𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | 𝐒𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐝 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞

***

In the deafening silence, only the relentless countdown of the timer could be heard — each tick echoing inside his head like the strike of a hammer. — Gi-Hun… — In-Ho whispered almost inaudibly. — Time is running out… finish the game. You’ll die if you don’t… A faint, sorrowful smile flickered across the Frontman’s face. His lips were dry, his eyes red from tears, and he pressed his chest harder against the end of the bridge’s beam, showing he would not retreat. — Please, Gi-Hun… Player 456 stayed silent, unable to move. Inside, everything cracked and splintered, as if his very soul was being torn apart. Gi-Hun didn’t even know why he was trembling — from fear, from anger, or from everything at once. His breathing was uneven, his chest felt crushed by something heavy and unseen, painfully oppressive. He stared straight at In-Ho, unable to look away. Suddenly, the silence was broken by a harsh clang of metal: the beam slipped from Gi-Hun’s hands, rolled aside, and disappeared into the darkness. In the same second, Gi-Hun raised his hand — and slapped the Frontman sharply. In-Ho’s head jerked to the side; he staggered, losing his balance, and sank heavily onto the cold concrete, pressing his palm to his cheek. For a moment, he froze, stunned not by the pain, but by the fact of the blow itself. The VIP guests stared in shock. — How unusual, — the second VIP murmured, leaning forward. — He learned the truth and still didn’t kill him. How strange. — It’s not easy to hear the truth from someone you care about, — noted one of the quieter guests, swirling the champagne in his glass. — But it’s even harder to raise your hand against them. — This is far more interesting than I expected, — the third VIP chuckled. — Player 456 is torn between love and hatred for the Frontman. What a spectacle! For a few seconds, Gi-Hun stood still, hand raised, breathing heavily as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened. Then he abruptly stepped forward, grabbed In-Ho by the collar and shook him hard. — Why you?? — he rasped, staring into In-Ho’s eyes. — Tell me this is some sick joke! Come on!!! Gi-Hun kept shaking him, breathing raggedly, as if trying to force out a single answer. But soon his rage ebbed, giving way to exhaustion — his hands loosened, his grip slackened. He still held the Frontman by the collar, but no longer with anger — simply because he didn’t know what else to do. Player 456 sniffed, frozen in place. He couldn’t be angry anymore. He was exhausted — trembling, sick to his stomach. Exhausted from the pain, the losses, from himself. Even tears wouldn’t come — as if everything inside had finally burned out. — Gi-Hun… — In-Ho finally spoke, his voice trembling as though each word cost him effort, — I know… you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t cross the line I once crossed myself. Gi-Hun blinked, as if not quite believing what he’d heard, but said nothing, letting him continue. — Almost ten years ago… I stood where you are now, — the Frontman went on, lowering his eyes. — And I desperately wanted to win, just like you did last time… not for myself — for the people I loved. To save those dearest to me. He swallowed hard. — Back then I believed money was the only way to fix everything, even if the chances were slim. I thought that if I just won… I could snatch back the life slipping through my fingers. But… I was wrong. I won — and still lost everything. Gi-Hun… the miracle never happened. Those bills didn’t make me happy. In-Ho looked up again, tears blurring his vision. — Because I… — His voice wavered, a lump caught in his throat. — The night before the final, the game host offered me a deal… to kill all the remaining players. Said it was the only way to guarantee victory. And I… I agreed. The Frontman exhaled heavily, pausing for a second. — They were asleep, Gi-Hun. Asleep. And I… I killed them. All of them. I thought I was saving the people I loved… — He turned his eyes away, lowering his head, as if afraid of what he saw reflected in Gi-Hun’s. — I live with that pain every day… Because in that moment, I was no different from the rest. I became exactly what I despised, thinking I was stronger… different… But no. I was the same. He drew a deep breath, gathering himself again. — After that game, when it was over, they found me and offered me the role of Frontman. I accepted, Gi-Hun. I had nowhere else to go. I became part of the very system I hated, growing numb to everything living with each passing year. I watched desperate people kill each other for the same thing I once killed for. I stopped believing in them. I gave up. "…Tell me… if someone who did terrible things was truly broken, suffering, trying to share his pain… could you understand a person like that?…" Player 456, as if in a flashback, heard In-Ho’s voice from the night before the final: words about the Frontman, about pain, about humanity. His heart gave a painful jolt at the thought that the man who had long been his enemy was now standing before him, unmasked, unguarded, open and vulnerable. The Frontman slowly looked at the timer still counting down. The electronic display read 07:03. 07:02. 07:01. 07:00. Seven minutes… Seven minutes left with you. He closed his eyes, listening to his racing heart. My second chance… I couldn’t fix everything… but… these days were the best I’ve had in years. Because you were here. And maybe my story isn’t meant to have a happy ending… He fell silent. Only the ticking timer filled the quiet again. Frowning, Gi-Hun finally asked: — But why did you join the game this time? In-Ho looked back at Player 456. — Because… you wouldn’t have survived past the second game, — he answered quietly. The Frontman gave a faint smile, but there was no trace of irony in his eyes. — When I first saw you among the players three years ago… I watched another person walk the same path I once walked. But despite everything, you remained yourself. You helped others, even when it went against your own interests. You kept believing. You were different. You caught my attention… Seong Gi-Hun. Leaning on his elbows, the Frontman still felt the tight grip of Gi-Hun’s hand on his collar. — I wanted so badly to understand why… Why you didn’t lose yourself where I did. Why you didn’t become like me. Why you… didn’t break. In-Ho stared into Gi-Hun’s angry face, and with each second, there was less anger in his gaze — and something else began to show instead: confusion, curiosity, incomprehension. — I kept watching you after your victory, — the Frontman continued quietly. — I saw you trying to live, stumbling again, yet still keeping that quality — the one I lost long ago. He dropped his voice to a whisper. — You kept yourself. And… you captivated me, — the words fell from his lips without restraint. — My life found meaning again. I felt I wanted to live, to feel long-forgotten emotions… because I met you. I thought maybe, just maybe, I could still see the world through your eyes. Gi-Hun. I want to believe in people. I want to be alive. I want to be… with you. — I played alongside everyone… only because I couldn’t bear to lose you… The timer kept ticking. In-Ho reached out, hesitantly brushing his fingers against Player 456’s cheek, noticing the tears in his eyes. — Don’t cry… — he said softly, as if afraid to say it any louder. — You’ll be alright. Gi-Hun could no longer hold back. Trembling with overwhelming emotion, he pulled In-Ho into a fierce embrace. — Yeong-Il… don’t disappear… — he whispered, sniffing. — Please… The Frontman froze for a moment, feeling the strength and sincerity of the hug. His hands slowly wrapped around Gi-Hun, trembling not from fear, but from the fact that he could finally be himself with someone who had become the meaning of his life. For the first time in a long while, the weight of the past felt a little lighter. They leaned their foreheads together carefully. Their hearts pounded so hard it seemed their beats could be heard in the silence. In-Ho’s hand slid to the back of Gi-Hun’s head, fingers tangling in his hair. This is my last chance to touch you… And at that moment, the Frontman closed his eyes and gently kissed Gi-Hun’s lips. Gi-Hun flinched but didn’t pull away — instead, he responded with a slight movement, as if confirming that he was here. Here and now. Silence fell over the VIP room. Their eyes widened in shock; even the most talkative commentators were struck speechless. — What’s he waiting for? — the third VIP finally asked, disappointed as he stared at the scene outside. — Did Player 456 really choose to die with Mr. Frontman? — Seems some people’s feelings are stronger than the fear of death, — the quiet guest remarked softly, smiling with mild surprise. — And apparently, those feelings are about to lead them to their graves. The Black Square glanced indifferently at the timer, which showed a little over three minutes left, as if what was happening nearby could not touch his cold mind. He was about to respond when static crackled from his radio. — “Sir, our island’s been exposed. They’re on their way.” The VIP guests froze, exchanging quick glances. One of them asked, irritation in his voice: — And what do we do with the players now? The Black Square calmly shifted his gaze to the glass panel. — Leave them. How they die doesn’t matter anymore. Pulling the radio from his uniform pocket, he said dryly: — Activate the self-destruction system. Begin evacuation. Seconds later, the wail of the siren filled the air. The soft white light switched to flashing red. The timer blinked and recalculated, showing the countdown to total system destruction. 30:00. 29:59. 29:58. — We have to go, — In-Ho whispered, holding Gi-Hun close as if trying to shield him from everything around them. — Now. •••TO BE CONTINUED•••