𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐝 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞

***

The players stepped carefully onto the final platform. Each of the three remaining was at their limit: every sound, every heartbeat echoed in their skulls, making them flinch and stay tense. The saved player walked ahead of the others, flaunting a show of confidence. He seemed to hint: "I don’t intend to hurt you. Look — I trust you enough to go first, knowing you won’t push me." But no one could push him anyway: to complete the final round, at least three participants were needed. And one of them would still have to be thrown down. Gi-Hun walked slowly, second. His heart pounded so hard it felt like In-Ho behind him could hear it. His legs felt like lead, his head swam slightly from the height. He stumbled, hesitating for a split second, and then felt a light but firm touch on his back. For a moment, the panic subsided. — I’ve got you, — a familiar voice came from behind. As soon as all three stepped onto solid ground, the saved player lunged forward, shoving Gi-Hun to the floor. They clashed like alley cats, rolling and grappling, each trying to strike harder than the other. The Frontman reacted instantly, lunging from behind to tear the attacker off, but felt an elbow smash into his ribs. Air hissed out of his lungs; he grimaced, clutching his side, losing his grip and composure for a heartbeat. In the VIP lounge, silence fell. Each guest, holding their breath, watched the tension unfold. — Well, well, — the third VIP chuckled, setting his empty glass on a tray. — This game is definitely becoming my favorite! — The Frontman is enduring not only humiliation but also blows, — one of the silent guests noted quietly, eyes narrowing. — And yet, look: he still protects Player 456. I am curious… how will this end? The Black Square turned his head slightly toward them. The face behind the mask remained expressionless, but the air around him seemed heavier. This time, he held back from commenting. Mr. Frontman. Your heartache is becoming far too obvious. But that’s exactly what entertains our guests. Please, don’t stop. Play until the end. Meanwhile Gi-Hun struggled against his attacker. Grabbing a fistful of the man’s hair, he yanked, trying to throw him off, but the other only shoved Player 456 toward the edge of the platform. — You should’ve died back in the first round! — the player shouted hoarsely, gripping Gi-Hun’s neck. — I didn’t make it to the final just for you to take my money, you bastard! Gi-Hun, barely able to breathe, kicked with all his strength to break free. The attacker slid off the edge of the platform, clinging desperately to Player 456 — and both hung above the abyss, clutching the steel beams. The traitor’s grip weakened and, seconds later, he fell screaming into the void. — "Player 403 — eliminated!" In-Ho, still winded from the blow to his ribs, braced on his knees, trembling with pain and tension. His heart hammered wildly, but he already knew what he had to do. Seeing Gi-Hun clinging to the steel, struggling to climb back, the Frontman crawled decisively to the edge. With shaking hands, he pulled Gi-Hun up until the latter got a solid hold and climbed back onto the platform. As soon as both were on the concrete again, In-Ho gripped Gi-Hun tightly, breathing raggedly from fear and relief. A faint smile crossed his face as he exhaled. — Gi-Hun… — his voice trembled. — We did it… we made it… But the Frontman’s face suddenly went pale when Player 456 pointed behind him. In-Ho’s heart sank as he turned — and saw the red glow of the button still burning at the center of the platform. It hadn’t been pressed. And he understood everything. Letting Gi-Hun go, In-Ho stood slowly, as if every movement cost him. His heart pounded, echoing in his skull, but his gaze was steady. A step. Another step. He approached the glowing button, fingers brushing the cold metal pole. — Yeong-Il… — Gi-Hun’s voice was quiet. In-Ho swallowed hard. His lips trembled. This is the end… I failed… I’m sorry, Gi-Hun. If I fall… how fast will my heart burst before I hit the ground? Or won’t I even feel it? — Y-yeong-Il… — player 456 stepped toward him, his mind refusing to understand. — Gi-Hun… — In-Ho’s voice broke into a rasp. — Take the money… take the child. Get out of here. Gi-Hun froze, staring at the Frontman. — What?… — he blinked. — But you… we were supposed to get out together… Together. Player 456’s fists clenched. — You promised, Yeong-Il! — Gi-Hun’s cry tore out of his chest. — Why are you saying this? Why??? In-Ho turned with effort. His face was alien now — no mask of coldness, but something broken, vulnerable… lost. The look of a man who had already made his choice. The look of someone who had already “died.” — Because… — he swallowed, holding back tears, — I have no right to take the life of someone who truly deserves to live. He closed his eyes for a second, exhaled as if gathering courage, and whispered: — Player 456, Mr. Seong Gi-Hun… you’ve won. You’ve… won. Gi-Hun stared at him in confusion. — But… how do you know my last name?.. — his voice was faint, almost inaudible. Silence hung heavy between them, broken only by ragged breaths. For a long moment they just stared at each other, terrified, exhausted, unable to speak. — Who are you, Yeong-Il… — Gi-Hun finally whispered, eyes locked on In-Ho. — The one who was your nightmare, — the Frontman looked down. — The one who’s been your enemy all this time… the one you’ve been looking for these years. And now, you’ve found him. — I don’t believe this… — Gi-Hun stepped back, heart hammering. — This can’t be true… Inside, everything turned over at the realization. Every breath felt like ice, his hands trembled, his legs wouldn’t move. How could the person he’d been close to be the one he hated most? — I knew you’d come back… — In-Ho’s voice was low and hoarse. — Think of all the people you played with three years ago… and now. Almost every one of them thought only of themselves. Their greed, their struggle for survival — it destroys everything human in them. These games are a mirror of their true nature, their inner self. He drew a ragged breath, each word heavy. — But you… — the Frontman lifted his eyes. — You’re different, Gi-Hun. Still stubborn, still naive. You’ve endured the deaths of those close to you here and yet you didn’t break. You kept the humanity they all lost. In-Ho gripped the pole tighter, as if forcing all his pain into the metal. — These games… they won’t stop, — he said quietly, his voice breaking. — As long as people stay the way we’ve seen them here, as long as greed outweighs conscience — nothing will change. He lowered his gaze and, slowly, as if through resistance, pressed the button with his foot. The countdown lit up for the last time: 15:00. 14:59. 14:58. 14:57. The ticking buzzed in their ears. Everything blurred. — Gi-Hun… — the Frontman’s lips trembled. — You proved humanity still exists. You carried something out of this hell that I lost long ago. And I have no right to take from you the victory you earned… because I’ve lost… He stepped forward and, without looking away, gently took Player 456’s hand. With his other hand, as if lifting a great weight off his shoulders, he placed the cold metal pole into Gi-Hun’s palm. His chest pressed against its end. In-Ho looked straight into Gi-Hun’s eyes, tears sliding down his cheeks. — That’s why… — his voice broke into a whisper, part plea, part sentence. — Please, do what you should have done three years ago… Kill the Frontman. Gi-Hun. Get out alive… kill me. Player 456 froze, gripping the pole as if he held life and death in his hands. He wasn’t just looking at a man anymore — he was staring at the one who had ruled his nightmares for years. Inside, everything clenched painfully; his mind refused to accept the brutal reality, his body recoiled as if it already knew this was wrong. He wanted to scream, accuse, argue — but the words stuck in his throat like a stone. Yeong-Il… Please… tell me this is a joke, that you’re not like this, that none of it’s true. Why are you doing this to me…? Gi-Hun clearly understood: he was standing on the edge where any reaction could change both their fates. And for the first time, he truly didn’t know what to do next. •••TO BE CONTINUED•••