The votes were over, and the mask soldiers wasted no time reasserting control. They ordered us to form four lines, their rifles held tight, eyes unreadable behind those haunting masks. A tray of food and a water bottle were handed to each of us as we moved through the line.

I accepted mine without a word, making my way back to the stairs near my bed. Sitting down, I placed the tray on my lap and opened it. Inside was a dull portion of rice, a slice of pickled radish, and a boiled egg. My stomach turned—it didn't exactly look appetizing.

With a sigh, I closed the tray, set it aside on the steps, and leaned back against the cold wall. I unscrewed the cap of my water bottle, taking a few sips, the liquid doing little to quench my discomfort.

Footsteps approached, and I glanced sideways. It was Player 390.

"Can I help you?" I asked dryly, not bothering to mask my irritation.

"My name's Jung-bae," he said, flashing an awkward grin.

I stared at him in silence.

"What's your name?" he asked.

I ignored him, taking another sip of my water instead.

He seemed undeterred. "Alright. Well... I'm sure you know my friend over there." He gestured to where Player 456 was sitting, hunched over a few steps away.

I leaned forward slightly to get a better view. It was him—the man who had helped save us during the first game.

"We wanted to ask if you'd like to join us," Jung-bae continued, his voice overly friendly.

"Why?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"Well," he said with a nervous laugh, "team red's gotta stick together, right?"

I stared at him, wondering why he was so damn cheerful. His optimism grated on me, but then again, he had saved my life. If he hadn't shouted at us to stop when the doll turned around, I might not have made it through the first game.

Without a word, I stood up and walked past him.

"Oh, uh... okay. Great!" Jung-bae called after me, his tone still upbeat.

I made my way toward Player 456 and sat down on the step below him. Jung-bae followed, plopping down next to his friend.

"Told you I could get her to sit with us," Jung-bae said with a grin.

Gi-hun—Player 456—didn't react.

Jung-bae opened his tray and poked at the food with his fork. "Oh, just like my mom used to make. What's in yours?" he asked, looking between us.

Neither of us answered.

"Aren't you gonna eat?" Jung-bae asked, his voice tinged with concern.

"No," I said flatly, leaning back against the steps. "Knowing them, they've probably poisoned it."

Jung-bae looked uneasy but turned to his friend. "Gi-hun, you've got to eat something," he said, holding out a spoonful of rice toward him. "This might be for the best."

Gi-hun glanced at him, his expression heavy with something between exhaustion and disdain.

"I don't know about you," Jung-bae continued, "but that 20 million wouldn't even cover my interest. If we play just one more game—"

"Jung-bae," Gi-hun interrupted, his voice low but firm. "Last time I was here, someone said the exact same thing. And in the end, that person died here."

Jung-bae froze, his fork halfway to his mouth.

I looked at Gi-hun, my gaze sharp. "Did you ever get over it?" I asked.

They both turned to me.

"When you won everything... did you forget what happened?" My voice was steady, but the question hung heavy in the air.

Gi-hun didn't answer. He didn't have to. The look in his eyes told me everything I needed to know.

Just then, a voice broke the silence.

"Help us then, sir," it said.

We turned to see Player 001, the older man, standing in front of us with a small group of players. His frail frame seemed almost out of place amidst the chaos of this place, but his voice was steady.

"You said you've played these games before," he said, addressing Gi-hun. "I pressed O because of you. Honestly, I was scared. I wanted to quit and leave."

"Why didn't you?" I asked, my tone biting. "If you'd voted red, I'd be out of here."

The old man looked at me, his expression soft but resolute. "Because he made me think... maybe I could play just one more game," he said, gesturing toward Gi-hun.

The players behind him murmured in agreement, nodding along.

"Sir, you know what game's next, don't you?" Player 001 asked.

"That's right," Jung-bae added, eager. "You're a previous winner, so you must know."

Gi-hun hesitated, the weight of their stares pressing down on him. Finally, he spoke.

"The second game... was Dalgona."

The word hung in the air like a death sentence.

"Dalgona? The sugar candy with the shape you carve out?" A voice called out from above us. One of the players perched on a top bunk leaned over, joining the conversation.

"That's right," Gi-hun replied, his tone grim. "We had to choose one of four shapes and carve it out."

"Four shapes?" Jung-bae piped up, curiosity written all over his face. "Which one was the easiest?"

Gi-hun hesitated for only a moment. "Triangle."

"And the hardest one?" Jung-bae pressed.

"Umbrella," I said flatly, cutting in before Gi-hun could answer.

All eyes turned to me, surprise flickering across their faces.

"Umbrella?" Player 001 repeated, his voice tinged with amusement as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. He chuckled softly. "You played these games before?"

"No," I replied, my voice as dry as ever. "I used to buy them for my brother sometimes. That's how I know."

Player 001 raised an eyebrow, his smile fading as he turned back to Gi-hun. "Some people actually chose the umbrella?"

Gi-hun didn't respond right away, his jaw tightening.

"Those unlucky bastards must've bitten the dust," Player 001 added, shaking his head with a scoff.

"Then that means we should all just pick the triangle," the player on the top bunk interjected. His voice was enthusiastic, like he had just cracked some genius plan. "If we all do that, everyone can pass the round!"

"Hush now!" The gruff voice of Player 100 cut through the group like a blade. He pushed his way into the center, his sharp gaze moving between each of us. "If all 365 of us survive, the prize money won't go up at all. Then we'll have risked our lives again for nothing."

The air grew heavier, his logic slithering into the minds of everyone around us. A low murmur of agreement rippled through the players nearby.

Player 100 leaned in closer, lowering his voice, though it was still sharp enough to command attention. "Listen," he said conspiratorially, glancing around to ensure the soldiers weren't close. "We should keep this information to ourselves. What do you say?"

A few nodded hesitantly, others outright agreed.

But Gi-hun's voice cut through the group. "We can't do that."

Everyone turned to him.

Gi-hun met their gazes steadily, his voice unwavering. "I'm telling you this so that everyone has a chance to survive. If it's confirmed that the next game is Dalgona, I'm going to tell everyone what I know."

Silence.

Player 100's nostrils flared, and a bitter scoff escaped him. He shoved past the group, his anger clear as he muttered curses under his breath. The others hesitated but eventually followed him, grumbling quietly, their loyalties divided.

Only Player 001 stayed behind, looking at Gi-hun with an inscrutable expression.

Jung-bae broke the silence, glancing between Gi-hun and me. "So... which shape did you pick?" he asked cautiously, though the question was clearly meant for Gi-hun.

Gi-hun didn't answer.

He didn't need to. The way his shoulders tensed, the shadow that passed over his face—it told me his chosen the Umbrella.

"May I ask you something?" Player 001's voice broke the silence.

We all turned to him. He moved closer, lowering himself to sit right beside me. I looked at him as he settled in, his expression calm but curious.

"Why did you come back to this place?" Player 001 asked, his voice soft but piercing as his gaze fell on Gi-hun. "You said you won and made it out. You must have received 45.6 billion won. Did you... spend it all?"

Gi-hun didn't answer right away, but before he could, Jung-bae chimed in. "Did you bet it all on horses again?" he asked, half-joking but clearly fishing for the truth.

Gi-hun exhaled sharply, leaning forward slightly. His voice was low but steady. "That money doesn't belong to me," he said, not looking at any of us. "It's blood money—money soaked in the lives of all the people who died here. The same goes for what's in that piggy bank." He gestured toward the oversized, glowing sphere of money hanging above us, its shadow casting a taunting glow over the room.

Player 001 tilted his head slightly, studying Gi-hun's words. "You don't have to think of it that way," he said, his tone almost paternal. "It's not like you killed those people. And let's be honest, saving that money—or refusing to take it—won't bring them back to life."

Gi-hun's face darkened as he leaned closer to him, his voice dropping even lower. "If you'd pressed X," he said coldly, "everyone here would've made it out alive."

Player 001's calm expression faltered for the first time. He hesitated before nodding. "That's true. I was the last person to press the O button," he admitted. He glanced around the room, as if looking for some kind of reassurance. "But there were 182 other people who wanted to stay."

"And there were also 182 people who wanted to live," I cut in, my tone sharp as I glared at him.

Player 001 turned his head to look at me, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Let's say I had pressed X and sent everyone home," he said after a moment. "Would that have really fixed anything? Would everyone have been happy? Do you think if they ran into me later, they'd thank me for saving their lives? Would they tell me they're happy now?"

I scoffed, my frustration bubbling over. "I don't care about the other 182 people in this room," I said coldly. "Or how bad their lives are out there. That's not my problem. It's not my fault they're in this situation."

He stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. For once, his usual amusement was gone, replaced by something closer to pity—or maybe just understanding.

"You think you're different from them," he said finally, his voice quiet. "But you're here, just like the rest of us. That means your life out there wasn't much better than theirs."

His smile wavered, and I leaned forward just slightly, lowering my voice. "You pressed that O because you wanted another chance. Don't sit there and talk like you're some savior. You're just as desperate as everyone else here. Only difference is, you're old enough to know better."

I stood and walked away, leaving the group behind. The sound of their quiet murmurs followed me as I climbed back to my bunk, but I didn't care.

I sat down and leaned against the cold steel of the frame, staring up at the glowing piggy bank.

Blood money. That's all it was. But what choice did any of us have?

I sat on my bunk, staring at the ceiling, the weight of it all pressing down on me. I have to get out of here. The thought wouldn't leave my head. I didn't know how In-su was doing, if he was okay. I didn't have my phone. I didn't have anything. The silence around me felt heavy, oppressive, until it was shattered by a sudden noise from below.

Shouts and scuffling echoed through the room. I sat up, glancing down toward the commotion. A fight had broken out. Two men—Player 124, the one with purple hair, and his friend, 230—were beating another man who was curled up on the ground, trying to protect his face. The rest of the room stayed frozen, watching, no one stepping in to help.

I moved to the edge of my bunk and climbed down, standing on the stairs to get a better view. The punches and kicks kept coming, and the man on the ground wasn't moving much anymore. His groans of pain filled the air.

"Boys, what do you think you're doing in the middle of mealtime?"

The voice cut through the chaos, calm yet commanding. Everyone turned their heads to see who had spoken, and so did I. It was Number 100. He stood there, hands in his pockets, strolling toward the fight as though he had all the time in the world.

The room went silent as he approached. Without hesitation, he grabbed one of the attackers—Player 230—by the arm and threw him to the ground effortlessly. The man let out a grunt of pain, rolling away. Then, with a quick motion, Number 100 pinned the purple-haired player, Player 124, to the floor, his knee pressing into his chest.

The room watched in stunned silence. Number 100's fist hovered in the air, ready to strike. The way he glared down at Player 230 made it clear—he wasn't afraid to follow through. But then, just as quickly, he eased up. His hand dropped, and he released the man with a scoff.

He stood and backed away, looking down at the two attackers like they were nothing more than pests. A slow clap started from somewhere in the crowd, followed by cheers. People were impressed—no, relieved.

Number 100 turned and began walking back toward his side of the room. His face was unreadable, calm. But as he moved past the stairs, he looked up at me, his eyes locking onto mine for a second too long.

I stared back, unblinking, until he finally broke the gaze and sat down. He didn't look away though, keeping his focus on me.

I didn't know what his deal was, but I didn't care. I turned and climbed back up to my bunk, lying on my side and closing my eyes. Whatever he was trying to say with that look, I wasn't interested. All I needed was to survive this. One day at a time.

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