𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎. prisoner

THE FIELD WAS CONSUMED BY AN UNNATURAL silence. It was the kind that pressed against the eardrums, amplifying every small shuffle of fabric or exhalation of breath. No one dared to move, not after the spectacle of bodies collapsing like rag-dolls in rapid succession just moments earlier. The weight of fear was palpable, like a dense fog hovering over them all, choking the air from their lungs.

The doll's mechanical head swiveled with an eerie precision, scanning the field with those unblinking, lifeless eyes. "Green light." The sing-song voice echoed over the open field, almost mocking in its childish tone. "Red light."

Player 456 moved forward, his steps calculated and deliberate. He stood at the forefront, his movements fluid but cautious. His mouth was covered by the crook of his elbow, muffling his voice and movements as he called out instructions. "If you don't cross the line in time, they'll still kill you!" he shouted, his voice trembling with urgency but firm enough to command attention. "Look at the doll's eyes! They're cameras that scan the field for motion! But it's not able to detect you if you're behind something!"

Yumi's gaze locked onto him, her breath shallow. His hand, which had been tucked behind his back, moved in deliberate gestures — from a fist to an open palm, circling and signaling to the players behind him. The movements were small yet significant, a desperate attempt to prove his point. "So if you're short, line up behind someone who's taller than you! Single file, like you're forming a conga line!" he continued, his voice ragged with effort. "Time's running out!"

Yumi's heart hammered against her ribs as she processed his words. Her eyes flicked to Player 222, the girl directly in front of her.

"Green light." The doll's voice chimed again.

Yumi crouched low, her knees bending just enough to align her profile behind Player 222. She wasn't much shorter than her, but she hoped the adjustment would suffice.

The crowd moved in stilted, jerky motions, forming rows of single-file lines. Some stumbled, their balance unsteady as they crouched and shuffled forward. Every misstep sent ripples of panic through the group, and the sound of gunfire was a cruel reminder of the consequences.

"Red light."

The players froze a collective gasp of breath held tight in their throats. The doll's head jerked to a stop, scanning the rows with an unnerving calm. Yumi kept her eyes locked forward, her muscles trembling from the strain of holding still. The pregnant woman's shallow breathing was audible, her chest rising and falling with effort. Yumi's instincts screamed at her to intervene, but any movement now would mean death.

"Green light."

The field stirred with cautious motion. Yumi kept her steps small and deliberate, her gaze flickering between the doll and Player 222. She could hear the woman's breathing falter, each inhale more labored than the last.

"Red light."

The pregnant woman's knees buckled, her body swaying forward. Yumi reacted on pure instinct. She launched herself forward, her arms extending to catch the woman before she could collapse entirely. Her hands found their mark — one arm bracing the woman's back, the other pressing gently against her rounded stomach to steady her.

Time seemed to stretch into an agonizing eternity. Yumi's heart pounded so fiercely she thought it might burst from her chest. She was completely exposed now, her body angled awkwardly to support Player 222. The doll's head whirred and clicked, its sensors scanning the field. Yumi's breath hitched as she forced herself to remain absolutely still, her muscles screaming in protest.

"Don't move," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her eyes darted to the woman's face, pale and drenched in sweat. "Just stay still. Don't even breathe too hard."

The pregnant woman's eyes widened, her lips trembling as though she wanted to speak but couldn't. Yumi tightened her grip, her fingers digging into the fabric of the woman's jumpsuit. "I've got you," she murmured. "But you have to stay still. For your sake and for..." Her hand pressed slightly against the curve of the woman's belly. "Just stay still."

The doll's sensors lingered for what felt like an eternity before finally moving on. The mechanical voice chirped again. "Green light."

Yumi exhaled shakily, her muscles quivering as she adjusted her grip on Player 222. She nodded faintly, her expression a mix of gratitude and sheer terror. Yumi straightened slightly, shifting her position to shield the woman as much as possible. They moved together, step by step, the finish line looming in the distance like a mirage.

Gunfire erupted again, and screams pierced the air as more players faltered and fell. Yumi clenched her jaw, refusing to let her resolve waver. She focused on the rhythm of the doll's commands, timing each step with precision. "Green light." Move. "Red light." Freeze. Over and over, the cycle repeated, each round a nerve-wracking ordeal.

They were close now, the finish line just a few meters away. Yumi's legs burned with the effort of supporting both herself and Player 222, but she pushed forward, fueled by sheer determination. The doll's voice rang out one final time. "Green light."

With a final burst of effort, Yumi crossed the line, dragging Player 222 with her. The moment they stepped over, a wave of relief crashed over her. She released the woman gently, her arms trembling as she let her sink to the ground. The timer above the field ticked down to zero, and the doll's head ceased its movements.

The surviving players collapsed in exhaustion, their breaths ragged and uneven. Yumi knelt beside Player 222, her chest heaving as she tried to process what had just happened. The girl looked up at her, her eyes brimming with tears. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice hoarse.

Yumi nodded, her own voice failing her. She glanced back at the field, now littered with the bodies of those who hadn't made it and those still going.

The final thirty seconds ticked down like a metronome of doom, each passing moment accompanied by the thunderous pounding of Yumi's heart. She watched, frozen in place, as the field stretched out before her, its dirt path strewn with scattered bodies. The timer loomed in the distance, its red digits flickering ominously against the backdrop of false walls painted to mimic a sunny, cloudless day. The idyllic illusion had long since shattered, leaving behind a stark awareness of reality that weighed heavy on every remaining player.

Ahead, three figures moved with desperate determination. Player 456 and Player 120, their expressions taut with resolve, supported the injured Player 444 between them. His leg dragged awkwardly, blood staining the dirt in uneven smears as the two players hauled him forward.

Yumi's breath hitched, admiration mingling with disbelief. How could they risk so much for someone else? The effort was agonizing to watch, yet they pressed on, their eyes locked on the finish line as the timer edged closer to zero.

"Come on," Yumi whispered under her breath, though she wasn't sure who she was speaking to. Her fists clenched involuntarily, nails digging into her palms as if the pain could ground her amidst the chaos.

In the final moments, as the timer flashed its last ten seconds, the trio surged forward in a final burst of strength. Player 456 gritted his teeth, his entire body straining as he and Player 120 dragged Player 444's limp form over the line just as the buzzer rang out.

The collective gasp from the remaining players rippled through the air, a momentary release of tension that was immediately shattered by a gunshot.

Player 444 crumpled to the ground, his head lolling to one side as his eyes closed forever. The sound reverberated through Yumi's ears, sharp and final. She swallowed hard, her throat dry as sandpaper, unable to tear her gaze away from the still body. The fragile hope she had felt seconds earlier dissolved into a churning mix of despair and anger.

Before she could process the weight of it, the ceiling above them began to rumble. Yumi's head snapped upward, her muscles tensing instinctively. The open sky overhead, so cruelly tranquil, began to shift. Massive panels slid across the expanse, sealing the light in a cold, metallic embrace.

A soft voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. "Are you girls all right?"

Yumi turned her head to see an elderly woman crouched beside her and Player 222. The woman's eyes were warm, her face lined with years of experience that lent her an air of quiet authority. Yumi's gaze dropped to the number on her chest: Player 149. The old woman's hands, weathered but steady, reached out to gently inspect Player 222, who was still trembling from the ordeal.

"Let me take a look at you," Player 149 said softly, her voice calm and measured. She moved with practiced ease, her touch light yet purposeful as she assessed Player 222's condition. "You're brave, both of you. It takes courage to do what you did." She glanced at Yumi, a small, approving smile tugging at her lips. "Especially you, dear. Holding her up like that during the game? That was no small feat."

Yumi's cheeks flushed, though she wasn't sure if it was from embarrassment or the residual adrenaline coursing through her veins. She looked away, focusing on the dirt beneath her feet. "I just... did what I had to," she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Player 149 nodded knowingly, her gaze returning to Player 222. "How are you feeling, my dear?" she asked gently, her hands resting lightly on the younger woman's shoulders.

Player 222 didn't respond immediately, her eyes darting nervously as she tried to steady her breathing. Yumi could see the strain etched into her features, the weight of exhaustion and fear threatening to overwhelm her. Finally, Player 222 managed a shaky nod. "I... I'm fine."

"You're not fine," Player 149 said matter-of-factly, though her tone remained kind. "But that's all right." She shifted her position slightly, her hands moving to gently press against Player 222's abdomen. "Now, let's see about you and the little one, hmm?"

Yumi stiffened, her eyes widening slightly. She hadn't said anything about Player 222's condition out loud, but Player 149 had seen through it with unnerving ease. The old woman's hands moved with the confidence of someone who had done this countless times before, her touch neither invasive nor hesitant.

"I've helped many pregnant women in my time," Player 149 explained, her voice taking on a soothing, almost storytelling quality. "Midwifery was my calling, you could say. I've delivered more babies than I can count, and let me tell you, there's a certain strength in mothers-to-be that's unlike anything else. You've got that strength in you, my dear. I can see it."

Player 149 smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "Now, you're going to need to be careful. No sudden movements, no overexerting yourself. When we walk, take it slow and steady. And if you feel anything — anything at all — you let me know immediately, all right?"

Player 222 nodded again.

THE DORMITORY WAS CLOAKED IN A suffocating silence. No one spoke. The only sound was the collective breathing of the players, mingled with the occasional sob that escaped involuntarily from the lips of the most shaken.

Yumi sat on her bunk, her back pressed against the cold wall, her knees drawn tightly to her chest. She stared down at the bottom of her pants, her eyes tracing the dark, dried bloodstains smeared on the fabric from earlier. The sight made her stomach churn, but she couldn't bring herself to look away. It was a grotesque souvenir of the nightmare she had survived.

Her mind wandered, trying to piece together fragments of what had brought her and the others here. What debts had weighed so heavily on their shoulders that they had chosen to gamble with their lives? Were their stories as desperate as hers? Or had some of them fallen victim to more mundane vices? Overspending on credit cards to maintain appearances? Lavish vacations and expensive wardrobes they couldn't afford? Or perhaps gambling had ensnared them, luring them in with promises of easy wealth, only to leave them destitute. Maybe some had been too kind, lending money to friends or family and never seeing it returned. She thought of the crypto scammer from earlier, the one she'd dismissed with a roll of her eyes. How many others were here because of schemes like his? The possibilities swirled in her head, each story a puzzle she would likely never solve.

The sudden, familiar buzz of the alarm snapped Yumi out of her thoughts. Her head shot up as the heavy doors at the far end of the room slid open, the sound of mechanized locks disengaging reverberating in the silent dormitory. The unmistakable sound of footsteps followed, precise and deliberate. Her pulse quickened. She didn't dare lift her gaze as the pink-clad soldiers entered, their faceless masks concealing any trace of humanity.

The leader of the group, distinguishable by the square symbol on his mask, stepped forward. His voice, calm and authoritative, filled the room. "You have successfully made it through the first game. Congratulations to you all. Now, if I may have your attention, I will announce the results so far."

Above them, the massive screen on the wall flickered to life, its cold blue light illuminating the dormitory. The number displayed began to decrease, the digits rapidly ticking down until they settled on 365. "Out of 456 players," the man continued, "91 have been eliminated. Which means 365 players have completed the first game. Once again, congratulations to all of you for making it through the first game."

The weight of his words hung in the air, but they offered no comfort. If anything, they only deepened the silence, a silence soon broken by the first voice — a desperate, pleading cry. "Please, sir! I didn't know it would be like this! Please let us go! We're sorry!"

Others joined in, their voices rising in a cacophony of fear and despair. "I have a family! My kids need me!" "This isn't fair!" "You can't do this to us!"

Yumi wrapped her arms around her knees, clutching herself tighter. The cries were like needles, piercing her ears and her conscience. She pressed her forehead against her knees, trying to block out the sound, but it was impossible. The dormitory was a symphony of begging, crying, and shouting, and every note felt like a dagger to her heart.

The square-masked man remained unfazed, his tone unchanged. "Players, there seems to be a misunderstanding. We are not trying to hurt you or collect your debts. We are simply providing you with an opportunity."

"Consent form clause three!"

The voice cut through the chaos like a whip. All heads turned to its source: player 456, standing tall despite the fear etched into his face. He stepped forward, his voice firm. "'If the majority of players agree to stop playing, the games will be terminated.' Isn't that correct?"

The square-masked man inclined his head slightly. "That is correct."

"Then we'll do that," 456 said, his voice rising. "We'll put it to a vote."

"If that's what you'd like. During these games, we will always respect your right to freedom of choice."

The tension in the room shifted. Yumi felt it, a collective sigh of relief rippling through the players. Her own breath escaped her in a quiet exhale, her chest loosening for the first time since the alarm had sounded. Around her, others murmured in agreement, their voices tinged with hope.

"But before we vote," the masked man continued, "we will reveal how much prize money has accumulated after the first game."

The ceiling above them groaned, the sound of machinery rumbling to life. Yumi glanced up, and her breath caught. Suspended above them was a massive, transparent piggy bank, its sheer size both mesmerizing and grotesque. Slowly, bundles of cash began to rain down into the bank, the sound of bills hitting the glass resonating like a cruel symphony. The pile grew and grew, an ungodly amount of money that seemed almost absurd in its volume.

"A total of 91 players were eliminated during the first game," the masked man announced. "Therefore, 9.1 billion won has accumulated so far. If you decide to stop playing and quit the games now, the remaining 365 players will split the 9.1 billion amongst themselves. Meaning, you each leave with an equal share."

The room buzzed with hushed whispers. The calculation was quick, and the murmur turned into a collective groan when the masked man delivered the final number. "Each player would get 24,931,500 won."

Yumi scoffed before she could stop herself. It wasn't an insignificant amount — far from it. For most, it could be a life-changing sum. But for her, for the mountain of debt she faced, it was a drop in the ocean. She buried her face in her hands, biting back the bitterness that threatened to spill over. Around her, others were less reserved.

"Are you serious?"

"Man, come on, we almost died!"

"24 million? That's all? Are you fucking kidding me?"

The grumbling grew louder, anger and frustration replacing the relief that had momentarily filled the room. Yumi stayed silent, her thoughts churning.

As much as she hated herself for it, she knew the truth: she couldn't walk away. Not yet. Not for that amount. It wasn't nearly enough.

The square-masked man's voice sliced through the quiet as he outlined the voting process. "Ensuring our players are participating in the games of their own volition is always our highest priority. With that, the voting may now begin. If you wish to continue playing, press the blue button with the 'O.' If you wish to stop playing, press the red button with the 'X.' You will vote in order of player number, from highest to lowest."

The first name called was the now-familiar Player 456. All eyes shifted to him, their collective gaze following his slow, deliberate steps toward the glowing console at the front of the room. Yumi didn't have to guess his choice. She could see it in the way his shoulders sagged as he reached out and pressed the red 'X.'

The murmurs started as soon as he turned to return to his spot. A ripple of unease spread through the crowd. Each subsequent name was called, each decision scrutinized by those still waiting their turn. The votes were close, with the blue 'O' narrowly leading. By the time Yumi's number, 111, was called, she had already begun the arduous mental battle of deciding her fate.

Her steps felt leaden as she moved down the aisle, the weight of hundreds of eyes pressing against her back. Halfway to the console, a voice broke the tension.

"Hold on, everyone! Wait a minute!"

Yumi froze, glancing back at Player 456, whose desperation painted his features in stark lines. "Don't do this to yourselves," he implored, his voice raw and trembling. "Just think for a second. Can't you see what's going on? These aren't regular games we're playing. If we don't stop this, they'll kill us all!"

Yumi's gaze flicked between him and the screen displaying the current vote tally. Her breath hitched as his words clawed their way into her thoughts.

"Just focus on getting out of this place," he continued, his voice rising. "And to do that, we need to win the vote. We can stop this here and now."

The fragile quiet shattered as Player 100 shoved his way forward. "And who do you think you are? Why're you trying to egg people on? What're you getting at?" His voice was laced with anger, his accusations sharp and cutting. "The game had just started, and you scared us shouting about getting shot!"

A chorus of agreement followed, voices rising like a tide of frustration. Player 245's voice rang out next. "He's right! You kept going on and on about how we were all gonna die, and I got so nervous that I was almost killed out there!"

Another man's voice joined the fray. "By the way, how did you know they were gonna shoot at us? You work for these guys?"

"You're a plant put here to try and trick us," Player 100 accused, his tone venomous. "They hired you to come and confuse us all!"

Amid the chaos, Player 390 stepped forward, placing himself between his friend and the mob. "Hey, old man, you better watch yourself. He's the reason you're not dead. If he hadn't told us what to do, then none of us would be alive."

This sparked another wave of shouting, the room devolving into a cacophony of clashing opinions. Yumi shut her eyes, her hands trembling as they clutched at the fabric of her pants. The noise wrapped around her like a vice, tightening with every passing second. She tried to block it out, to focus on the decision ahead of her.

Her thoughts swirled in a chaotic storm. Could she trust Player 456's warnings? He had been right before, his quick thinking saving lives. But what if this was all part of the game's design, a way to manipulate them into staying? She thought of the bloodstains on her clothes, the lives already lost, and the haunting reality of what lay ahead if she chose to continue.

Yet, the alternative wasn't any better. The meager sum they'd receive if they quit wouldn't even scratch the surface of her debt. Medical bills, interest rates, the weight of responsibility for a family member who had once depended on her — these things loomed over her like shadows, inescapable and relentless. The thought of returning to that life, of drowning in debt with no hope of reprieve, sent a shiver down her spine.

She opened her eyes and stared at the glowing buttons on the console. Red. Blue. Stop. Continue. Safety. Risk. The choices blurred together as her pulse thundered in her ears.

"I've played these games before!" The words sliced through the air like a blade, cutting through the chaos and uncertainty that had taken root in the players' minds. "I knew about the first game because I'd already done it. 'Cause I'd played the exact same one. I was here three years ago, and I played them all. And every single person who was there with me... They were all killed, everyone!"

Yumi's head snapped up, her wide eyes locking onto Player 456. His voice carried the weight of lived horror, a burden he could no longer carry silently. Around her, the players erupted in gasps and muttered disbelief.

"Died?" a woman's voice trembled, cutting through the murmurs.

"What does he mean?" a man demanded, his voice laced with skepticism.

"They all really died?" another echoed, his disbelief wavering into dread.

"This guy's full of shit," someone spat, though the unease in his tone betrayed his attempt to dismiss the claim.

Player 226 stepped forward, his voice firm and calculating. "Wait a minute. If everyone else died, then how did you survive? Unless... You're saying you were the only winner?"

"It's true," Player 456 admitted, his voice steady now but hollow, as though the weight of his admission had drained him. "I was the only one who made it."

A collective gasp rippled through the room, the sound of dozens of people simultaneously grappling with the enormity of what had just been revealed. The disbelief was palpable, but so was the fear, settling like a thick fog over the dormitory.

"If you keep playing until the end," 456 continued, his voice rising slightly, "I guarantee every person in this room... will eventually end up like those players. We will all be killed."

The silence shattered. Yumi was surrounded by a cacophony of voices, each competing for dominance. Insults and accusations hurled through the air like bullets:

"He's lying! He's just trying to scare us!"

"Why would he come back if he knew this was gonna happen?"

"He's working for them! It's all part of their plan!"

"He saved our lives in the first game! Why would he do that if he was with them?"

Yumi shut her eyes tightly, trying to block out the noise. The voices clashed in her head, their sheer volume pressing down on her like a physical weight. Her breathing quickened as she pulled her knees to her chest, rocking slightly in an effort to steady herself. She needed to think, but the din made it impossible. She felt trapped — not just by the walls of this place but by the overwhelming storm of conflicting emotions and arguments.

And then, she felt it. Hands — rough and calloused but warm — clasped over her own. Her eyes snapped open, and she found herself staring into the face of Player 456. His expression was raw, desperate, but his eyes remained dry. His voice, when he spoke, trembled, not with tears but with the sheer force of the memories he was about to unleash.

"Please," he began, his voice low and urgent. "You have to believe me. The games... they're not just dangerous. They're designed to kill us. I watched it happen. I watched friends, people I fought beside, people I barely knew... I watched them all die."

Yumi said nothing, her throat tightening as she searched his face. He wasn't crying, but the weight of his words felt heavier than tears.

"The first time... the first time I thought maybe I'd find a way out. I thought maybe if I just played smart, I'd survive. But it's not about survival. It's about blood." His grip on her hands tightened slightly. "They'll make you think you can win. They'll make you think you're in control. But they're lying."

Yumi's lips parted slightly, but still, no words came. She felt frozen under his gaze, pinned by the weight of his plea.

"I remember the last game," he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper as if he couldn't bear to speak the words any louder. "It was me and one other person. A friend. We'd promised each other. But when it came down to it... it was either him or me." He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I didn't want to do it. I swear I didn't. But I..." He shook his head, his voice cracking.

"Everyone..." The masked man's voice boomed, cutting through the moment. Yumi's head whipped around, and she saw the square-masked leader standing at the edge of the room, his posture rigid and commanding. "Starting now, we will not permit any action that interferes with the voting process. With that, we will now resume voting."

Player 456 released her hands immediately, retreating a step as the barrel of a guard's gun swung in his direction. Yumi stared at him for a moment longer, her chest tightening with something that felt like regret but couldn't quite form into an action.

"Player 111," the masked man called, his voice cold and mechanical. "It is your turn."

The room fell silent again as Yumi rose to her feet. Her legs felt like lead as she made her way down the aisle, the eyes of dozens of players boring into her back. She felt their judgment, their fear, their desperation. Each step felt heavier than the last, her mind a chaotic swirl of thoughts and emotions.

She reached the voting station, standing before the two buttons: the blue "O" and the red "X." Her hand hovered between them, her fingers trembling. She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes finding Player 456's. He stared back at her, his expression a mixture of hope and resignation.

Yumi turned back to the buttons, her mind racing.

24 million won. It's not enough. Not enough to erase the debt. Not enough to fix everything. But if I keep playing... will I even make it out alive?

Her hand moved, almost of its own accord, pressing firmly.

A soft blue light bathed her face as she turned away, avoiding the eyes of the players she passed. She couldn't bear to look at them — not now, not after what she'd chosen.

Time passed. And it was 181 for continuing and 181 for stopping. A deadlock. Time felt suspended, with no one daring to move as the masked manager announced, "We will proceed with the final vote. Player 001, please cast your decision."

The man stood, his middle-aged frame steady but deliberate, every movement drawing the collective attention of the room. He walked slowly toward the podium where the buttons awaited his choice. Players around Yumi began to murmur.

"Please, press O!"

"Do the right thing!"

Yumi didn't join in the prayers or protests. She remained seated, her legs drawn to her chest, her mind a labyrinth of thoughts. The voices seemed distant, as though submerged underwater. Her gaze rested on Player 001 as he reached the podium, his fingers brushing over the buttons like he was caressing a bittersweet memory.

For a moment, she thought she saw hesitation.

The murmurs escalated into cries. Some cheered for hope, others lamented impending doom. Yumi could only hear her own heartbeat, an insistent thrum in her ears. She studied Player 001's face, searching for clues in his expression. He looked neither triumphant nor defeated, merely resigned.

Finally, with just seconds left, Player 001 pressed the blue button.

A piercing chime echoed through the room, signaling his choice. A wave of cheers erupted from the pro-O side, relief washing over their faces like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. On the other side, the cries of despair were palpable, raw and guttural.

Yumi stayed silent, her eyes fixed on the screen above, where the words solidified:

The games will continue.

THE DORMITORY WAS A SEA OF RESTLESS bodies and muted voices, the tension coiling tighter with every passing second.

Yumi sat on the right side of the room, where the majority of those who had chosen to continue the games had gathered. The blue badge with the "O" gleamed dully on her chest, a quiet mockery of the hope it was supposed to symbolize. Opposite it was her player number badge, a stark reminder that she was no longer a person, just a participant — Player 111.

Her bento box rested on her lap, its contents painstakingly arranged. The rice was pressed neatly to one side, a single fried egg balanced atop it. Thin slices of spam lay in careful rows, and at the bottom, a small pool of kimchi glistened with its fiery sheen. It looked edible, even appetizing, but Yumi couldn't bring herself to lift the spork. Instead, she stared at the meal with detached interest, as though it belonged to someone else.

The sound of a scuffle broke through her reverie, snapping her attention to the left side of the room. The voices started low but quickly grew louder, drawing the gaze of those around her.

"Enjoying your food?" Player 124's voice was sharp, the kind of tone that invited confrontation. He stood over Player 333, a wiry man hunched over his own bento box, shoveling rice into his mouth with an almost mechanical determination. "I couldn't eat," 124 continued, his words dripping with disdain. "After seeing everyone get shot dead, you still have a damn appetite?"

Player 333 barely spared him a glance, chewing methodically before swallowing. He let out a dry scoff. "That crypto ruined my life too. That's why I'm here. To make money."

The room seemed to pause for a beat before another voice chimed in. A man with purple hair and a swagger that screamed self-importance strolled toward them. His badge read Player 230, but the way he carried himself suggested he preferred to be called Thanos.

"That's right," Thanos said, leaning over Player 333's shoulder. "You'd better make a lot of money. Because of that damn coin, I lost over 500 million won. The money I earned busting my ass rapping."

333 snorted. "I lost 300 million."

But Thanos wasn't listening. He loomed closer, his voice rising. "You'd better win the games and make a load of money to pay us back."

"I get it," 333 snapped, his irritation finally surfacing. "Can you go away now? I'm trying to eat."

Player 124 reached down, snatching the bento box from 333's lap with an almost theatrical sneer. "You little shit. Eating like a fucking pig."

"Give it back," 333 growled, standing abruptly.

"No," 124 shot back, holding the box just out of reach.

Yumi's patience, already razor-thin, snapped. She leaned forward, her voice cutting through the noise like the edge of a blade. "Are we really doing this?" she drawled, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "We're all here because we don't have any money. Or do you think you're special?"

The trio froze, their attention snapping to her. 333 looked surprised, perhaps even a little grateful. 124 glared, his bravado faltering under her gaze. But it was Thanos who reacted first, a slow, infuriating smirk curling across his face.

"Well, well, well," Thanos said, straightening up and sauntering toward her. "Who knew we had a firecracker among us? What's your name, senorita?"

Yumi rolled her eyes, not bothering to answer. The man reeked of overcompensation.

"Come on," Thanos pressed, his grin widening. "You've got that sharp tongue. I like that. Bet you've got a pretty voice, too. You ever thought about collaborating with a rapper?"

Yumi's lips twitched, a biting retort bubbling to the surface. She stood abruptly, the movement sharp enough to draw the attention of those nearby. Descending the short set of stairs, she stopped when she was at eye level with him. Her expression remained calm, but her words were anything but.

"You mean collaborate with someone whose rap career tanked so hard they had to gamble everything on crypto?" she said, her voice as smooth as silk and twice as cutting. "Yeah, sounds like a great career move."

Thanos' smirk faltered, his jaw tightening. A flush of embarrassment crept up his neck, but it was clear he wasn't used to being talked down to. He opened his mouth to retort, but his words died on his tongue as he took a closer look at her. His anger morphed into something sleazier, his eyes raking over her with unabashed interest.

"You've got a sharp tongue, but damn, you're fine," he said, his voice dropping into a low, suggestive murmur. "Maybe I'll let you be my muse."

Yumi's stomach churned with disgust. Before she could respond, Player 333 stood abruptly from his bunk, his face a mask of fury. He'd been silent throughout the exchange, but Thanos' comment seemed to be the breaking point.

333 snapped, shoving Thanos hard in the chest. The rapper stumbled, nearly losing his footing. The room fell into a hushed silence, all eyes on the unfolding drama.

The fight escalated quickly, the sound of fists meeting flesh punctuating the tense air of the dormitory. Player 124 tightened his grip around Player 333's neck, locking him into a headlock that left the smaller man gasping for air. From the side, Thanos, seized the opportunity to push and kick 333's legs out from under him, his mocking laughter echoing off the concrete walls.

"Stay down, you little shit," Thanos sneered, delivering another shove to the struggling man's side.

Yumi watched from her bunk on the right side of the room, her arms crossed tightly against her chest. She winced slightly at a particularly brutal jab, her lips pressing into a thin line, but she didn't move to intervene. A part of her felt a faint twinge of pity for Player 333, but the larger part of her rationalized the scene as a consequence of his own actions.

She had dealt with Thanos's obnoxious advances and biting sarcasm without issue. Why had 333 stepped in?

She shifted her gaze momentarily to the other players around her. Some looked on with mild interest, a few muttered nervously amongst themselves, and others simply ignored the altercation altogether, their eyes glued to the floor or their own meals. The dormitory, despite its size, felt suffocating, the tension thick and omnipresent.

A sudden yell interrupted the brutal display. "What the hell are you doing? Boys, stop this nonsense at once."

Yumi's head snapped toward the source of the voice. Player 001 stood tall on the upper level of the dormitory, his voice commanding yet calm. The room seemed to hold its breath as he descended the stairs, his movements deliberate. There was an authority in the way he carried himself, an aura that demanded attention despite his relatively unassuming appearance.

"What are you doing in the middle of mealtime?" he repeated as he approached the fray. His voice carried a sternness that cut through the tension like a blade. "No fights during mealtime. There are elders present. Mind your manners."

Thanos, still holding his position over Player 333, scoffed and straightened up, his purple hair catching the dim light. "Elders?" he echoed with a smirk. "You're lecturing me when you ended up in this shithole too?"

"Yeah," Player 124 chimed in, releasing 333 from the headlock but not stepping back. "Take care of your own damn kids before you come preaching to us."

Player 001's expression darkened, but his voice remained steady. "What did you just say?"

"He said," Thanos began, stepping forward with a cocky grin, "save the lecture for your own damn kids."

The room went deathly silent, every player's attention now fixed on the unfolding confrontation. Without warning, 001 surged forward, his hand clamping down on the back of Thanos's neck. With a swift, fluid motion, he forced the younger man down onto his knees. Before Player 124 could react, 001 delivered a precise kick to his side, sending him stumbling backward into the nearest bunk.

The flurry of movements was almost too fast to track. Thanos struggled against 001's grip, his cocky demeanor evaporating as he gasped for air. 124, regaining his footing, lunged toward 001, only to be met with a sharp elbow to his midsection that left him doubled over in pain.

Yumi watched, wide-eyed, as the older man expertly dispatched both aggressors with a series of calculated strikes and counters. It was like watching a choreographed fight scene from an action movie, except this was real. The sounds of grunts and groans filled the dormitory as the two younger men attempted to fight back, only to be outmaneuvered at every turn.

001 finally released Thanos, shoving him backward with enough force to send him sprawling onto the floor. The purple-haired man clutched at his throat, coughing and gasping as he scrambled away. 124, still clutching his side, glared at 001 but made no move to retaliate.

"Two against one?" 001 said, his voice low and filled with disdain. "Aren't you embarrassed?"

The room erupted into cheers and applause, a mix of admiration and relief rippling through the remaining players. Even Yumi couldn't help but join in, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she clapped along with the others.

When the commotion had finally died down, the dormitory returned to its usual uneasy hum of low conversations and the clinking of utensils against tin bento boxes. Yumi sat cross-legged on her bunk. Across from her, Player 333 sat hunched over, his posture tight, radiating annoyance like a furnace. His grumbling was barely audible, but the tone was unmistakable.

Yumi's lips curled into a smirk. "Oh, did you say something?" she called out, her voice laced with mock curiosity. She didn't even look at him as she swirled the kimchi around her rice. "Or are you just sulking loud enough for everyone to hear?"

His head snapped up, dark eyes narrowing at her from beneath his mop of disheveled hair. "You really don't know when to shut up, do you?" he muttered. "Can't even say thank you."

"Thank you for what?" Yumi's eyebrows shot up in mock surprise as she finally turned to face him. "Letting yourself get kicked around like a human punching bag? Oh, yeah, thank you for that. I was so impressed."

His lip curled in a sneer. "I wasn't talking about that, genius. I'm talking about stepping in for you. Or do you not remember?"

Yumi snorted, shaking her head. "I was doing just fine until you decided to play the hero and got your ass handed to you. If anything, you should be thanking me for stepping in before they shoved your face into your dinner."

"You've got a funny definition of 'stepping in,'" he shot back. "Because all I saw was you running your mouth and stirring up trouble. Real helpful."

"Oh, please," Yumi said, rolling her eyes. "They were already going to start something. I just gave them a reason to make it quick. You're welcome, by the way."

"Your welcome," he repeated, his voice rising. "You didn't do shit. You sat there while I got ganged up on."

"Better than taking punches," she retorted, leaning forward with a smirk. "Maybe next time, try not to get caught in a headlock, huh?"

"Maybe next time, mind your own damn business," he snapped, his voice dripping with irritation. "If you'd just kept your mouth shut, none of this would've happened."

Yumi barked out a laugh, loud and sharp. "Are you seriously blaming me for this? You're the one who decided to shove him. I was holding my own just fine, thanks."

"Yeah, I saw how 'fine' you were," he said, sarcasm heavy in his voice. "Talking like you're untouchable. Do you think your little quips are going to keep you safe when shit gets real?"

"They've done a better job than whatever you've got going on," she shot back. "What's your plan? Scowl them to death? Or maybe mutter them into submission?"

Player 333 let out a bitter laugh, leaning back against the wall. "One day, that mouth of yours is going to get you killed." he said, his tone cold.

"And you think cowering in silence is the better option?" Yumi asked, her tone icy. "Staying quiet doesn't mean they'll leave you alone."

"At least I don't paint a target on my back," he snapped.

"You already have one," she said. "Need I remind you, you fucked them over first."

For a moment, the air between them hung heavy with tension, their words cutting through the din of the room like knives. Yumi could feel her heart pounding in her chest, her frustration boiling over, but she didn't look away. She refused to give him the satisfaction.

"You're impossible," Player 333 finally muttered, turning his head away. "I don't know why I even bothered."

Yumi scoffed, leaning back against the wall with a smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Yeah, me neither."

Player 333 didn't respond. He just looked at her for a long moment, his expression a mix of frustration and something else she couldn't quite place. Then, with a scoff, he turned away, muttering something under his breath.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

suk yumi, junhee's biggest ride or die

did we like her helping??? i did hehe

my lovelies

also the banter between her and myunggi im a sucker for enemies to lovers im afraid

next ch is the six legs game!!! thinking of putting her in the same team as hyunju but im debating on replacing youngmi or that annoying shamen bitch. but i want to write hyunju slap the shit out of her and maybe i add youngmi a bit later so her and hyunju still have that canon bond???

idk stay tuned LOL

much love, and happy new year!