𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄. alligator bites never heal

WHEN THE LIGHTS WENT OUT IN THE dormitory, the darkness descended like a shroud, suffocating and impenetrable. Yumi lay silently beneath the bottom bunk, her arms drawn to her chest and her breath shallow, the advice from Gi-hun echoing in her mind: Don't get caught. Her fingers trembled as she clenched them into fists, her nails pressing into the soft flesh of her palms.

Gi-hun had said hiding beneath the bunks would be safer than the open floor, but even here, the air felt thick with tension, vibrating with the unspoken dread that had been simmering since the vote.

The dormitory's vastness had always been unnerving, with its endless rows of steel bunk beds and the ceaseless murmur of restless participants. But now, cloaked in darkness, it became something else entirely — a battlefield. The faint hum of the fluorescent lights, once so constant it was easy to forget, had vanished, leaving only the oppressive sound of silence. Yumi strained to hear the first signs of movement, her ears prickling, her heart hammering in her chest.

And then it began.

The first scream tore through the stillness like a jagged blade, sharp and disorienting. It came from somewhere to her left, a raw, guttural sound that spoke of panic and pain. Yumi flinched, her hands instinctively flying to her ears. The next scream came seconds later, closer this time, accompanied by the unmistakable clang of metal against flesh. The dormitory erupted into chaos as the 'O's made their move, their brutality spilling into the space with the force of a tsunami.

Yumi squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block it all out, but the sounds were relentless. The grunts of effort, the sickening thuds of bodies hitting the floor, the desperate cries for help that went unanswered — each noise pierced through her like shards of glass. The metallic tang of blood filled the air, though she hadn't seen it yet. She didn't need to. The screams were enough.

Under the bed, the world narrowed to the thin sliver of space around her. The cool concrete of the floor pressed against her back, grounding her in the only way it could. She pressed her palms harder against her ears, her fingers curling into her hair as though she could physically shield herself from the violence unfolding just feet away. Her breathing was shallow, her chest rising and falling in quick, panicked bursts that she struggled to control.

The shadows shifted around her, and through the narrow gap beneath the bunk, Yumi saw the flash of movement. Feet ran past, their owners' shoes skidding against the smooth floor as they fled from unseen pursuers. One figure fell, a body crashing to the ground with a bone-jarring thud. The sound of a weapon striking flesh followed immediately, the dull, wet impact reverberating through the air.

The dormitory was no longer a place of rest but a war zone, the boundaries between predator and prey dissolving in the chaos. The 'O's moved with calculated aggression, their advantage in numbers and weapons evident in the ferocity of their attacks. The weaker participants, the 'X's who had voted against continuing, were hunted down systematically, their screams marking their locations like flares in the dark.

Yumi's body trembled uncontrollably, her muscles locked in a vice of fear. The noise was too loud, the darkness too suffocating. Each breath felt like it might betray her, might draw attention to her hiding spot. The thought sent another wave of panic crashing over her, and she bit down hard on her lip to stifle the whimper that threatened to escape.

Her eyes opened involuntarily, she caught the glint of something metallic. A broken bottle. It gleamed briefly as its wielder passed, the weapon catching the dim light of the flickering bulbs. Her heart stopped, her pulse thundering in her ears as she pressed herself further into the shadows, willing herself to become invisible.

The figure paused, their heavy breathing audible even over the chaos. They crouched slightly, their head turning as if searching for movement. Yumi froze, her entire body rigid, her lungs burning as she held her breath.

The moment stretched endlessly, her mind racing with all the ways this could end. But then, mercifully, the figure moved on, their footsteps fading into the cacophony of the room.

She exhaled shakily, her body sagging with relief even as the fear remained a tight knot in her chest. She didn't have time to process it before another sound drew her attention — a crash, loud and sudden, followed by a guttural scream that ended abruptly.

Somewhere in the dormitory, someone was crying, their sobs cutting through the chaos like a desperate plea. It was a small, broken sound, raw with the kind of anguish that twisted Yumi's stomach into knots. She hated this. She hated every second of it. The rules of the game had always been cruel, but this — this was something else entirely. This was savagery, unleashed and unchecked, and there was no escaping it.

Time lost meaning in the dark. Seconds stretched into minutes, minutes into an eternity. Yumi's world was reduced to the sounds of violence and her own fragile breaths. She couldn't see the faces of those around her, couldn't even tell who was winning this brutal fight.

A sudden, jarring impact against the bunk above her made her flinch violently, her head jerking upward in reflex. The metal frame groaned under the weight of whatever had struck it, and she bit down hard on her lip to keep from crying out. Her eyes darted to the edge of the bed, half-expecting to see a hand reaching for her. But there was nothing, only the faint echo of footsteps retreating once more.

She wanted to vanish, to dissolve into the darkness and escape this nightmare.

Instinctively, her head turned to the left, her gaze drawn like a magnet. Myung-gi was there. His face emerged from the shadows like a lighthouse cutting through a storm — steady, focused, and watchful.

Her nerves eased just a fraction at the sight of him. He was safe. But then he moved, lifting his hand in a deliberate gesture, his fingers folding and unfolding in rhythm. Breathe in, breathe out. One. Breathe in, breathe out. Two. The motion was subtle, almost imperceptible in the flickering light, but Yumi caught it. She nodded faintly, her trembling fingers mirroring his count as she joined him. They continued together, their breaths aligning like the synchronized ticking of twin clocks. Three. Four. Five.

By the time they reached ten, the iron grip of panic had loosened its hold. Yumi's chest expanded with the steady rhythm of air flowing in and out of her lungs. Myung-gi's gestures stilled, his eyes remaining locked on hers, offering a kind of solace she hadn't known she needed.

It was just like the other night, when he had whispered to her in the dim glow of their bunks: "It helps if you count your breaths."

Closing her eyes now, Yumi let the sensory overload around her fade into a distant hum. The flickering of the lights, the chaos of the brawl, and the screams that punctuated the darkness all blurred into the periphery of her mind. She focused instead on the simple act of breathing. The sensation of air entering her nostrils was cool and sharp, like the first sip of water after hours of thirst. It traveled down her throat, expanding her chest, filling her lungs to capacity before releasing it all in a slow, measured exhale.

With each breath, she became acutely aware of her body in a way that felt almost otherworldly. She could feel the intricate dance of her cells as they worked to keep her alive — oxygen exchanging for carbon dioxide, blood coursing through her veins with a purpose that felt both ancient and profound. The sharp edges of her fear began to dull, replaced by a sense of grounding that tethered her to the present moment.

And yet, as her breaths deepened and steadied, something new began to surface — a memory, forming at the edges of her consciousness like the first tendrils of light before dawn.

Yunho used to tease her about how she would lose everything. About how, in her own way, she'd raised losing things to the level of an art form. Homework, sunglasses, pens, shoelaces, socks — each item vanishing into the ether of her carelessness.

He wasn't wrong either. Yumi had a tendency to misplace things. Her parents would shake their heads, half amused and half exasperated, as she fumbled through her bag, muttering curses under her breath, the faint echo of embarrassment rising in her cheeks like heat from asphalt in summer.

Yumi didn't just lose things; she seemed to untether them from her orbit, sending them spinning into some cosmic lost-and-found. It wasn't neglect, not really, but more a kind of absentminded rebellion against possession itself. As though things — physical things, tangible and mundane — were never meant to stay with her.

It was as if she were determined to unroot her own sense of order from the world, trailing pieces of herself wherever she went, scattering them like breadcrumbs that no one ever picked up.

Once, on their way to her high school graduation, she'd lost the ticket stub for the parking lot where they had left their car. It was typical, of course, but it wasn't entirely her fault. The ticket stub was small, almost weightless, and had felt unimportant when she slipped it into the pocket of her gown.

Her father had insisted on driving that evening. Out of all of them, he was the only one who enjoyed the responsibility of being behind the wheel. Not because he was particularly responsible, but because he loved the control. He liked being the one with the keys, the one with the map, the one who could decide when and where they would stop.

Yumi remembered the graduation as a blur of lights and celebrations, the kind of noise that made your bones vibrate and your throat ache from screaming. The auditorium smelled of freshly printed programs and stale air conditioning. The gowns were an awkward shade of maroon, stiff and unflattering, making every graduate look like a monk from some forgotten sect. She'd taken her place in line, her heart rattling against her ribcage like a marble in a tin can. The ceremony itself was nothing special — speeches dragged on, punctuated by sporadic applause, until finally the students were called to the stage one by one.

Her parents sat shoulder to shoulder with Yunho, who had taken the middle seat as if by silent agreement. Every so often, she'd glance over at Yunho, his head tilted back, eyes half-closed. He looked utterly at ease, as if the world outside didn't exist, as if time itself had stopped just for him. His hand rested on the armrest, fingers tapping out a rhythm she couldn't hear.

When the crowd erupted into applause for the next graduate, Yunho had clapped half-heartedly, more out of weakness than enthusiasm. Yumi envied his calmness. She envied the way he could let moments pass through him without gripping them too tightly.

After the ceremony, the family spilled out of the venue like marbles from a jar, drunk on pride and laughter. The air was thick with the scent of cut grass and diesel exhaust. Yumi's diploma was still clutched in her hand, the edges curling slightly from the pressure of her fingers. Her parents had insisted on taking a photo by the car, something about capturing the moment before it dissolved into memory. But when they reached the parking lot, they realized that Yumi had lost the ticket stub.

Yunho had laughed, a low, throaty sound that somehow cut through the chaotic swirl of conversations and the distant hum of car engines. It wasn't a mean laugh, not the sharp-edged kind meant to wound. It was warm and teasing, the kind that came from someone who knew you so well that even your flaws became endearing. His head tipped back slightly, his face lit up in that easy, unguarded way he had, and the sound seemed to ripple through the thick summer air, carrying a strange mixture of affection and inevitability.

"Of course you lost it," He said, shaking his head with exaggerated incredulity. His eyes crinkled at the corners, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand shared memories — of misplaced house keys, forgotten passwords, notebooks left behind on park benches. "You always lose everything."

Yumi flushed under the weight of his words, not because they were harsh but because they were true. There was no malice there, no edge of frustration, just the kind of teasing that slipped so easily from his mouth. And yet, it hit her somewhere tender. She forced a laugh, the sound shaky and brittle, like a porcelain cup threatening to crack under the slightest pressure.

But inside, her chest tightened. It wasn't just the ticket stub; it was everything. The feeling of always being slightly out of sync with the world, always trailing pieces of herself like breadcrumbs, only to realize that no one was following.

Suddenly, the memory began to shift. The parking lot transformed under her feet, the asphalt stretching impossibly wide, as if the boundaries of the world had been pulled away, leaving her stranded in an endless gray expanse. Yunho was standing there, in the exact spot where they had stood that night after her graduation. He looked just as she remembered him, but sharper, more vivid, like an image pulled into too much focus.

He was wearing the same clothes from that night — the dark jeans he always favored, the faded sweater, and the leather jacket slung casually over one shoulder. His hair was slightly mussed, the way it always was when he didn't bother with a comb, and his face carried that familiar, crooked grin, the one that lived somewhere between mischief and tenderness.

But in this memory — or dream, or whatever this was — something was different. He was holding a bouquet of flowers. Lilacs. Their pale, purple petals drooped delicately in his hands, fragile and soft, as if they had been plucked too soon from the bush. The stems were uneven, some jagged as if snapped hastily, and a few loose blossoms trailed down, scattered at his feet.

The scent of them reached her even from a distance. It was faint but persistent, sweet and cloying in a way that clung to the back of her throat. She stared at him, her feet rooted to the ground, the asphalt suddenly feeling sticky and heavy beneath her. She wanted to move, to call out to him, to ask him why he had flowers, where he had gotten them, why he was here.

Her mouth opened, but no sound came.

Yunho didn't seem to notice. He stood there with the lilacs cradled in his hands, his expression calm, almost serene. The smile he wore didn't falter; it didn't waver. It was as if he were waiting for her to speak, waiting for her to do something. The streetlights flickered overhead, casting strange, elongated shadows across the parking lot.

"Look, Mimi," he said, his voice light, almost teasing. "Now you've lost me too."

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the dream shattered.

Yumi's eyes flew open, her heart hammering in her chest, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The sharp, insistent pull at her ankle.

Someone was dragging her.

The rough grip yanked her out from under the bed, the cold linoleum scraping against her skin. The memory of Yunho's voice, of his lilacs and his shadowed smile, dissolved into the present moment, leaving behind a hollow ache in her chest. She struggled instinctively, kicking out with her free leg, her fingers clawing at the floor in a desperate attempt to stop the inevitable.

But the grip only tightened.

Yumi's scream joined the cacophony of terror that filled the dormitory, a fractured note lost in the symphony of chaos. The hands dragging her were relentless, scraping her knees and palms against the unforgiving linoleum. The edges of her vision blurred, panic threatening to swallow her whole as she kicked and thrashed, her desperate movements futile against the grip that pulled her closer to danger.

And then, abruptly, the dragging stopped.

She lay on her back, her chest heaving, the breath stolen from her lungs as she scrambled to sit up. Her head swam, the flickering light overhead casting shadows that seemed alive, writhing and shifting like specters in the periphery of her vision. When she looked up, her stomach dropped.

Three figures loomed over her, their faces obscured by the strobe-like chaos of the dormitory's broken lights. The one in the center stepped forward, and as the light caught her face, Yumi's blood ran cold.

It was Seon-nyeo.

Her hair was wild, a tangled mane framing her face, her eyes wide and glassy with a manic intensity that sent a shiver down Yumi's spine. Her lips were curled into a twisted smile, and in her hand, she held a broken glass bottle, the jagged edges glinting menacingly in the fractured light. Dried blood stained her knuckles, a macabre testament to the violence she had already wrought.

"Yumi," Seon-nyeo cooed, her voice a sing-song melody that made Yumi's stomach churn. "Oh, poor, poor Yumi. You're such a silly little thing, crawling and writhing, trying so hard to escape the inevitable. Do you know how pathetic you look right now?"

Yumi's heart pounded as she tried to scramble backward, but her body refused to cooperate. Her limbs felt sluggish, weighed down by exhaustion and terror.

Seon-nyeo tilted her head, her smile never faltering. "Do you hear them, Yumi? The voices? They're laughing at you. They've been laughing all night. They've told me your secrets, whispered them to me like old friends. Did you know that? The voices, the stars, they know everything about you. Everything you've lost. Everything you'll lose."

Yumi swallowed hard, her throat dry and raw. "You're insane," she managed to choke out, her voice trembling.

Seon-nyeo let out a low, guttural chuckle, her shoulders shaking with the force of it. "Oh, yes. Yes, I am," she said, her tone shifting to something darker, almost reverent. "But don't you see? Insanity is just clarity. It's the light at the end of the tunnel, the truth that burns so bright it blinds you. And you — you're blind, aren't you? Blind to the way the world has always been waiting to consume you."

She stepped closer, her bare feet splashing in the blood pooling around them. She raised the broken bottle, turning it in her hand as though it were a sacred relic. The jagged edges caught the light, casting fragmented, dancing reflections on the walls.

Yumi's breath hitched. She tried to move, to crawl away, but Seon-nyeo reached down and grabbed her by the hair, yanking her head back. The pain was sharp, blinding, as Seon-nyeo leaned in close, her lips brushing against Yumi's ear.

"They showed me, you know," she hissed, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "They showed me what waits for you in the dark. It's beautiful. So beautiful it will tear you apart. You'll scream and scream, and no one will hear you — not the stars, not the sky, not even the gods. You'll be nothing, Yumi. Just another thread in the tapestry, unraveling, unraveling, unraveling."

Jun-hee's hands clenched so tightly that her knuckles had gone pale. Hyun-ju was beside her, her breathing rapid and uneven, her wide eyes fixed on the chaos unraveling just beyond their narrow sanctuary. The screams were loud — too loud — and among them, and Jun-hee thought she heard Yumi's voice, sharp and terrified.

Hyun-ju moved first. Her body tensed, and her fingers dug into the floor as she started to crawl out from the shadows. Her jaw was set, her dark hair falling loose around her face, and there was a determination in her that Jun-hee both admired and feared.

But before Hyun-ju could fully emerge, a hand darted out from under the adjacent bunk. Gi-hun, his face partially illuminated by the flickering overhead light, shook his head sharply. His eyes, wild and bloodshot, locked onto Hyun-ju, and he raised one finger to his lips in a frantic shushing gesture.

Hyun-ju froze, her breath hitching. Jun-hee could see the conflict etched into every line of her face. "She's going to die out there," Hyun-ju hissed, her voice barely audible, but trembling with restrained fury. "We can't just sit here."

Jun-hee swallowed hard. Her throat felt dry, constricted, as if the air itself had turned against her. Yumi's scream rang out again, and something inside Jun-hee twisted, an ache that felt like it might split her open. Yumi. The girl who had pulled her from the brink more times than she could count. The girl who had risked everything for her, even when she had no reason to.

Now, Jun-hee's chest tightened as the weight of the moment pressed down on her. She owed Yumi everything. And yet, she couldn't seem to move. Her body refused to obey, pinned down by the paralyzing grip of fear. She turned her head slightly, her gaze meeting Hyun-ju's. "We can't just leave her," she whispered, her voice cracking. "She's the reason I'm still alive."

Hyun-ju's jaw clenched. "Then let's go."

But Gi-hun moved again, his other hand darting out to block Hyun-ju's path. His expression was dark, almost unreadable, but his eyes... His eyes were sharp, piercing, filled with a silent command that rooted them both in place. Slowly, he pointed upward, toward the ceiling where the guards' cameras were mounted, their cold, mechanical eyes sweeping the room. Then, he gestured toward the chaos beyond the beds, where figures clashed in a frenzy of violence. His message was clear: If you go out there, you won't make it back.

Jun-hee felt her resolve waver, the logic of Gi-hun's warning pressing against her frantic need to act. She turned back to Hyun-ju, who now sat frozen, her hands balled into fists, her breath coming in shallow gasps. "What do we do?" Hyun-ju whispered, her voice breaking. "How can we just... let this happen?"

Jun-hee closed her eyes, the weight of the decision crushing her. She wanted to tell Hyun-ju to run, to save Yumi the way Yumi had saved her. But the fear... the fear was a living thing, a predator that coiled around her chest, sinking its claws deeper with every passing second. The screams outside grew louder, more desperate, and Jun-hee felt a tear slip down her cheek.

"She wouldn't want us to die," Jun-hee murmured, her voice trembling. "She... she wouldn't."

But even as she said the words, they felt hollow, like a betrayal. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms, trying to anchor herself against the storm of guilt and helplessness. In the flickering light, she caught Gi-hun's gaze again. He gave a single, almost imperceptible nod, as if to say, You're doing the right thing.

Was she? Was this the right thing? Or was it cowardice dressed up as survival? The questions churned inside her, gnawing at her like rats in the dark. She opened her eyes and looked at Hyun-ju, who still seemed poised on the edge of action, her body trembling with suppressed energy.

Hyun-ju's tears shone like fragmented stars in the dim light, clinging to her lashes but refusing to fall, as if she were holding them back by sheer force of will. Jun-hee's gaze flicked to her, heart twisting at the sight. Young-mi was still fresh in their memory, her absence a weight they carried with them everywhere, a hollowed-out place in their fragile circle of hope. Hyun-ju had whispered her name in the dark when she thought no one was listening. Now, Jun-hee could see that same name lingering in the set of her jaw, the quiver of her lips, the way her hands clenched into fists against her knees.

She remembered the way Yumi had pulled her to her feet after she'd almost fallen during the chaos of their first game, she remembered Yumi's arm around her, offering what little warmth she could spare. Yumi hadn't stayed hidden then. Yumi hadn't chosen safety over humanity. How could Jun-hee do any less?

Her hand dropped to her belly, instinctive and grounding. The child inside her was a faint presence, a flutter of life that was both a promise and a burden. The tiniest of kicks met her palm, a whisper of existence that begged her to survive, to endure, to protect. The air seemed to thicken around her, her breaths shallow and uneven as her heart warred with itself.

Was it selfish to act? Was it cowardly not to?

She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply, the act both a comfort and a torment. Her child's life depended on her choices. But so did Yumi's. And wasn't Yumi someone else's child too? The thought struck her like a blow, sharp and unrelenting.

She opened her eyes, glancing again at Hyun-ju, who was still poised on the edge of motion, her body taut as a bowstring. The unshed tears in her eyes glistened like tiny shards of glass, threatening to shatter at any moment.

Jun-hee's resolve tightened, a coil winding itself in her chest. Her hand shifted, pressing more firmly against her belly as if to reassure her child, though she wasn't sure if it was for them or for herself. She took another breath, deeper this time, feeling it fill her lungs, and prepared to move. The plan began to form in her mind — not fully, but enough. She could —

The laughter — the shrill, unhinged sound of Seon-nyeo's madness — cut off abruptly as a dark blur slammed into her, sending her sprawling to the blood-streaked floor. It happened so fast that Yumi barely registered the shift, her body still trembling with adrenaline and her vision blurred by tears.

For a moment, Yumi thought it had been the hand of God — some divine intervention come to save her from the woman's unhinged fury.

Myung-gi moved like a force of nature, a chaotic storm of fury and precision. His body twisted as he brought his weight down on Seon-nyeo, pinning her to the ground. The shattered glass bottle she'd clutched went skittering across the floor, spinning like a top before coming to rest in a puddle of blood.

Seon-nyeo screeched, her voice a guttural, animalistic sound that didn't seem human. She clawed at Myung-gi's face, her nails raking across his skin, but he didn't flinch. She writhed beneath him, her limbs flailing like a marionette on broken strings. "You think you can stop this?" she hissed, her voice dripping with venom. "You think you can stop me? The blood has been written!"

Myung-gi flinched at her words, his body visibly recoiling. He wasn't ready for this — not again, not after Thanos. His hands trembled at his sides, clenching and unclenching as if trying to shake off the phantom weight of what he had already done.

"You can't save her," she whispered, her voice low and guttural, like the growl of a beast. "You can't save anyone. We're all already dead."

"Shut up," Myung-gi growled, his voice trembling with anger.

With a surge of adrenaline, Yumi threw herself at Seon-nyeo, knocking her sideways with all the strength she could muster. The three of them hit the floor in a tangled heap, but Yumi didn't stop. She clawed at Seon-nyeo's arms, her nails digging into the woman's skin as she fought to pull her off Myung-gi.

She Yumi screamed, her voice raw and desperate.

Seon-nyeo laughed again, a horrible, choking sound that bubbled up from her throat. "You can't save him," she whispered, even as Yumi wrestled her to the ground. "You're just pawns, little lambs. Just —"

Yumi's fist connected with her face, cutting her off mid-sentence. The impact sent a shockwave up Yumi's arm, and Seon-nyeo's head snapped back, her body going slack for a moment.

Then, the sound of the gunshot tore through the room, shattering what little order had remained. The masked guards had stormed in moments after Yumi knocked Seon-nyeo down, their rifles pointed skyward as they fired into the ceiling, raining plaster and dust onto the chaos below. Yumi staggered back at the deafening noise, her ears ringing and her body instinctively recoiling from the violence.

Myung-gi's arm tightened around her, steadying her against his chest. His other hand found hers, calloused and warm, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a small, grounding motion. She focused on that gentle pressure, the quiet insistence of it, as the guards began barking orders to the room.

"Stay back!" one of them shouted, his voice muffled but forceful through the mask.

The guards spread out in a line, their black uniforms stark against the pale walls, their movements cold and methodical. Some of them knelt beside the bodies scattered across the floor, checking for signs of life.

From her position, half-hidden behind Myung-gi and the edge of a bunk bed, she noticed something unusual. The 'O' players, the ones who had lain down as part of the ruse, weren't all as lifeless as they seemed. She saw a hand twitch here, a leg shift there — small, imperceptible movements unless you were looking for them.

And then, all at once, they sprang into action.

The first guard didn't even have time to react. One of the 'O's lunged at him from the floor, knocking the rifle from his hands and driving him back into the wall. The impact sent a loud crack through the room, and chaos erupted.

Another 'O' tackled a second guard, wrestling his gun away in a flurry of limbs and muffled grunts. Shots rang out, sharp and jarring, as more of the players joined the fray.

Yumi's heart stopped as she saw one of her friends grab hold of a guard's arm and twist it sharply, forcing him to drop his weapon. She snatched up the gun with a fluidity that spoke of desperation more than skill and fired a wild shot into the air.

The guard fell back, clutching his side, and Hyun-ju turned the weapon on another masked man.

Gunfire erupted from every corner of the room, a cacophony of violence that made Yumi's head spin. She clung to Myung-gi, her fingers digging into his shirt as they pressed themselves flat against the cold wall.

The balance of power shifting with each passing second.

Each shot was a jolt to the senses, a hammering reminder of the danger pressing in from every corner of the room. The acrid scent of gunpowder burned in Yumi's nose, mingling with the sharp metallic tang of blood and sweat, an alchemy of violence that clung to her skin. The room swirled with motion and sound, a maelstrom of bodies colliding, boots scuffling, screams and shouts splintering the air.

Yumi and Myung-gi pressed themselves against the cold steel of the bunk bed, their backs flush with the wall. It felt like the only solid thing in a world dissolving into chaos. Myung-gi's arms were around her, one hand cradling her head, the other covering her ear. His palm was rough, calloused, yet strangely gentle in its pressure. Yumi's hands clamped over his, as if layering their defenses against the violence, as if two sets of hands could block out the cacophony. The sound still seeped through, muffled but inescapable, the percussive blasts a violent reminder that they were trapped in the heart of something monstrous.

Her breath came in shallow gasps, the rise and fall of her chest pressing against Myung-gi's. The closeness was a lifeline, their bodies a shared fortress against the madness unraveling around them. She could feel the frantic beat of his heart through the thin fabric of his shirt, a relentless rhythm that matched her own. It was the only sound she could focus on, steady despite its rapidity, anchoring her as the world collapsed.

The tension was suffocating, as if the very air were conspiring against them, thickened by fear and adrenaline. Every gunshot sent a shiver through Yumi's frame, her muscles tensing involuntarily with each crack of sound.

Myung-gi's arms tightened around her in response, his grip protective, almost desperate. She didn't have to see his face to know his jaw was clenched, his eyes scanning the chaos for any sign of a threat moving closer.

their position offered scant protection, just a sliver of shadow in the midst of the frenzy. Yumi could see flashes of movement: bodies darting past, the shine of a rifle catching the light, the jerky collapse of a guard as he was struck down by one of the 'O's.

The guards, once so dominant, now seemed to be crumbling under the sheer ferocity of the players, their once orderly formation splintering into scattered groups. But even in their desperation, they remained dangerous, their bullets flying indiscriminately, cutting through air and flesh alike.

A sudden scream tore through the din, high-pitched and wrenching, and Yumi flinched, her fingers tightening over Myung-gi's. She felt the tremor that ran through him, saw the way his shoulders tensed as if absorbing the sound, but he didn't let go. His hands remained steady, shielding her, a silent promise that he wouldn't let anything happen to her — not while he was still breathing.

She pressed her cheek against his shoulder, seeking a sliver of comfort in the chaos. The fabric of his shirt was rough against her skin. She could feel the curve of his collarbone beneath the thin layer of cloth, the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. It was an intimacy born of survival, raw and unfiltered, stripped of pretense.

They were two bodies clinging to each other in the eye of the storm, their shared warmth a fragile barrier against the cold indifference of death.

The monotone voice on the PA system echoed through the room, its eerie detachment cutting through the chaos like a knife. "Retreat. Retreat." The words repeated, hollow and final, as though the faceless voice was speaking not just to the guards but to the very air, commanding the violence to recede. It was an order without urgency, clinical and distant, as if the carnage below were no more than a broken mechanism to be shut down and reset.

Doors at the far end of the dormitory groaned as they began to slide closed, their heavy metal grinding against itself in an agonizingly slow motion. The guards who remained surged forward, desperate to escape. Their polished boots thudded against the floor in unison, a frantic rhythm that spoke of panic, not discipline.

One by one, they disappeared through the narrowing gap until only one was left. His mask was different — a square where others had worn triangles. The doors sealed shut with a deafening clang, and he was left alone, his back pressed to the cold steel.

Jung-bae advanced on the isolated guard. The black barrel of the weapon glinted under the fluorescent lights, its menace undeniable. The square-masked man dropped to his knees, his hands slowly rising to his head in a gesture of surrender. The quiet that followed was suffocating, broken only by the ragged breaths of those who had survived the chaos. The room hung suspended in the aftermath, the violence retreating but leaving its shadow behind.

Myung-gi's hands loosened their grip on Yumi. He withdrew slowly, his palms sliding away from her ears, his touch lingering for just a moment longer than necessary. The absence of his hands left her exposed, her senses abruptly assaulted by the raw noise and light of the room. She turned to him, their eyes meeting in the light. His gaze was heavy, weighted with something that neither of them could name but both felt acutely. There was a question in his eyes, unspoken but loud: Are you alright? And in her own, an answer just as silent: I don't know.

For a moment, they stayed like that, their breaths synchronized, the world around them reduced to a faint hum. But the stillness couldn't last. Gi-hun's voice cut through the tension, rising above the quiet murmurs and shifting bodies. "Everyone! Don't be afraid, it's all over. It's safe now, come on down."

He stood in the center of the dormitory, a rifle slung diagonally across his body like a sash, its weight giving him an air of authority. His arms were spread wide, a gesture meant to convey safety, reassurance. "It's okay," he called again, his voice calm but firm. "Come on." His presence was magnetic, pulling people toward him like a tide. Slowly, hesitantly, figures began to emerge from their hiding places, their movements tentative and uncertain.

From the corner of the room, Hyun-ju appeared, her rifle strapped across her chest, its stock gleaming dully. Her steps quickened as she approached Yumi, and without hesitation, she pulled the girl into a fierce embrace. Yumi stiffened at the sudden contact, the cool hardness of the rifle pressing awkwardly against her ribs, its weight a jarring contrast to the warmth of Hyun-ju's arms. The strap of the gun dug into her shoulder, an uncomfortable reminder of the weapon's presence, of the violence that had preceded this moment of tenderness.

"I heard you," Hyun-ju whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "I'm sorry I didn't come to help you. I'm so sorry." Her words were a rush, spilling out in a torrent of guilt and relief. She held Yumi tightly, as if trying to make up for her earlier absence, as if her embrace could erase the fear and pain of the last few minutes.

Yumi didn't respond at first. Her mind was too scattered, her body too numb to process the emotions flooding her. She was hyper-aware of the rough fabric of Hyun-ju's jacket against her cheek, the faint smell of gun oil clinging to her. The weight of the rifle across Hyun-ju's chest pressed against her own, a cold, unyielding barrier between them. It was a strange juxtaposition: the warmth of Hyun-ju's body, the comfort of her voice, and the harsh reminder of the violence that had brought them to this point.

From a few feet away, Myung-gi stood awkwardly, his hands hanging at his sides. He watched the two women with an expression that was difficult to read — a mixture of relief, unease, and something softer, more vulnerable.

His gaze lingered on Yumi, the line of his jaw tightening as if he were holding something back. For a moment, he shifted his weight, as if to step forward, but he stopped himself. Instead, he stayed where he was, his presence a silent shadow on the edge of their reunion.

Yumi could still feel Hyun-ju's warmth lingering on her shoulders, even as her friend's grip loosened. Hyun-ju turned her head slightly, catching Myung-gi's eye. Her nod was subtle but loaded, a silent acknowledgment of what he had done. Gratitude shimmered briefly in her gaze before she turned away, making her way toward Gi-hun, who had begun to speak.

Yumi stood motionless, her body caught in the strange limbo between relief and exhaustion. Myung-gi hadn't moved either, his posture stiff but not rigid, like he was holding himself together with fraying threads. The space between them felt both impossibly vast and suffocatingly small.

Gi-hun's voice carried across the room, filled with a grim determination that didn't waver.

"Here's the deal," he began, his tone commanding attention. "We're gonna head up that staircase, up to where these masked men run this whole place. And we'll capture the people who captured us. We're gonna put an end to it all. They're gonna pay for everything they've put us through."

The words hung in the air, heavy and raw, each syllable a spark ready to ignite something volatile in the hearts of the players. Gi-hun's voice softened slightly, but it didn't lose its edge. "So please, if any of you know how to use a gun and wanna help take out these fuckers, step forward right now."

The room seemed to hold its breath. A few players shuffled forward, their steps hesitant but resolute, their faces a mix of anger and fear. Myung-gi remained still, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

He could feel Yumi's gaze on him, a soft yet unrelenting weight pressing into his skin. He didn't dare look at her, not yet. His thoughts churned, a violent storm of conflicting emotions.

The image of Thanos flashed in his mind like a vivid photograph. He could still feel the weight of the body in his arms, the warmth of blood seeping through his fingers. His stomach churned at the memory, but something else stirred alongside the revulsion. A dark, primal satisfaction had buried itself deep within him, a part of him he didn't want to acknowledge.

And now, Gi-hun's plan was pulling at that same thread. The idea of rising up, of fighting back, of making those who had orchestrated this nightmare pay for their sins — it was intoxicating. Myung-gi's chest tightened as he considered it.

He stole a glance at Yumi. Her face was pale, her eyes wide but steady as they met his. The new bruise on her cheek stood out starkly against her skin, a cruel reminder of how close she had come to being one of the lifeless bodies strewn across the floor. Something twisted inside him, a knot of guilt and protectiveness that felt too big to contain.

Could he leave her? Could he walk away from her now, even if it was to fight for something larger than them both? His body leaned slightly forward, as though his feet had already made the decision for him, but his gaze lingered on hers, searching for something. Permission. Protest. Anything to anchor him, to pull him back.

But Yumi didn't speak. She stood there, her arms wrapped around herself, as if trying to hold herself together. Her silence was louder than any words she could have said, and it sliced through him like a blade.

Myung-gi's thoughts raced. He wanted to fight. He wanted to tear down the system that had stolen so much from them, that had turned them into animals scrabbling for survival. But the thought of leaving her — of not being there to protect her if something went wrong — was unbearable.

He remembered the way she had clung to him earlier, her hands gripping his like a lifeline. He had felt her trembling, had seen the way her lips quivered as she tried to steady her breathing. She had been so vulnerable, so fragile in that moment, and he had vowed silently to himself that he would keep her safe.

And yet, here he was, teetering on the edge of breaking that promise.

The room around him felt like it was closing in. The voices of the other players blurred into a low hum, indistinct and meaningless. All he could focus on was Yumi — the rise and fall of her chest, the way her hair clung to her face in damp strands, the faint flicker of something in her eyes that he couldn't quite name.

What do you want me to do? he wanted to ask her. Tell me, and I'll do it. Just say something.

But Yumi remained silent.

He turned his attention back to Gi-hun, who was now organizing the players who had stepped forward. Myung-gi's jaw tightened. He could feel the weight of his decision bearing down on him, suffocating and relentless. He had been called a coward one too many times to count in the time being there, so, he took a step forward, his movements slow and deliberate. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a question he couldn't answer.

His fingers twitched at his sides, curling slightly as if to prepare for the weight of a weapon, though none was in his grasp yet. His pulse quickened, the blood rushing to his ears in waves that drowned out the faint murmurs of the room. It felt as though the world had narrowed to this single act — his foot lifting and setting down, inching closer to the point of no return.

And then, he felt it.

A hand. Small and trembling, but warm, impossibly warm, against the bare skin of his forearm. The touch was so sudden, so startling in its gentleness, that it froze him in place. His entire body tensed, every muscle coiling tight, but he didn't turn around.

Her hand lingered, firm despite its quiver, and it was as if the heat from her palm spread through his entire arm, a slow, deliberate burn that seeped into his chest. His heart stuttered, faltered, then roared back to life with a ferocity that made his head swim. The rhythm of it was wild, chaotic, each beat echoing with a question he couldn't bring himself to voice: What are you telling me?

It was as if she had heard him, though he had never spoken the words aloud. Her touch, so simple and yet so profound, became an answer in itself. Myung-gi's mind raced, replaying the silent plea he had sent her only moments before.

The room around them seemed to blur, the chaos fading into the background like a distant hum. The other players, Gi-hun, even the masked man still kneeling at the far end of the room — all of it became secondary, irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was her hand on his arm, the pressure light but unyielding, as if she were tethering him to something solid and real in a world that felt like it was unraveling.

His gaze dropped, almost instinctively, to where her fingers rested against his skin. They were small, delicate, but they carried an unspoken weight that pressed down on him like the heaviest of burdens. He couldn't look away, mesmerized by the way her grip seemed to anchor him, to steady the storm that raged within him.

And then, slowly, he turned his head.

Yumi's face came into view. Her eyes were wide, their dark depths brimming with something he couldn't quite name — fear, perhaps, or desperation, but also something softer, something that made his chest tighten painfully. Her lips were slightly parted, as if she wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

For a moment, time seemed to freeze. Myung-gi's pulse thrummed loudly in his ears, each beat a steady drum that matched the rise and fall of his breathing. He was acutely aware of every sensation — the warmth of her hand, the faint tremor in her fingers, the way her touch seemed to sink into his skin and radiate outward, filling every corner of him with a heat he hadn't realized he was missing.

She didn't need to say anything. Her touch said it all.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry and tight. His hands, which had been clenched at his sides, slowly relaxed. Without thinking, he let one of them rise, hovering just above hers as if to confirm that this moment, this connection, was real. The tremor in her fingers seemed to ease as his hand settled lightly over hers, the rough calluses of his palm brushing against her smoother skin.

The weight of her touch sank deep into him, and he felt his decision solidify like cement hardening around his bones.

Whatever Gi-hun's plan was, whatever vengeance or justice waited at the top of that staircase, it wasn't worth leaving her behind.

Yumi's hand tightened slightly, a barely perceptible movement, but it sent a jolt through him like an electric current. His breath caught, and for a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to close his eyes, to lean into the warmth of her touch and the stillness it brought to his chaotic mind.

When he opened them again, the world around them came rushing back — the murmurs of the other players, the low hum of tension that still crackled in the air. But Myung-gi's focus remained on Yumi, on the way her fingers lingered against his skin as if she were afraid to let go.

He didn't move forward again.

Instead, he stood there, his hand covering hers, his gaze locked on hers, and he knew that he had found his answer.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

im so so so sorry this took forever to update

i started a new job a while ago and this week had been especially hard on me

but writing this ch was such a great stress relief for me!!

wrote more longing scenes from yumi and myunggi of course. but don't worry there's something in store in the next ch for u all

wink wink

not that type of wink tho.... nasty minds all of u!!

i don't think there was much in this ch other than the flashback tbh. btw how did we feel about that one??? do i talk about yunho too much?? is it getting repetitive </3 (੭꒦ິ ^꒦ິ)੭

hyunju and junhee wanting to save yumi but myunggi came to the rescue iktr!!!

also yes, that crazy bitch did in fact go after yumi bc yumi beat the shit out of her. i should've specified but i think it's obvious.

unless it's not then i'll revise it later LOL

next ch WILL be the last one until s3!!! but i have an alternative universe valentine's day special ch in the works for u all!! Ｏ(≧∇≦)Ｏ

much love,