardly, he appeared calm as usual, but inside, a tremor of anxiety ran through him. Every step, every move now depended on him. He knew that on the line was not his life, but the life of the one he had fiercely protected all this time. Caution, humanity, strategic non-violent choices — none of that mattered anymore. Gi-Hun. If they attack— I won’t hold back. Forgive me, Gi-Hun… — Let’s all calm down and just draw lots! — Player 100’s voice shook, though he tried hard to sound firm. — We’ve prepared the strips. This will be fair! He stepped forward, palm out. In it were pieces of torn fabric, unevenly jagged. It seemed as though this random choice alone would decide who would survive. — I don’t trust you, — the Frontman said coldly, not even moving. — How do I know you haven’t rigged it? The players exchanged glances and suddenly lunged forward at the same time. Their plan was clear: push In-Ho aside so he wouldn’t interfere, then knock Gi-Hun off. The Frontman seemed to be waiting for this moment: the metal pole in his hands arced sharply, cutting through the air with a whistle and striking the hands of the nearest player reaching for him. The player screamed and recoiled, but the jacket, tied to the others, yanked him forward again. The chain snapped along with it: the second player collided with the first, the third onto the second, and the entire group, losing balance, tumbled against the Frontman. In-Ho shoved the nearest player with his shoulder, almost toppling the whole chain. The players shouted, trying to regain balance; someone behind slipped across the concrete, perilously close to the edge. — Stop, damn it! We’ll all fall! — Player 203 yelled. Panic swept through the crowd. Those in the back pushed forward, afraid to be at the end, while the ones in front tried to retreat from In-Ho, who defended himself with the pole. As a result, they started knocking each other down, creating chaos. The sound of tearing fabric rang out: sleeves ripped under tension, and two of those tied behind fell. The four remaining on their feet listened in horror to the screams below and the muffled thuds of bodies hitting the hard surface, trembling in fear. —"Players 336 and 353 — eliminated!" Yet the struggle didn’t end there. The tearing fabric, stomping feet, loud screams, and thuds all merged into complete chaos. The participants pushed and tripped aggressively. Player 203 freed himself from the chain, aiming to attack Gi-Hun with a sudden lunge. As In-Ho moved slightly, defending against the others, Player 203 charged at Gi-Hun, knocking him to the floor. They locked in a deadly grip, rolling across the concrete just a few meters from the edge. — It’s your fault they died, do you hear me? — Player 203 hissed, trying with all his strength to push Gi-Hun off, but Gi-Hun resisted fiercely. — It’s all because of you! You should’ve died in the first round! In-Ho quickly assessed the situation and decisively lunged at the nearest two players still struggling to stay upright. With a strong shove, he knocked them onto the concrete; the jacket fabric tore again, and they tumbled down after the others, screaming in terror. — "Players 039 and 100 — eliminated!" The remaining player, teeth clenched and trembling, raised his hands in pleading: — Please… don’t hurt me! — his voice cracked, knees buckling. — I’ll help you, do you hear me? I’ll help! In-Ho paused, fixing his gaze on him, deciding to leave him alive for the third round. Meanwhile, Player 203, still pressing on Gi-Hun, tried to knock him off again. Rising, falling, rising again — they continued struggling on the edge of the platform. The Frontman, without hesitation, struck the opponent’s back with the metal pole, causing him to crumple, momentarily stunned. Gi-Hun broke free from the powerful grip, stepping back to catch his breath. Every movement of In-Ho — confident, precise — pulled him into the flow of events. His heart pounded so hard it felt audible in his ears. Gi-Hun realized: alone, he wouldn’t have managed. And yet, he felt a strange relief, as if he could finally trust someone completely. When Player 203 tried to get up again, In-Ho shoved him in the chest with the pole, and he screamed as he fell. — "Player 203 — eliminated!" The Frontman silently looked down at the bodies lying in a pool of blood. The clang of metal echoed as the pole hit the floor. He lowered his gaze to his trembling hands, clenching them into fists. Deep inside, In-Ho felt the strange weight of what he had done. Gi-Hun. You saw it all… saw me kill them. He slowly turned, holding Gi-Hun’s gaze as if saying without words: "I’m sorry… I couldn’t act any other way." Meanwhile, the VIP-guests, fully absorbed behind the glass panels, watched the game with awe. —How incredible! — the third guest exclaimed, clapping. — He’s gradually unleashing his inner beast! — Seems like the final result is getting obvious, — the first VIP sighed, taking a sip of champagne. — Don’t be so quick to judge, — one of the silent VIPs replied, tilting his head. — Everything can still change… Now, only three players remained. A narrow bridge slowly extended toward the final, round platform. The metallic screech echoed in the vast silence of the huge chamber. In-Ho cast a quick, worried glance at Gi-Hun. Ahead of them lay the final round — the moment that would decide the fate of each of the participants, once and for all. •••TO BE CONTINUED•••