Gi-Hun is the first of their group to ascend the stairs leading to the next game. Jung-Bae follows silently, while In-Ho, Hyunrin, and Jun-Hee trail behind.
     In-Ho can still feel the lingering warmth of Hyunrin against his skin. He knows he must stay focused on his mission—to manipulate Gi-Hun—but pretending that last night meant nothing would be a lie.
     It meant everything.
     The way her body fit so naturally against his. The familiar scent of her hair as it enveloped him. The quiet rhythm of her heartbeat, perfectly in sync with his own.
     And now... now they were walking straight into another game.
     They step into a room that resembles a twisted circus—bright, garish colors smeared across the walls, strange props scattered across the floor, and a tense, theatrical air hanging thick around them.

'Welcome to your third game. The game you will be playing is Mingle. Let me repeat. The game you will be playing is Mingle.
All players,  please step onto the center platform. When the game starts, the platform will begin to rotate, and you will hear a number. You must form groups of that size, go into the rooms, and close the door within 30 seconds.''
"Oh, this game? We used to play something similar on school trips," Jung-Bae chuckles. "We'd form groups by hugging."
"Yeah, well... instead of hugging, we step into those rooms," Dae-Ho replies, nodding toward the doors.
"I know this game," Geum-Ja says, her voice calm. Her son glances down at her, silently asking how they should approach it.
"If the number is four, we stay together."
"If it's two, you and I pair up."
"If the number's more than seven, we bring in the extra people we need," Gi-Hun adds quickly.
"But what if it's less than five?" Dae-Ho asks.
"We'll figure it out when it comes," Gi-Hun says.
"No matter what happens, don't panic," In-Ho speaks up, his voice low but steady. "Let's stay calm."
He sounds composed, but his heart drums wildly against his ribs, like a warning he's trying to ignore. His eyes, once always scanning for threats, now search for only one thing—her.

''Let the game begin.''
The platform rotates—a slow, methodical movement that blurs faces, shifting bodies in and out of view. It's disorienting, forcing everyone to adjust, to find their balance. Hyunrin steadies herself the moment it starts, feet planted firmly, eyes forward, mind locked on the game. She can't afford a distraction.
And yet...
She feels it before she sees it. A presence. A pull.
Like gravity itself is shifting toward one point in space. Her breath catches, fingers twitching at her sides. No. Don't.
But the platform turns again, and her resolve breaks. She looks.
It's a mistake—because he's already looking at her.
Her chest tightens. The world shrinks. The sound of the game, of shifting feet and hushed murmurs, fades. For a split second, everything stops.

Then the platform keeps turning, and she tears her gaze away. A sharp inhale. A blink. A step forward. Focus. Focus.
But she feels it again—that unbearable weight of being watched. And when the platform slows, dragging through its final turn—she caves.
This time, the glance isn't fleeting.
Because he isn't looking away.
And neither is she.
He tells himself not to look. Not to seek her out, not to break his composure, not to let her see him. But it's impossible. She's there. And he's lost her once.
Nine years of silence. Nine years of believing she was gone. And yet, here she stands, just a few feet away. Close enough to see the flicker of hesitation in her expression, the way her breath catches, the way her fingers twitch as if resisting the urge to reach for something—someone.
She tries not to look at him. But she does. And when she does—everything unravels.

He should turn away. He should blink, move, do something. But he doesn't.
Instead, he lets himself hold her gaze—just for a second too long.
Too long to be meaningless.
Too long to ignore the ache in his chest, the pulse pounding beneath his skin, the years collapsing between them—gone in an instant.

The platform comes to a sudden stop. A voice crackles overhead.
"Ten."
Bodies shift. The spell breaks. She looks away first. Then she moves. A breath. A step. A choice.
He exhales slowly, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. He forces himself to look forward, to follow the game, to breathe. But the moment lingers.
Like an aftershock.
Like an ache beneath his ribs.
Like something neither of them can stop.
Not anymore.

People begin shouting the number of players they need.
"How many are you?" Gi-Hun calls out.
"Three!"
"Perfect, let's go!" The trio rushes forward, joining the group just in time to secure their place for this round.

"We need two!"
"We need five—come with us!"

Time slips through their fingers. Hyunrin watches in breathless suspense.
3...
2...
1...
The timer beeps. The doors lock.
Hyunrin slowly approaches one of the doors, her hand trembling as she peers through the small window. Outside, the players who failed to secure a spot are gunned down without mercy.
She flinches at the sound of the shots. Then, a hand grips her arm and pulls her away. She stumbles back, colliding with a body—one she doesn't need to see to recognize.
His scent is all around her.
A familiar ache urges her to glance over her shoulder. To see him. To meet his eyes. But she doesn't.
Not this time.

"The following players have been eliminated. Players 013, 043, 049, 054, 060."
The doors unlock, and the players file onto the platform.
"Round and Round" begins playing from the speakers above, light and mocking as the platform starts to rotate.
Aside from Thanos and Nam-Gyu, every player stands stiffly, shoulders tight with tension, the same question circling in their minds—will I survive this round?
Before Hyunrin's thoughts can spiral into worst-case scenarios, the platform jerks with a loud clunk. Her heart leaps to her throat.

"Four."
The playful music shifts to a low, suspenseful hum. "You four, go!" In-Ho shouts.
Hyunrin meets his eyes just as he adds, "Go ahead!", directing his words toward her, but his gaze speaks volumes. She looks at Jun-Hee, Gi-Hun, and Jung-Bae—and then Gi-Hun pulls her forward.
In-Ho watches as she's led away, the tightness in his chest easing with the knowledge that she'll be safe—at least for now. He recognises a hint of betrayal in her eyes. He is given no time to let it sink into his mind because the chaos rushes back in.
"I need three!" he yells, snapping his arm up, holding out three fingers.

Hyunrin rushes to the door, her eyes scanning the crowd with frantic urgency. She searches for In-Ho's figure, silently hoping she wouldn't see him—because not seeing him would mean he made it. That he was safe.
The countdown blares overhead, ticking down to zero. The door slams shut.
Then—gunshots.
Her heart pounds against her ribs as she stands frozen, silently pleading for her husband to survive. A gentle hand rests on her shoulder. It's Jun-Hee, offering her a calm, reassuring smile.
"Young-Il will make it. He's a clever man," she says softly.
The words settle something in Hyunrin's chest. She covers Jun-Hee's hand with her own, offering a grateful smile in return.
The locks release. The doors open. Hyunrin steps out with the others, her eyes darting from face to face. She has to find him. She needs to see those eyes.

"Young-Il!" Gi-Hun calls out.
"Young-Il?" Jung-Bae echoes in confusion. Hyunrin spins around, searching—until she hears a familiar voice responding to Gi-Hun's call.
"Oh, thank god," Jung-Bae breathes in relief.
Hyunrin gasps, her heart leaping. Without hesitation, she bolts toward him and throws her arms around his neck.
"Whoa." In-Ho catches her, arms sliding around her waist in return. He doesn't speak—he just holds her.
As her arms slowly lower, he meets her gaze. There's the smallest smile tugging at the corner of her lips, and something soft flickers between them. But his attention soon shifts to the group.
"Are you feeling okay?" he asks. Jun-Hee nods with a small smile. "I'm alright."
"I'm glad you're back," she adds quietly.
In-Ho's eyes flick toward the platform again. "Wait a minute," he says. "If the next number is eight, we won't need anyone else, will we?"
"Why not?"
"Oh," Gi-Hun says, gesturing subtly to Jun-Hee's stomach.
"Right," Jung-Bae smiles. "That makes eight."
"All players, please step onto the center platform."

"Now, the final round will begin."
"What do you think it'll be this time?" Jung-Bae asks, his voice tight with unease. The game drags on, each second weighted heavier than the last.
"Two," In-Ho replies without hesitation. "There are 126 players left and only 50 rooms. That means only 100 people will survive. The rest... won't make it."

The platform begins to slow, its rotation growing sluggish. The players steady themselves, the thick press of tension drawing tighter around them like a noose.
Hyunrin's breath shortens, her chest rising in shallow bursts. She scans the room, trying to focus, trying to ignore the mounting dread that clutches at her ribs.
And then—she feels it.
Again.
That pull. That quiet gravity that tugs at her soul.
Her heart falters, her gaze shifting before she can stop herself.
In-Ho.
He's close. Just a few feet away.
She doesn't even need to see him to know he's there—his presence wraps around her like a storm cloud, quiet but charged. The space between them tightens, as if the air itself knows something they won't say.

It's happened so many times before—those fleeting glances, stolen when no one was watching. Little moments where the rest of the world faded out.
But this time is different.
This time, she doesn't look away.
She can't.
Their eyes meet.
And the connection strikes like lightning.
She's felt his gaze before, lingering, burning—but now there's no hiding it. No masks. No guarded expressions. Just raw, open awareness.
His eyes haven't changed.
There's nothing innocent left between them. No pretending they don't feel it. No safe distance. Just tension—thick and unspoken—that catches her breath mid-chest.

Everything else falls away. The music, the murmurs, the hum of the platform—it all blurs into the background.
It's just her.
Just him.
And that unbearable, undeniable pull.
Her balance wavers. She reaches out instinctively, grasping the nearest bar to keep herself upright.
And then—A voice rings out, sharp and mechanical, slicing through the moment like a blade.

"Two."
Hyunrin barely has time to register the command.
The platform jolts to a stop. The world shifts. The weight of the moment crashes down like a wave.
Voices rise around her—numbers, shuffling feet, the frantic scurry of survival—but they all sound distant. Muffled. Her focus is fixed elsewhere.
On him.
The air between them still thrums, stretched tight like a wire about to snap.
Her hand trembles as she steps forward, legs moving before her mind can catch up. Her heartbeat is thunder in her ears.
And then—She feels it.
A hand. Strong. Sure. Urgent. His fingers wrap around hers with quiet finality. There's no hesitation in his touch—only purpose.
The grip is firm, protective. Anchoring. But beneath it, something more—something unspoken. A promise. A claim.
It's not just about surviving. It's him saying: I see you. I still choose you. I'm not letting go.
Her breath hitches, her throat tightening. But she doesn't pull away. She can't.
Not when everything inside her is screaming that this fleeting connection—is the only solid thing left in a world unraveling.
And in that heartbeat, she realizes just how much she's missed him. How much of herself had gone quiet without him.
Their hands stay locked for a second too long. Just long enough for the world to fall away.
Then—reality floods back in.

Jun-Hee.
The name explodes in her mind like a flare. She needs to find her. She has to.
Panic surges. Her fingers twitch in his grasp as she tries to step back, but she doesn't make it far.
A sharp tug jerks her off balance.
"In-Ho—let go of me!" she gasps, voice strained, heart pounding with fear. But he's already pulling her toward one of the rooms, his grip tightening, not harsh—just immovable.
"Hyunrin, you can't leave." His voice is low, firm. Not cruel. Just resolute. "Not now."
And before she can argue, the door slams shut behind them. Silence while outside their room, the chaos continues. The world has shrunk down to just the two of them.
And Hyunrin doesn't know whether to scream or cry—or simply stay exactly where she is, her hand still curled inside his.

The timer. That low, steady hum filled the air like a warning beneath their skin.
Hyunrin turns to him, heart pounding, voice catching on urgency. "We need to go. Jun-Hee—she's out there. She needs me." Her voice trembles with desperation. She tries to pull away. But In-ho's grip holds fast. Iron-strong.
"You can't leave," he says again—sharper this time. The edge in his voice isn't cruelty. It is fear. Desperation, mirrored. "If we don't stay in this room until the timer ends, we're both dead. Do you understand?"
The words strikes like a slap. Her breath catches in her throat. Reality crashes down around her, heavy and cold.

There is no choice No room to argue.
If she leaves—if she even tries—she gambles with both their lives.
But Jun-Hee. God, Jun-Hee. The fear for her gnawes at her insides like fire.
Hyunrin moves to try again—just one more step, just a glance through the door—but this time, his hands are at her waist. She gasps. The contact roots her, burning through her.
"Stay with me," he says, voice low now. Less command, more plea. "We'll get through this. Together."
His body is pressed against hers, heartbeat hammering in sync with her own. She hates it—hates how easily her body betrays her. Because she does need him.
And somehow, terrifyingly, she knows—he needs her too.

Her hands clenched at her sides, trembling. "But I can't just—"
"Yes, you can." His voice softens but didn't waver. "Not now. Please, not now."
A beat of silence.
One breath. Then two.
The countdown ticked on in the background, each second louder than the last.
She doesn't move. His breath is warm against her cheek. His arms are steady around her. The chaos of the world, the games, the guns, the fear—it all fades.
There is just this room.
Just the two of them.
Suspended in a pocket of tension and unspoken things.

She wants to move.
To push him away. To scream.
But she doesn't.
She couldn't.
Something inside her whispers that being near him—staying—was the only way forward now.
And so, she stays.
The air is thick, almost suffocating. His presence overwhelms her—close, grounding, real. Her mind spins with worry, but her body goes still.
She has no choice but to be still.
And all she could do is wait.
Wait—and pray that Jun-Hee, wherever she is, has made it through as well.

ᵀᴿᵞᴵᴺᴳ 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚞𝚙𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
squid game season 3 (and your sweet comments) has really shoved me back to my laptop to continue this damn story.
even i want to know how this will end. that's a lie, i do know how this story ends.

my apologies for the long wait, however i hoped you enjoyed this new chapter (still written by me, because i love to use the em-dash).

<3