𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐗. moral conscience

THE HAUNTING MELODY OF THE LITTLE girl's voice filled the cavernous space, an eerie lullaby underscored by the mechanical whirring of the carousel platform. "We will go hand in hand ♪ And have fun jumping around ♪ Round and round ♪"

"Ten," announced the cold, clipped voice from the PA system.

Yumi's heart clenched as the room erupted into chaos. Bodies collided, hands clawed, and voices shouted over the cacophony. Players scrambled like rats in a sinking ship, grasping at one another, forming alliances in a matter of seconds. She felt the pressure on her arm before she saw Hyun-ju, her grip firm but not aggressive. Yumi followed without protest, moving instinctively as they gathered with the rest of their group. Geum-ja, Yong-sik, and Young-mi closed ranks quickly, forming their group of five.

"Are you a group of five?"

Player 390, Jung-bae, approached with wide, frantic eyes. The five of them nodded in unison, and in one swift movement, they were corralled into a room. The door shut with a heavy clang, the sound of the latch engaging like the toll of a death knell. Yumi exhaled, leaning back against the cool wall, her pulse still racing from the scramble.

But Myung-gi wasn't with them. She hadn't even turned to look for him.

From his vantage point, Myung-gi watched as Yumi disappeared into the room with her group, her departure as swift as her indifference. The sting of her absence pierced through him like a blade, sharper than he'd anticipated. Last night's conversation replayed in his mind, fragments of words and silences twisting into a knot of anxiety.

Had he said something wrong? Something to push her away? He wanted to believe he hadn't — that maybe she was just caught up in the moment, in the frantic survival instincts these games seemed to bring out in everyone — but the gnawing doubt refused to let go.

She had left him without a second thought. That much was clear.

He clenched his fists, and turned his focus to the task at hand. He couldn't afford to dwell on this now.

The carousel horse's relentless eyes bored into his mind, and Myung-gi moved quickly, scanning for anyone who seemed more composed than panicked. His gaze landed on a group that was nearly complete, their frantic whispers suggesting they needed one more. He hurried over, sliding into place without ceremony.

The group accepted him without hesitation, their collective desperation overriding any suspicions. Among them was Player 044, the woman he only knew as the Shaman. Now, the Shaman stood apart from the others, her gaze fixed on Myung-gi with an intensity that made his skin crawl.

The timer beeped, and the door to their room latched shut. Silence descended like a heavy curtain, broken only by the muffled sounds of pleading outside. Then came the gunshots, sharp and final, echoing through the halls like a grim punctuation. Myung-gi's breath hitched, his hands trembling as he rubbed them together, seeking comfort in the small, repetitive motion.

"You are restless," the Shaman said, his voice low and resonant, cutting through the oppressive silence.

Myung-gi's head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. "What?"

The Shaman tilted his head, his gaze unwavering. "Your mind is a storm. Loud. Chaotic. You cling to something that slips through your fingers."

"You're talking crazy," Myung-gi replied sharply, though his voice lacked conviction.

The Shaman's lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. "You fear you have lost her."

Myung-gi stiffened. "Who?"

"The one who carries your thoughts. The one who looks at you but does not see you." Her words were deliberate, each syllable weighted with an unsettling certainty. "She moves like the tide, drawn away by forces you cannot control."

Myung-gi's chest tightened, the Shaman's cryptic words striking too close to the truth. He wanted to dismiss them, to laugh them off as nonsense, but the woman's piercing gaze held him captive.

"What are you trying to say?" Myung-gi demanded, his voice barely above a whisper.

The Shaman leaned closer, her expression grave. "You will stand at a crossroads. Two paths lie before you. One leads to her salvation; the other to her demise. The choice will be yours to make, but be warned: the games do not reward the faint of heart."

A shiver ran down Myung-gi's spine. "What does that mean? What are you talking about?"

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Myung-gi opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out. The Shaman's eyes bore into him, unyielding, as though daring him to confront the truths he had been avoiding.

The room fell into an uneasy silence, the Shaman's cryptic words leaving a lingering sense of dread. Myung-gi's mind raced, the storm of emotions and unanswered questions threatening to overwhelm him.

Yumi and the others stepped back onto the platform, the faint vibrations beneath her feet a cruel reminder of the game's stakes. She tried to steady her breath, her chest rising and falling with a rhythm she forced to remain calm. The room around her was chaos — players scrambling, eyes darting, bodies pushing against one another in a desperate search for salvation. Yet she moved deliberately, her head held high, her expression an unreadable mask.

The light of the carousel cast an eerie glow across everything, making the bloodstains on the platform gleam like sinister warnings. Yumi's gaze dipped momentarily to the floor, where dark, viscous splotches pooled.

When the platform stopped and the voice on the PA announced, "Four," the chaos reached a fever pitch. The players erupted into motion, shouting, grabbing, clinging to whoever was nearest. Yumi turned to her group: Hyun-ju, Young-mi, Yong-sik, and Geum-ja. Their faces reflected the same realization that struck her — they were five. Someone would have to leave. Someone would have to find another group.

Yumi's heart pounded as she glanced at each of them, her mind racing through possibilities. Geum-ja's frail hands shook as she tried to clasp Yumi's arm, her eyes pleading silently. Hyun-ju and Young-mi exchanged uneasy glances but said nothing. Yong-sik's jaw tightened, his youthful face marred by the lines of stress and fatigue.

"I'll go," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil roiling inside her. She reached out and clasped Geum-ja's trembling hands, giving them a reassuring squeeze. "Stay together. I'll be fine."

"No," Geum-ja protested, her voice cracking. "You shouldn't —"

But Yumi had already stepped back, pushing them gently toward the edge of the platform. "I'll be fine," she repeated, a forced smile tugging at her lips. Before anyone could stop her, she turned and disappeared into the fray.

Her mind raced as she moved through the crowd, scanning faces and counting groups. She spotted Player 001, Young-il, standing awkwardly to the side, his arms outstretched as he called out to passing players. "Let me join you!"

Yumi's hand shot out, grabbing his arm. "I'll join you," she said, her voice breathless. "We'll find two more together."

Young-il's eyes darted to her face, uncertainty flickering in his gaze. Then he nodded. "Okay. Let's go."

They moved as one, searching the crowd for another pair, but before they could reach anyone, Yumi felt her feet leave the ground. She gasped, her body jolted by a sudden force. Someone — a player — had grabbed her, shoving her toward one of the rooms.

The sound of the latch clicking into place was deafening in the silence that followed. Yumi's breath came in ragged gasps as she steadied herself, her hands pressed against the cool metal of the door. The room was suffocatingly small, its walls painted a garish shade of orange that seemed to pulse under the dim light. The air was heavy, and thick with the mingling scents of sweat and fear. She could hear the shallow breathing of the others, each inhale and exhale a reminder of how fragile their survival was.

When Yumi finally turned around, her eyes met his.

Myung-gi was sitting against the far wall, his knees drawn up, his arms resting loosely atop them. His dark eyes locked onto hers, their intensity pinning her in place. They were unrelenting, searching as if he were trying to peel back the layers of her thoughts to understand why she had left him.

The room was suffocatingly small, its orange walls casting an eerie glow that felt more like a prison than a sanctuary. Yumi's breaths were shallow, her chest rising and falling in quick succession as she stared at the man across from her.

For a moment, neither spoke. The sound of their breathing filled the silence, mingling with the faint hum of the machinery outside the room. Yumi's hands trembled slightly, but she quickly stuffed them into her jacket pockets. She couldn't afford to show weakness.

"You're angry with me." His voice broke the stillness, low and tentative like a man stepping onto thin ice. He didn't look at her, his gaze fixed somewhere near the floor.

Yumi's lips pressed into a thin line, and she looked away, her gaze settling on the floor — a floor scuffed and stained with the remnants of those who had come before them. "Angry doesn't cover it," she said, her voice clipped, each word carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid things.

He flinched as if her words had struck him physically. "What did I do?" he asked, his tone laced with genuine confusion. "If I've done something to hurt you —"

Her head snapped up, and the fire in her eyes made him stop mid-sentence. "You don't even know, do you?" she said, her voice rising. "You're sitting there, pretending like you're some innocent bystander like you haven't done anything wrong. But you're here, Myung-gi. You're here in this hellhole, and that alone says everything about who you are."

His brows furrowed, his confusion deepening. "I... I don't understand. Why are you so mad at me for being here? We're all here for a reason. None of us are saints."

She laughed then, a bitter, hollow sound that bounced off the walls and filled the space between them. "You really don't get it, do you?" she said, her voice trembling with anger. "You're here because you're selfish. Because you made a choice to chase after some get-rich-quick scheme, to scam people with your stupid crypto bullshit. And now you're in debt, and you're here to fix your mistakes at someone else's expense."

Myung-gi's face paled. His face twisted, his lips parting as if to protest, but no words came out. He closed his mouth, then opened it again. "That's not true," he said, but his voice lacked conviction.

"Really?" Yumi shot back. She crossed her arms tightly across her chest, her nails digging into her sleeves. "Then why are you here?"

"I..." He looked away, his hands clenching into fists. His voice was barely audible. "I made mistakes, okay? But I..."

"Do you even know what it's like to give up everything for someone else?" Yumi's voice rose again, and she took another step forward, towering over him now. "To sacrifice every piece of yourself just to keep someone else alive? Because I do." Her voice broke, and she quickly turned away, pressing the heel of her hand to her eyes to stem the tears threatening to fall. She took a deep breath before continuing, her voice quieter but no less intense. "My brother was... everything to me."

He blinked, his mouth working soundlessly as he tried to process her words. "Yumi..." he began, but she wasn't finished.

She turned back to him, her eyes glistening but fierce. "And do you know what I did? I worked three jobs. I took out loans. I begged and borrowed and did everything I could, just to pay for his treatments. Just to keep him alive for one more day."

Myung-gi stared at her, his mouth slightly open, but he didn't interrupt. He couldn't. Her words were a force of nature, a storm he had no hope of weathering.

"And in the end," Yumi continued, her voice barely above a whisper now, "he died in my arms. After everything I did, after everything I gave up, it still wasn't enough."

She swallowed hard, her throat tight, and looked away again. "So don't you dare sit there and tell me you care about them. Because if you did, you would be here for a different reason."

"I... I didn't know," Myung-gi said finally, his voice trembling. He looked down at his hands, his fingers twisting together. "I didn't know she was here until I saw her."

She let out a shaky breath, her anger deflating slightly at the genuine regret in his voice. But the frustration, the disappointment, still lingered. "And nothings changed," she said quietly.

He didn't answer. He couldn't. The weight of her words pressed down on him like a physical force, and for the first time, he truly saw himself through her eyes — a selfish, cowardly man who had failed everyone who had ever depended on him.

Her words pierced him, and he felt the truth of them settle deep in his chest. He had spent so long running — from his mistakes, from his responsibilities, from himself. But there was no running here. No escape. Only the cold, harsh reality of his failures.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. The silence was thick, and oppressive, broken only by the faint hum of the shuffling of collecting the eliminated outside. Myung-gi stared at the floor, his mind racing with everything she had said, with everything he had done — or failed to do.

Because she was right. And in their situation, words meant nothing here. Only actions could redeem him. And he had a long way to go.

The mechanical click of the door unlocking reverberated through the orange room, sharp and jarring against the tense silence. Yumi inhaled deeply, steadying herself. She didn't spare Myung-gi another glance as she pushed herself to her feet. Her legs were heavy, her body weighed down by exhaustion, but she moved with purpose.

Yumi stepped out, her eyes scanning the crowd already gathering near the platform. The cacophony of murmured voices and hurried footsteps filled the air, but she was searching for something — someone — specific. Her heart thudded in her chest as she craned her neck, weaving through the throng of contestants.

"Yumi!"

The shout was sharp and familiar, cutting through the noise like a beacon. Yumi turned, and there they were: Hyun-ju, Young-mi, Geum-ja, and Yong-sik. Relief flooded her chest, a warmth that momentarily dulled the cold edges of fear.

Hyun-ju was the first to reach her, her strides long and determined. Before Yumi could react, Hyun-ju's arms wrapped around her in a fierce embrace, pulling her close.

"Don't you ever do that again," Hyun-ju muttered, her voice trembling.

Yumi blinked, startled by the intensity of her grip. For a moment, she stood stiffly, unsure of how to respond. Then, slowly, she relaxed, her arms coming up to return the hug. The scent of Hyun-ju's hair, faintly floral, filled her nostrils, grounding her in the moment.

"I..." Yumi began, but before she could finish, the others joined in. Young-mi's arms slid around her waist, followed by Yong-sik's sturdy grip and Geum-ja's surprisingly strong embrace. Yumi was enveloped in a cocoon of warmth, their collective breaths mingling in the small space between them.

"You scared us," Young-mi murmured against her shoulder, her voice soft but scolding.

"Stupid girl," Geum-ja huffed, though her tone was laced with affection. She pulled back just enough to glare at Yumi, her wrinkled face stern. "Don't you ever do that again, you hear me?" As she spoke, the old woman raised her hand and swatted Yumi's shoulder. It wasn't a gentle tap either; the strength behind it made Yumi wince, her body jerking slightly from the impact.

"Ow!" Yumi exclaimed, her hand flying to her shoulder. "I'm sorry, okay? Just... take it easy."

Geum-ja sniffed, clearly unimpressed. "Sorry doesn't cut it," she said, but there was a glimmer of a smile in her eyes. "You're part of this group. And we don't leave anyone behind. Got it?"

Yumi nodded, her throat tight with emotion. "Got it," she said softly.

They lingered in the embrace for a moment longer before stepping back, the urgency of their situation creeping back into their awareness. The platform loomed ahead, its edges lined with fresh bloodstains that hadn't been there before. Yumi's stomach churned at the sight, but she forced herself to look away. There was no time to dwell on it. The next round was about to begin.

The group moved as one toward the platform, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. When they reached it, they stepped on together, their positions instinctively aligning as if drawn by some unspoken agreement. Yumi's hand brushed against Hyun-ju's, and she took it, squeezing it gently. The others followed suit, their fingers intertwining in a silent show of solidarity.

The platform began to spin, the motion smooth at first but gaining speed with each rotation. Overhead, the speakers crackled to life, and that haunting melody filled the air once more.

The melodic chime of the PA system filled the air again, followed by a calm yet foreboding announcement: "Three."

Yumi barely registered the number. Her mind was racing, her body poised for action. She already knew what she needed to do. She was prepared to leave — to convince Hyun-ju, Young-mi, and Geum-ja to split into pairs and search for a third member each. Her resolve was solid, her plan sound, but before she could speak, Geum-ja's hand shot out and gripped her arm tightly.

It wasn't the kind of touch that invited resistance; it was commanding yet warm, the hold of someone who had weathered storms and wasn't about to let someone else face one alone. Yumi froze, her mouth slightly open, the words she was about to say caught on the tip of her tongue.

Geum-ja's eyes met hers, sharp but brimming with something maternal, something deeply protective. "Don't even think about it," she said, her tone brooking no argument. Her grip tightened slightly, as though to emphasize her point. "Young-mi, Hyun-ju," she called over her shoulder, her voice as steady as the floor beneath them. "You two find someone. Our group is formed."

Hyun-ju and Young-mi nodded. Without another word, the two darted toward a purple door that had just opened, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous space.

The found a room, purple, and closed it behind them with a quiet hiss.

Yumi turned to Geum-ja, her expression a mix of gratitude and guilt. "You didn't have to —"

"Hush, child," Geum-ja interrupted, her tone softening but still firm. She smiled, the kind of smile that carried decades of wisdom and unspoken stories. "I don't know what's going through that head of yours, but you're not going anywhere. Do you understand?"

Yumi's throat tightened, and she could only nod. Words seemed inadequate in the face of such resolute kindness.

Geum-ja's hand slid down to clasp Yumi's, her skin cool and papery against Yumi's own. "You remind me of someone," she said softly, her gaze distant for a moment, as though seeing something Yumi couldn't. "Always ready to sacrifice yourself for others. Always so brave. Too brave, sometimes." She chuckled lightly, the sound tinged with melancholy. "I've seen too many like you in my life. And I'll be damned if I let you throw yourself away like that. Not on my watch."

Yumi's heart swelled, the warmth of Geum-ja's words spreading through her like sunlight breaking through a storm.

But before she could respond, a snort of laughter broke the moment. Yong-sik, who had been standing nearby, crossed his arms and smirked. "Unbelievable," he said, shaking his head in mock indignation. "She gets the loving speeches, and I get yelled at for choosing 'O'."

Yumi couldn't help it; she laughed. The sound came out unbidden, surprising even herself. It was a genuine laugh, light and unrestrained, something she hadn't felt in far too long.

Geum-ja turned to her son, her expression shifting to one of exasperation. "Yah! You little brat! Stop running your mouth." She raised her hand and smacked his arm, not hard but enough to make him flinch and yelp in exaggerated pain.

"Okay, okay!" Yong-sik said, rubbing his arm with a grin. "I'll stop. Just don't disown me in favor of Yumi, yeah?"

Geum-ja shook her head, muttering something under her breath about ungrateful children, but the corners of her mouth twitched upward in a reluctant smile.

The air in the purple room was thick with silence, punctuated only by the muffled sound of gunshots that echoed like thunder from somewhere beyond the walls. The three of them sat or stood in uneasy stillness, each locked in their own private storm of thoughts and fears. The room itself seemed to shrink with every sound, the vibrant purple walls closing in like the velvet folds of a coffin.

Yumi leaned against the wall, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, a defensive barrier she wasn't even aware she had constructed. Her eyebrows furrowed in a near-permanent scowl, her lips pressed into a thin line, betraying her inner turmoil. The fluorescent light above them flickered occasionally, its weak hum an irritating reminder of their claustrophobic situation.

Geum-ja watched Yumi closely.

Another shot rang out, closer this time. None of them flinched, though Yong-sik's knee stopped its incessant movement for a brief moment. Still, none of the three dared to look at the rectangular slit in the middle of the door, the only connection between this small sanctuary and the hell that raged outside.

It was Geum-ja who broke the silence. She turned her gaze from the door to Yumi, her eyes soft but penetrating, as if she could see the weight of the younger woman's thoughts pressing down on her shoulders.

"You look troubled," Geum-ja said, her voice low and soothing, like the creak of an old rocking chair. "Is it the gunshots, or is it something else?"

Yumi sighed, the sound heavy and laden with unspoken words. She didn't move from her position against the wall, but her arms loosened slightly, as if the question had cracked the armor she was trying so hard to maintain.

"It's not the gunshots," Yumi admitted after a long pause. Her voice was tight, restrained, as though she were afraid of what might spill out if she let go completely. "It's... someone I know. A friend."

Geum-ja nodded, as if this were all the explanation she needed. "Sometimes friends can weigh on us more than enemies," she said, her tone thoughtful. "Because we care about them. And caring is a heavy thing, isn't it?"

Yumi tilted her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. "She... was told something. Something she didn't want to hear, but needed to."

Geum-ja waited, her silence an invitation rather than a demand. Yong-sik shifted again, looking as though he wanted to say something but thought better of it. He stayed quiet, letting his mother guide the conversation.

"It was about someone else," Yumi continued, her voice quieter now. "Someone she... she thought she could trust. How he wasn't who she thought he was."

Geum-ja's eyes narrowed slightly, not in judgment but in understanding. "And now your friend is not sure what to feel about him," she said.

Yumi opened her eyes and looked at the older woman, surprised by how easily she had cut through the layers of her vagueness. "Yeah," she admitted. "He's here for all the wrong reasons. Selfish reasons. And there's a girl who he should be protecting, but he's not. That girl doesn't even want anything to do with him, but he... he doesn't even try."

Geum-ja tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful. "And this girl," she asked, "does she blame your friend for how they feel about him?"

"No," Yumi said quickly. "She's not like that. She's... kind. She warned her about him, not to hurt her but to help her. She didn't have to, but she did."

Geum-ja smiled faintly. "She sounds like someone worth holding on to," she said. "But your friend isn't angry at her, is she? She's angry at him."

Yumi hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. She is. He's selfish. He got himself into this mess, and now he's putting someone else at risk because of it. He's..." She trailed off, searching for the right word. "He's everything she always tried not to be."

Geum-ja leaned forward slightly, her hands still resting in her lap. "And yet, she cares for him," she said gently.

Yumi didn't answer right away. Her arms tightened around her chest again, and she looked away, her gaze fixed on a crack in the floor tiles. "She doesn't know why," she said finally. "Maybe because she thought... she thought he was different. Thought he was better."

Geum-ja nodded slowly. "Sometimes we see what we want to see in people," she said. "Not because we're foolish, but because we hope. And hope is a hard thing to let go of, even when it hurts us."

Yumi's eyes flicked back to the older woman, searching her face for something she couldn't quite name. "What do you do?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper. "What do you do when you can't decide whether to hold on or let go?"

Her smile deepened, though it was tinged with sadness. "You ask yourself what matters most," she said. "Not what's easiest, or what feels good in the moment, but what truly matters. To you, to the people you care about. And then you make your choice."

The room fell silent again, the weight of Geum-ja's words settling over them like a heavy blanket. Yong-sik looked at his mother with a mixture of admiration and concern, as though he were seeing her in a new light. Yumi, for her part, felt something inside her shift, a small but significant movement, like the first crack of ice in a frozen river.

Yumi finally broke the quiet, her voice hesitant but carrying an edge of determination. "It's... about me," she admitted, a faint, self-deprecating smile touching her lips.

Geum-ja's face broke into a wide grin, her laugh emerging from her chest like the first note of an old melody. It was rich and warm, almost startling in its sincerity, cutting through the oppressive atmosphere of the room like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. "Of course it's about you," she said, still chuckling. "Did you think I wouldn't notice? You young ones always think your faces are masks, but I've lived long enough to know better. Besides," she added with a sly glance toward Yong-sik, "we've been plotting the next twists in your story."

Yumi blinked, caught off guard. "Plotting?"

Yong-sik, who had been unusually quiet, let out a small chuckle of his own, scratching the back of his neck. "She means we've been speculating, is all," he said, his tone sheepish but affectionate. "Keeps us occupied, you know? Keeps our minds off..." He gestured vaguely toward the door, where the faint echoes of gunfire had gone quiet but still lingered in memory.

Geum-ja waved a hand as if to dismiss his explanation. "Speculating, plotting — what's the difference?" she said. "It's all storytelling, and you, my dear, have given us a most entertaining one."

Yumi couldn't help but laugh, the tension in her chest loosening just slightly. "I must look pretty obvious," she admitted.

Geum-ja laughed again, a sound so full of life it seemed almost defiant in the face of the grim circumstances surrounding them. "Obvious, yes," she said, her eyes twinkling. "But that's not a bad thing. It's a good thing, actually. Means you're human. Means you feel things deeply, and that's not something to be ashamed of."

The laughter lingered between them like an echo, a moment of shared levity that felt almost fragile. But then Yumi's face fell, her brow knitting once more. The laughter faded, replaced by a thoughtful silence.

"I don't think I'm in a position to forgive him," Yumi said finally, her voice quieter now, almost as if she were afraid of being overheard. She didn't say Myung-gi's name, but she didn't have to. They knew, clearly. "But even if I were... I don't know how he'd make it up to me. Or if he even could."

Geum-ja tilted her head slightly, her expression softening into something that was neither pity nor judgment but understanding, pure and simple. She made a small sound — an "ah" of realization, as if Yumi's words had unlocked something within her. "You are a woman who sacrifices for others," she said, her voice carrying the weight of someone who had seen much and understood more. "And he... he is a man who has yet to prove himself worthy of that sacrifice."

Yumi looked at her, her eyes searching, almost pleading for something — clarity, perhaps, or maybe just reassurance. "So what does he have to do?" she asked. "To prove himself, I mean."

Geum-ja smiled, a wistful expression that made her look both older and younger at the same time. "Something heroic," she said simply. "Something truly selfless. Something that shows you he understands what it means to give, not just take. And not because he wants forgiveness, but because he knows it's the right thing to do."

Her words hung in the air, resonating with a kind of quiet power that was hard to describe but impossible to ignore. Yumi felt them settle in her chest, heavy and grounding but also strangely liberating, like a truth she had always known but needed someone else to put into words.

"That's just how you are, Yumi," Geum-ja added, her voice gentle but firm. "You're not the kind of person who forgives easily, and that's not a flaw. It's a strength. It means that when you do forgive, it's because it's deserved. And that makes it all the more meaningful."

Yumi nodded slowly, her mind turning over Geum-ja's words like a puzzle piece, fitting them into the larger picture of her thoughts and feelings. She didn't know if Myung-gi was capable of such heroism, but she realized now that the question wasn't just about him — it was about her, too. About what she needed, what she deserved, and what she was willing to accept.

"Thank you," she said finally, her voice soft but sincere.

Geum-ja reached out and patted her hand, her touch warm and steady. "Don't thank me yet," she said with a wink. "The story isn't over."

The moment the lock on the purple door clicked open, it sent an audible jolt through the three of them. Geum-ja, Yong-sik, and Yumi exchanged a tense glance before stepping into the corridor, where the air was thick with the remnants of gunpowder and fear.

Yumi instinctively inhaled sharply, trying to push away the looming dread that seemed to wrap itself around her chest. The space beyond was as eerily pristine as ever, its artificiality only magnifying the horrors that unfolded here.

The sound of hurried footsteps echoed, and Yumi's heart lifted slightly when she saw two familiar figures racing toward them. Young-mi, her round face flushed with relief, threw her arms around Geum-ja, pulling Hyun-ju along with her.

"Halmeoni! You're okay!" Young-mi cried, her voice trembling but filled with joy.

Hyun-ju joined the embrace, holding Geum-ja tightly. "Thank God," she murmured. She closed her eyes as she hugged them both, the lines on her face softening as if momentarily forgetting the hells-cape they were in. "Goodness! I'm so glad you're okay. You're not hurt at all, are you?"

Young-mi shook her head emphatically. "No. We're fine! We —" She broke off, glancing behind her. "He saved our lives." She gestured toward a man walking hesitantly behind them, his posture stiff with awkwardness. "Mr. 246 here showed up when we were running out of time. Just like prince charming!"

Geum-ja, with a smile that could disarm even the harshest critic, reached for the man's hands. Her touch was warm, maternal, and he froze under her gaze. "Boy, you do look like a prince. Thank you so much for helping these girls."

Player 246 shook his head quickly, his face flushing red. "Not at all. These two saved my life," he said, his voice humble.

Yumi smiled softly as she looked at Young-mi, instinctively patting the younger girl on the head. Young-mi beamed up at her, her wide eyes brimming with admiration, and Yumi couldn't help but feel a surge of affection. She hadn't known the girl for long, but there was something endearing about the way Young-mi clung to Hyun-ju, calling her "unnie" with so much warmth and trust. It reminded Yumi of the little joys of connection amidst chaos. In her eyes, any friend to Hyun-ju was a friend to her as well.

Together, their group moved toward the platform, which once again loomed ominously at the center of the vast, carousel-like room.

Standing next to her, Jun-hee appeared, her face pale but resolute. Without hesitation, Yumi reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing it tightly. Jun-hee turned to her, her lips trembling into a faint smile as she squeezed back.

The platform screeched to a halt, and all eyes turned toward the speaker system. The woman's dispassionate voice echoed through the chamber, slicing through the tension like a knife. "Six," she announced.

There was a brief pause before Gi-hun, Jun-hee's team member, reacted first. "Five women and one man, go!" he shouted urgently, his voice rising over the murmurs of uncertainty.

Yong-sik's protective instincts kicked in immediately as he stepped closer to his mother. "I'm going with my mom!" he declared, his hand tightening around Geum-ja's.

Gi-hun nodded briskly. "Fine. Go now. Don't waste time."

In an instant, the six of them formed a line, their hands clasped together tightly so that none of them would be separated. Geum-ja, Yong-sik, Hyun-ju, Jun-hee, Yumi, and Young-mi marched forward toward whatever awaited them. There was no time for hesitation, no space for doubt. They moved as one, stepping into the unknown with trembling resolve.

Yong-sik's hand trembled as he gripped the cold, metallic handle of the next door. The others stood close behind him, their breaths shallow, hearts pounding like the echo of a drum. He glanced back, his gaze lingering on his mother, Geum-ja, who gave him a reassuring nod despite the fear that shimmered in her eyes.

Taking a deep breath, Yong-sik pushed the door open. Inside, a group of players was already there, their faces twisted in panic and hostility. The sight was jarring — raw fear manifesting as rage.

One man, tall and wiry, with eyes like fire, shouted at them, "Get out! There's no room for you here!" His voice reverberated through the tense air, a sharp command that sent a ripple of alarm through their group.

Geum-ja instinctively pulled Yong-sik back as the group inside surged forward, their desperation palpable. For a moment, no one moved, the tension threatening to snap like an overdrawn bowstring.

Then Hyun-ju, her sharp instincts kicking in, bolted to the next door a ways away, her voice rising above the chaos, "This one's empty! Hurry, get in!"

There was no time to process what had just happened. Hand in hand, they ran toward the next door, their movements frantic but synchronized, like the cogs of a machine desperate to keep turning.

Yumi clutched Young-mi's hand tightly, her grip firm and protective as they sprinted across the platform. But just as they reached the door, Yumi's hand suddenly grasped at nothing but air.

She turned, her stomach dropping as she saw Young-mi sprawled on the ground, her small frame pushed aside amidst the rush.

The world seemed to tilt, time stretching into an agonizingly slow crawl. Hyun-ju, who had already stepped into the room, froze when she noticed. Her eyes darted back to the countdown clock: five seconds. It was ticking down like a bomb about to explode. Panic rippled across her face, but determination took hold. She was sure she could make it. She could reach Young-mi and drag her inside in time.

Hyun-ju moved to step out, but her body collided with someone else's. Before she could process what was happening, both she and Yumi were shoved into the room by another figure's forceful push.

The door clicked shut behind them with a deafening finality. Yumi hit the ground hard, her knees scraping against the smooth floor, her head spinning from the sudden shove. Jun-hee was there in an instant, grabbing her hand and pulling her back to her feet. "Are you okay?" Jun-hee's voice was soft but frantic, her grip firm and grounding.

Yumi nodded numbly, but her attention wasn't on Jun-hee.

It was on the sobbing she could hear behind her, a heart-wrenching sound that clawed at her chest.

She turned, her breath catching in her throat. Through the small rectangular window of the sealed door, two tear-filled eyes stared back at her.

"Unnie..." Young-mi's voice cracked, her sobs choking out the word as she pressed her hands against the glass. Her face was pale, her tears streaking her cheeks like raindrops on a windowpane.

"Y-Young-mi!" Hyun-ju screamed, scrambling toward the door. She pressed her palms against the window, her voice rising into a desperate cry. "No! No, no, no! Young-mi!" But it was too late. The countdown clock hit zero.

There was a deafening gunshot, sharp and merciless, followed by the sickening thud of a body hitting the ground. The room fell into a suffocating silence, broken only by Hyun-ju's anguished screams.

Yumi stood frozen, her body cold as though someone had pulled the life from her veins. Her eyes stayed locked on the door, her mind refusing to register the truth.

Young-mi, the bright, spirited girl who had been calling Hyun-ju "unnie" just moments ago, was now gone.

Hyun-ju collapsed against the door, her fists pounding weakly against the glass as she sobbed. "No! Young-mi!" Her cries echoed in the confined space, raw and unfiltered.

Geum-ja held Yong-sik close, her trembling hands running through his hair as if to reassure him, though her own face was streaked with silent tears. The others stared blankly, their grief and shock paralyzing them. Then, amidst the chaos, Hyun-ju's anguish turned into fury.

She turned on the man who had pushed them in, her hands grabbing the collar of his tracksuit. "It's your fault!" she screamed, her voice trembling with rage and heartbreak. "I could've saved her! She could still be alive!"

The man, Myung-gi, glared down at her, his expression hard and unyielding. "Don't kid yourself," he spat. "If I hadn't pushed you in, you'd be dead too."

Hyun-ju's grip tightened, her voice rising. "You didn't give me a chance! I could've saved her! I could've —"

"There was no time!" Myung-gi cut her off, his voice booming over hers. His anger was a mask, but underneath it lay his own guilt, though he refused to show it. "The moment you stepped out to save her, you'd have died too! And so would everyone else in this room for not having enough people!" He shoved Hyun-ju off him, and she staggered back, her knees almost giving out. "I saved your lives," he said, his voice quieter now but still firm. He turned to the rest of them, his gaze hard and searching. "Isn't that right? Am I wrong? Say something!"

The room was suffocatingly silent until Jun-hee finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "He... is right about that." Her words hung in the air, heavy and painful.

Yong-sik, still clutching his mother's hand, nodded reluctantly. "It's true. There wasn't enough time." The silence returned, but this time it felt heavier.

Myung-gi's gaze landed on Yumi, who hadn't said a word. She didn't even look at him. Instead, she knelt beside Hyun-ju, wrapping her arms around the girl's trembling frame. Hyun-ju buried her face in Yumi's shoulder, her sobs muffled but still gut-wrenching.

Yumi didn't speak, didn't try to reason with anyone. She simply held Hyun-ju, her hand running gently through her hair in a soothing motion. Slowly, a single tear slipped down her cheek, tracing a path down to her chin before falling silently onto the floor.

Her eyes stayed fixed on the door, where Young-mi's face had been moments ago, now replaced by nothing but cold, indifferent steel.

The click of the door echoed like a gunshot in Yumi's ears, snapping the fragile silence of the room into jagged pieces. Her body jerked involuntarily at the sound, the reality of their circumstances piercing through the haze of grief that had settled over her like a shroud.

"Now, the final round will begin," came the voice of the woman announcer, cold and mechanical, devoid of humanity. It sliced through the tension with clinical precision, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

Yumi didn't dare look at Myung-gi. She couldn't. His words from earlier still clung to her, heavy and suffocating, like wet clothes on her skin.

She knew he was right — they hadn't had the time. But knowing the truth did little to dull the sting of what she had witnessed, the searing image of Young-mi crumpling to the floor, her lifeless body splayed out like a broken doll. The ache in her chest deepened, clawing at her ribs as she tried to suppress it.

The group moved as one, sluggish and reluctant, as though the air itself had thickened and was working against them. Each step toward the platform felt like wading through quicksand. The blood on the floor had multiplied, its dark crimson pools spreading like ink across the tiles, a grotesque reminder of those who had already fallen. Yumi forced herself to look away, her gaze fixed firmly on the platform ahead. She couldn't let herself falter. Not now.

The platform loomed before them, its edges slick with the blood of the eliminated. Yumi's stomach churned at the sight, but she stepped forward regardless, her movements mechanical and deliberate.

Jung-bae's voice, sharp and cracking under the pressure, broke through. "What do you think it'll be this time?"

The question hung in the air like smoke, but it was Young-il who answered, his time somber and weighty. "Two."

Jung-bae turned, his brow furrowing. "Why?"

Young-il tilted his head toward the others, speaking with a calm certainty that sent shivers down Yumi's spine. "There are 126 people left. Fifty rooms. There won't be enough for everyone. Only 100 will make it through. The rest..." His voice trailed off, leaving the implication to sink in like a stone in still water.

The air grew colder as the realization dawned.

The rest would die.

Yumi's heart thundered against her ribcage, her instincts kicking in like a trapped animal's. She didn't wait to hear the others argue or deliberate. Her mind worked swiftly, assessing the players nearest to her. To her left stood player 388, Dae-ho, his expression grim but resolute. To her right was Jun-hee, trembling but determined. Beyond her, Myung-gi lingered, his gaze unreadable but his posture tense, coiled like a spring.

Yumi's mind raced, weighing her options as the seconds ticked by. The announcer's voice returned, its icy tone sending shivers down her spine. "Two."

Two.

Yumi's body moved before her mind could catch up. Her hands shot out, shoving Jun-hee with enough force to send her stumbling into Myung-gi. The two collided, Myung-gi's arms instinctively wrapping around Jun-hee to steady her. His eyes snapped up to meet Yumi's, wide with shock and betrayal, but she didn't hesitate.

Grabbing Dae-ho's arm, she pulled him toward the nearest door. "Run," she hissed, though the word was barely audible over the pounding of her heart. Her legs pumped beneath her, her muscles screaming as adrenaline coursed through her veins. The noise around her faded into a dull roar, but her senses remained razor-sharp, every detail seared into her consciousness. The feel of Dae-ho's hand in hers, the slap of her shoes against the ground, the countdown ticking away like a clock winding down to its final beat.

They reached the door just as another pair arrived, their panicked expressions mirroring Yumi's own. Dae-ho tightened his grip on her hand, ready to retreat and search for another room, but Yumi held her ground.

Her jaw clenched, her eyes narrowing as she glared at the other players. "We got here first," she growled, her voice low and dangerous.

The pair shook their heads, their terror palpable. One of them, a man with a wild, desperate look in his eyes, stepped forward as though to argue. But Yumi didn't wait for him to speak. With a sudden, brutal motion, she kicked him hard in the chest, sending him sprawling to the floor. The man's partner froze, his shock giving way to anger.

He lunged toward Yumi, his hands outstretched, but Dae-ho intercepted him. His movements were swift and precise, his hand gripping the man's arm and twisting it with enough force to elicit a sickening crack. The man cried out in pain, his body collapsing as Dae-ho pushed him aside.

"Go!" Dae-ho urged, his voice tight with urgency.

Yumi didn't need to be told twice. She yanked the door open, gesturing for Dae-ho to enter first. He stepped inside quickly, but as Yumi was about to cross the threshold, a hand clamped around her ankle, dragging her to the ground. Glancing down, she saw the man she had kicked earlier, his face twisted in a mask of rage and desperation as he clawed at Yumi's ankle, grip like iron.

Her fingers clawed at the ground, her nails scraping against the smooth surface as she fought to get inside. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her vision blurring with panic. Dae-ho turned, his face twisted in fury, and he lunged forward, grabbing her arm with one hand while his foot came down on the man's wrist with the other.

The man screamed, his grip loosening just enough for Yumi to kick herself free. Dae-ho hauled her the rest of the way inside, slamming the door shut with a resounding click.

For a moment, all Yumi could hear was her own heartbeat, pounding in her ears like a war drum. She lay on the floor, her chest rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. The silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the distant echoes of chaos from the platform outside.

Dae-ho crouched beside her, his hand still gripping her arm. "You okay?" he asked, his voice low but steady.

Yumi nodded, though her body trembled with residual fear. She sat up slowly, her eyes meeting Dae-ho's. And she noticed the faint sheen of sweat on his brow, the tension in his jaw.

Her gaze shifted to the door, her mind replaying the last few seconds. The faces of the players they had left behind — twisted in pain, in anger, in desperation — flashed before her eyes. She wondered if they had found another door, or if they were lying on the platform now, lifeless and forgotten.

Yumi swallowed hard, the lump in her throat refusing to budge. She didn't have the luxury of mourning strangers, not when her own survival hung by a thread. But the guilt lingered, a heavy weight pressing down on her chest.

The woman's voice echoed through the room again, cold and unyielding: "Game over."

Yumi exchanged a glance with Dae-ho, and she wasn't sure how much more of these games she could take.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

this was the most complicated game i ever had to write holy shit

i seriously would not wish writing that game onto my worst enemy oh my god it was fr difficult for me and prayers to those of yall writing fics for this season ｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡

no they didn't make up i apologize

no im not sorry actually lets be real okay yumi is not gonna forgive him that easily

but y'all can clearly tell what im about to do next

if u don't, go back and decipher queen geum-ja's iconic advice.

this ch was over 8k words!! i wanted to keep going but the next few scenes i have planned are gonna be long and i know u guys would love a 20k ch. but my brain is a little fried for the night LOL i gotta sleep a bit then i'll lock in okay

would love ur thoughts on myumi's argument as well as the advice geum-ja gave!!!

and before anyone asks, no her and daeho will never gonna happen. i just wanted to write him and her together bc i have a huge crush on him and needed a release LMFOAOO

like the chains have been broken for me after writing that

also, completely off topic but someone asked if i'd be putting in smut, and while im totally down i do have to find a way to get them alone. and honestly i know its just a fic and i can draw away from canon, but i have to admit, i love writing canon shit and just adding my oc's plot into it. it just feels a little bit more real to me. anyways, to keep it short, im basically saying i will be writing smut but honestly it probably wont be until s3 drops bc i think smut this early on is just not realistic for me, nor yumi. like it would actually be really out of character for her i fear.

and idk if that rumor that s3 will drop in june is true but to keep u hopeless romantics interested i promise to create special chapters like,, idk a valentines day special where if they weren't in the games how they would celebrate that together. like alt. universe type hhahahh!!

hope u guys are okay with that

much love,