Seo-hyun smiles at the familiar shuffle of plastic, signaling the arrival of guards. She stretches her arms lazily over her head, her joints popping faintly, before glancing down at the floor. Circle guards stand in neat formation behind tables with food boxes and bottles.

"Players, please stand in four lines in front of the tables to be given dinner." the robotic voice announces, bright and happy.

Seo-hyun slides out of bed, falling into line as the room stirs with activity. She stuffs her hands into her pant pockets, following the moving line. When it's her turn, she offers a quick smile to the guard who hands her the meal.

She knows she should eat, but her priorities shift the moment she spots a group of 'O' players heading toward Player 456. Ignoring her food, Seo-hyun decides to follow. She blends into the group, her curiosity piqued when she notices who's leading them—Player 001 and Player 100.

Player 001 takes a few steps closer to the two seated players. "Help us, sir," he asks. The rest of the group halts just below, and Seo-hyun cranes her neck to see Player 456, sitting with Player 390 on the platform leading to the lowest bunks. "You said you've played these games." Player 456 ducks his head, so Player 001 delivers the final blow. "I pressed the 'O' button because of you. Honestly, I was scared. I wanted to quit and leave. But you made me think maybe I could play just one more game."

"It's true," Seo-hyun says, making her way to stand in the front of the group, just behind Player 001. She meets Player 456's gaze with a small, timid smile. "I was really nervous about my choice to stay," she continues, her tone sincere. "I thought maybe I'd made a mistake. But when I heard you were a winner... God, it gave me hope. It made me believe I can do this. I feel much more capable of getting through one more game with you here, sir."

Player 456 lowers his head, a heavy sigh escaping him as her words ripple through the group. More players murmur their agreement, nodding along with her sentiment.

"Sir," Player 001 ventures again, his tone low and coaxing as he leans toward Player 456, sparing a glance at Seo-hyun before focusing on the man before him. "You know which game's next, don't you?"

The group presses closer, anticipation buzzing in the tight space like a live wire. Seo-hyun takes a step forward, careful to keep her expression one of wide-eyed wonder. "What is it, sir?" she chimes in, her voice soft but eager, mirroring the group's collective desperation to know.

Player 456 won't know. They alternate all the games each year except Red Light, Green Light. And of course, the Front man was aware a previous winner was playing, so the games would be different from the games Player 456 played before.

"That's right. You're a previous winner," Player 390 reminds, eyes shining as he chews on his meal. "You should know what the next game is!"

"The second game was Dalgona." Player 456 reminisces.

Player 001 opens his mouth to retort, but a Player from a higher bunk beats him to it. "Dalgona? The sugar candy with a shape you need to carve out?" Player 388 wonders, mouth full of food. He leans over the edge of his bunk, some of his long hair falling into his eyes, which he irritably blows away before focusing on Player 456.

Seo-hyun doesn't bother hiding her amusement, smiling at the man. 

"That's right," Player 456 says with a resigned nod, his tone tinged with exhaustion. "We had to choose one of the four shapes and carve it out." Seo-hyun tilts her head slightly, a part of her is genuinely intrigued. She has no idea what happened in his games, what made him want to get revenge—all the winners Seo-hyun saw were glad to win the money and happy to live the rest of their life in peace.

"Triangle, circle, star, and heart. Those were the shapes I had as a kid," Seo-hyun muses, tapping her finger on her food box.

"There can also be flower, tree, umbrella," Player 001 chimes in, tilting his head in her direction. "There are man options."

"What shapes did you have?" Player 390 cuts in, his voice eager. "Which one was the easiest? And which was the hardest?"

"It was..." Player 456 pauses, glancing at the faces around him as if replaying the memories in his mind. "Circle, triangle, star, and umbrella," he finally says. "The easiest was the triangle. The umbrella was the hardest."

A collective murmur ripples through the group. Seo-hyun notices a few players exchanging nervous glances, no doubt imagining themselves in such a scenario. She crosses her arms and leans slightly forward. "Umbrella? Someone actually chose it?" she comments.

Player 001 scoffs lightly, shaking his head. "Those bastards who picked the umbrella must have bitten the dust." His tone carries a hint of amusement, as though he's picturing the scene in his head.

Player 456's face darkens slightly, and he arches his brow. 

"Thank you for the insight, sir," Seo-hyun says when a silence stretches, bowing her head respectfully. Player 456 offers her the faintest upturn of his lips—a smile that doesn't reach his eyes—but it's enough. Happy with the contact she made, Seo-hyun turns and makes the long way back to her bunk, eager to finish her meal before the lights go out.

The food is okay—not good, not terrible, just passable. For some reason, Seo-hyun had thought the players might be getting better food than the guards, a perk for risking their lives. But she's sourly mistaken. The eggs in her box are the same ones she used to eat as a guard, pale and unseasoned, and the vegetables are bland and forgettable. Nothing about it feels like a reward or even sustenance meant for people expected to push their limits. Still, food is food. Seo-hyun pokes at it with her chopsticks, forcing herself to finish every bite. She needs the energy.

She only glances up from her box when a commotion breaks out near her bunk. A fight between Player 230, Player 124, and Player 333, Myung-gi.

They draw every set of eyes in the room, the chaos impossible to ignore. When Myung-gi crashes down with a loud thud for the second time, Seo-hyun sighs under her breath, "Idiots." She adjusts her position, trying to drown out the noise and focus on her food. She glances down once more, and catches Myung-gi's eye—the pitiful, pleading look in them— and sighs again. The friendly thing to do would be to help.

Without much thought, she picks up a chopstick and hurls it at Player 230. The stick bounces off his shoulder, making him freeze and whip around, eyes blazing.

"Who threw their filthy chopstick at me?" he roars, scanning the bunks.

Seo-hyun doesn't flinch. Her brow lifts as she meets his gaze head-on. "Did your mother never teach you not to cause a scene while people are eating?" Her voice cuts through the murmurs, sharp enough to make players nearby shrink away. Some even scurry off their bunks to avoid the inevitable blow-up. Seo-hyun doesn't move an inch. She stares him down, unfazed by his size or fury. "It's rude," she continues, her tone steady. "There are elderly people here. Show some respect."

Player 230 sneers, stepping closer to her bunk. His posture screams confrontation. Behind him, Player 214 grins, following close. "Say that again, I dare you," Player 230 taunts.

Seo-hyun clicks her tongue and picks up her remaining chopstick, twirling it between her fingers. "The next one I throw is going straight for your eye, tough guy," she says, her lips curving into the faintest smirk.

Player 230 doesn't hesitate. With a growl, he lunges at her, grabbing her shirt and yanking her off her bunk. Her feet hit the floor unsteadily, barely managing to find the floor in time.

"Not so tough now, are you?" he sneers, his face too close for comfort. His breath reeks, hot and sour. Around them, the other players pull back even further, no one daring to step in.

"Hey, let her go!" Myung-gi tries weakly, but he's shoved back by Player 214.

Even with Player 230's grip tightening on her shirt, she doesn't show an ounce of fear. Instead, her lips twitch into a mocking smile, knowing it will piss him off. "You think you're strong," she says, voice calm, almost bored. "You're just loud. All ego."

"What do you think you're doing?" a voice cuts through the chaos, calm yet commanding. "You don't lay hands on a woman. And the two of you ganging up on that young man? Aren't you embarrassed?"

Player 230's attention snaps from Seo-hyun to Player 001. The man's words hang in the air, sharp enough to stall the commotion. 

The grip on Seo-hyun's shirt loosens, giving her the chance to push back, but before she can step away, Player 214 snatches her elbow, keeping her rooted. Seo-hyun scowls at him, trying to tug her arm free, but his grip tightens, making her glare sharper.

 Player 230 strides toward Player 001, "You're lecturing me when you ended up in this shithole too? Dude, stop running your mouth and take care of your own damn children."

Player 001 doesn't so much as blink, his expression unreadable. "What did you just say?"

"I said, save the lecture for your damn kids," Player 230 repeats, his sneer deepening as he takes slow steps closer.

The moment the words leave his mouth, Player 001 moves with startling precision. His hand shoots out, grabbing Player 230 by the throat, sending both him and Player 214 who tried to intervene to the floor.

Seo-hyun watches in shock as he continues to throw punches at the two. Why the hell is she here? The Front Man seems more than capable to look out for himself. 

Player 230 gasps and flails beneath Player 001's iron grip, his face turning a mottled red as the man pins him down. Seo-hyun finally snaps out of her stupor when she sees Player 001's fist lift, ready to strike.

Forcing herself into action, she steps forward. Seo-hyun opens her mouth, ready to tell him to stop, to demand that he let Player 230 go. But before a single word escapes her lips, Player 001 lowers his fist on his own.

Their eyes meet as he rises to his full height, his movements deliberate and unhurried. He adjusts his jacket with a composed precision, breathing in deeply. Around them, players burst into clapping and cheering, their voices swelling in chaotic approval. To Seo-hyun, it's nothing but white noise. The world narrows to just the weight of his gaze, calm yet assessing, and the tension still thrumming in the space between them.

His gaze dips for a moment, and Seo-hyun follows it, glancing down. Ah, the collar of her shirt hangs looser than before, stretched out from Player 230's grip. She sends Player 001 a tight-lipped smile, tilting her head slightly as if to silently ask, Are you okay?

Player 001 nods, a subtle motion accompanied by a brief adjustment of the back of his hair. Then his attention shifts to the cheering players around them. He bows his head, offering a small, shy smile that seems almost out of place after his earlier display of dominance.

When Seo-hyun was seven, she experienced her first sleepover.

It wasn't common in Korea, making the invitation feel even more significant. Sleepovers were reserved for the closest of friends, a kind of unspoken rite of passage in childhood bonds. For Seo-hyun, being invited was both thrilling and terrifying.

She remembers sitting cross-legged on the floor of her small bedroom, clutching the corners of her blanket as though it might save her. The thought of sleeping in someone else's house, surrounded by unfamiliar routines and habits, was almost too much to bear. Her small voice cracked as she cried to her mother, her face blotchy and red with tears.

"What if it's too different? What if it's scary there?" she had sobbed, her words barely audible between hiccups.

Her mother, ever patient, knelt in front of her, holding her hands gently. "The dark looks the same in every house," she said, her voice soft and soothing. She reached out, her thumb brushing under Seo-hyun's puffy eye to wipe away a lingering tear. "The night at your friend's will look just like the night here."

Seo-hyun had stared at her mother, her little mind struggling to wrap itself around the simplicity of those words. The dark is the same. The night is the same.

It didn't stop her from being nervous, of course, but it gave her something to hold onto—a truth that felt steady. That night, as she lay on a borrowed pillow under a blanket that smelled faintly of lavender, she stared up at the ceiling, where shadows danced in shapes she didn't recognize. The dark wasn't exactly the same, but it was close enough.

It's those comforting words her mother told her that Seo-hyun repeats in her head now.

The room changed entirely once the fluorescent lights cut out with a flick of a remote. What had been bright and lively moments before now feels suffocatingly eerie. The dim glow of the piggybank above, casting a faint golden light, and the harsh outlines of the 'X' and 'O' symbols on the floor are the only things piercing the darkness.

Seo-hyun's breath hitches as the shadows stretch and warp, the strange, otherworldly silence amplifying every tiny sound—the faint rustle of a person as they shift in their bed, the quiet snores of people.

The dark looks the same in every house, she tells herself, clinging to the memory of her mother's voice like a lifeline. But it doesn't feel the same.

Seo-hyun swallows hard, her eyes darting between the shadows on the walls and the glint of the piggybank, its soft light mocking her. She knows fear is a something she can't afford right now, but it claws at her all the same. Her fingers twitch at her side, aching for something to hold onto. She takes a slow, deep breath and forces her body to remain still.

The memory of her mother's hand on her face, the warmth of her palm wiping away her tears, pushes itself to the forefront of her mind. She doesn't have the luxury of crying this time, but the memory steadies her.

"The dark looks the same in every house," she whispers under her breath, so softly even she can barely hear it.

Seo-hyun falls asleep to the memory of her mother.

Seo-hyun stirs abruptly, jolted from sleep in the dead of night. The room is steeped in darkness, and she instinctively keeps her eyes shut, keeping her breathing steady as someone shakes her shoulder. It's about buying time—figuring out what's happening before revealing she's awake.

She listens intently, catching the faint rustle of fabric, the soft crinkle of plastic. Shallow, uneven breaths reach her ears, betraying the presence of whoever disturbed her. The hand on her shoulder shakes her again, more insistent this time. Then comes a low whisper, "Get up. Quietly."

Feigning grogginess, she lets her eyes flutter open and blinks into the darkness. The faint outline of a figure looms over her—a triangle mask.

Without a word, Seo-hyun nods, pushing herself off the bunk and follows the guard. Her heart pounds, but she keeps her steps light and her posture relaxed, as though compliant and calm. There are enough corrupted guards in this place, who knows what this one wants from her.

The guard leads her through the bunks of sleeping players, navigating the shadows with practiced ease. He glances over his shoulder once, his masked face unreadable. They reach the bathrooms, and he holds the door open for her, his hand briefly resting on the edge to signal she should enter first.

Inside, the fluorescent lights hum, illuminating the pastel tiles and doors. The guard follows her in, closing the door behind him. The sound of the latch clicking echoes unnervingly in the confined space.

Seo-hyun crosses her arms, leaning casually against the wall. "What's this about?" she asks.

The guard, standing rigid in his uniform, hesitates before speaking. "What are you doing here?" His voice is sharp, accusatory.

Seo-hyun scowls. "Well, sir... I have bills to pay," she deadpans, the sarcasm slipping out before she can stop it. "When a guy offers you money for a game of Ddakji you say yes."

The guard exhales heavily, his gloved hand reaching up to his hood. With a firm tug, he pulls it back, followed by his mask. Seo-hyun's breath catches. The face beneath is one she recognizes all too well. "You've got to be kidding me," she mutters, her voice quieter now.

The guard—no, not just a guard anymore—lets out a soft, humorless laugh. "Surprise."

"What are you doing here?" Seo-hyun questions, his own question now turned back at him.

"I could ask you the same thing," he replies, his tone almost teasing, but there's a tightness in his jaw she doesn't miss. "You're not exactly in your usual element, are you?"

Seo-hyun sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. She should've seen this coming. There is one person inside this place who knows her face. Hoon-sik. The two were from the same neighborhood, Seo-hyun had gone to school with his older sister, even. They'd gone years without crossing paths until two years ago, when fate threw them together in the most unthinkable of ways.

They had been shoved into the same container, a grim and silent ride back to the city after the games they unknowingly worked at together. The air between them had been as heavy then as it is now, their first words to each other were cold. But despite the frost, a fragile bond had formed in the months that followed, the shared experience forging an unlikely friendship. Guard 002 and guard 004, always in the same posts, never allowed to talk.

"Guess we're both full of surprises," she retorts, crossing her arms again, but this time it feels more like a shield than a pose.

Hoon-sik takes a step closer, his boots scraping faintly against the floor. Seo-hyun instinctively leans back, her hand brushing the cold, smooth texture of the wall behind her. "Look, I don't know what game you're playing," he starts, his tone low and warning, "but—"

"It's a job, alright?" Seo-hyun whispers, cutting him off. She doesn't want this conversation to drag out. "From higher up."

Hoon-sik tilts his head, his expression unreadable. "They can't afford to kill you themselves, so they're sending you in here to do it?"

"It's not like that," Seo-hyun snaps, pinching the bridge of her nose in annoyance. She exhales slowly, reigning herself in. "I'm here to protect someone."

Hoon-sik's eyes narrow, suspicion flickering across his face. 'Protect someone?" he echoes, his tone sharp. "Who?"

Seo-hyun hesitates, the lie already forming in her mind. No one is supposed to know who the Front Man is—not even Hoon-sik. "It's just a VIP," she says, her voice smooth but her stomach twisting. "Someone who paid their way into the game. You know how these rich types are—always looking for a new thrill."

Hoon-sik doesn't respond right away, his gaze boring into her as if trying to peel back the layers of her story. "Funny," he finally says, his voice flat. "You don't seem like the bodyguard type."

"It's not about muscle," Seo-hyun quips, forcing a small, wry smile. "It's about making sure he doesn't do something stupid."

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "And you're not going to tell me who it is?"

She shrugs, a casual gesture that masks the tension coiling in her chest. "You know how these things work. Need-to-know."

The silence between them stretches, heavy and taut. Hoon-sik's gaze lingers on her, searching for cracks in her story, for the truth she's so carefully concealing.

"Right," he says at last, his tone carrying a note of resignation. "Need-to-know."

Seo-hyun's face twists bitterly when he looks away, adjusting the mask in his hand. She hates this—the lies, the walls she has to put up to keep people at a distance. But she doesn't have a choice.

"Be careful," Hoon-sik mutters, his voice low. He slides the mask back over his face, the familiar anonymity erasing the person she knows. "Whoever you're protecting better be worth it."

Seo-hyun doesn't respond immediately, watching as he turns to unlock the door. When she finally speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper. "I'll be okay."

He pauses, his hand on the lock. "I'll keep an eye out for you," he murmurs, not turning back. His voice carries something almost soft—almost protective. "Make sure you're doing okay. Grab you if I have something to tell you."

"Thank you," she replies softly, though the word feels heavier than it should.

As he steps out and the door swings shut behind him, Seo-hyun can't help but feel bad for lying. The flickering light above her hums, indifferent to the storm churning inside her.

seo-hyun is my babyyy

first look into seo-hyuns actions and thoughts hmmm

seo-hyun's mother will be talked about more dw the story will make sense (hopefully)