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LIM MINJI, Player 111, finds herself thrust into the deadly arena of the Squid Game after the sudden death of her father leaves her drowning in unpayable debts. Intelligent, reserved, and carrying silent pain, Minji enters the games with no illusions about her chances.

Amongst the chaos, one player stands out to her—Player 420, better known as Thanos, a boisterous rapper with a tragic past. While Minji avoids connections, Thanos is inexplicably drawn to her. The bond begins when the game's introduction tapes are revealed: Minji's tape shows her on a train station bench, tears streaming as she contemplates ending her life, a bottle of pills trembling in her hand. Before she could act, the mysterious salesman approached, offering her an escape—or so she thought. Thanos's tape shows his own despair, a suicide attempt thwarted by the same enigmatic figure. This shared vulnerability becomes the fragile thread that ties them together.

Despite protests from his friends, Thanos invites Minji to join their team, offering her protection and sharing what little food and comfort he can. For Minji, his loud attempts at jokes and cheerful rapping feel out of place amidst the life-and-death stakes, but his kindness begins to chip away at her defences. As the games progress, their fragile connection deepens. Thanos realises his feelings go far beyond empathy or survival—he is falling for her.

But in the Squid Game, trust is both a weapon and a vulnerability. Can Thanos and Minji navigate the brutal challenges, outsmart their enemies, and survive long enough to confront their feelings? Or will the deadly rules of the game tear them apart?

How far would you go to protect someone you care about when every decision could mean life or death?

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I STEPPED OFF the bus, my suitcase rattling behind me. The crisp evening air stung my face, but I didn't care. My thoughts were louder than the world around me. After everything—the mental hospital, my mother's rejection—I didn't see the point of carrying on. Her shouting, the crash of my belongings hitting the pavement, and her refusal to even look at me replayed in my head like a broken record.

With the last of my money, I had bought a bottle of cheap alcohol and a packet of sleeping pills. I wasn't sure which would do the job, but I didn't plan to find out slowly. If all else failed, the tracks just ahead would finish what I couldn't. I sank onto the cold metal bench at the train station, staring at the nearly empty bottle in my hands.

A voice cut through my spiral of thoughts. ''Would you like to play a game with me?''

I looked up, and there he was—tall, dressed in an expensive black suit. He had a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

''What?'' I asked, not really caring about the answer.

''I'm sure you've played ddakji before, right?'' he continued smoothly, as if I hadn't just been glaring at him. ''Play a few rounds of ddakji with me. And each time you win, I'll pay you 100,000 won.''

I raised an eyebrow. ''What's the catch?''

''It's simple,'' he explained, holding up two folded cards—one blue, one red. ''Each time the colour of your choice hits my colour and flips it, I'll happily give you 100,000 won. However, if I win, you give me 100,000 won.''

I snorted, a bitter laugh escaping before I could stop it. ''Doesn't seem like a good deal.''

His grin widened, and he leaned closer, dropping his voice to something almost conspiratorial. ''That's what I'd give you. But since I'm so nice, I'll deduct 100,000 won for each slap I deliver to your face.''

I stared at him, half-expecting him to laugh and admit it was a joke. But he didn't. My head felt heavy. ''Fine. Whatever,'' I muttered. What did it matter? After this, I'd be gone anyway.

''So, which colour will it be? The blue? Or the red?'' he asked, holding up the cards.

I glanced at them, my mind drifting to my father. ''Blue,'' I replied quietly. It was his favourite colour.

''All right, then. Let's get started, shall we?''

The game began, and I quickly realised just how difficult it was. No matter how hard I threw my card, his wouldn't budge—or worse, it would flip once too many times, landing right back where it started.

The first slap came hard and fast, stinging my cheek. I barely flinched.

''Not bad,'' he commented, smirking as I readied myself for the next round.

I tried again, putting more force into it. The card barely moved. Another slap. Then another. My cheek burned, but I didn't care.

When I finally won a single round, his expression shifted briefly into something like surprise. He handed me a crisp bill, his smirk returning as if he hadn't just lost.

''Here,'' he said, reaching into his pocket and producing a small card. ''If you want to win more money, call this number.''

I glanced at the card, the strange symbols—circle, triangle, square—standing out in sharp contrast against the plain background. I flipped it over. A phone number.

He walked away, leaving me alone on the bench with my thoughts. I stared at the card for what felt like hours before dragging myself to a nearby hotel. After getting settled, I picked up the phone, dialled the number, and held my breath as the line connected.

''Do you wish to participate in the game? If you wish to participate, please state your name and birthdate.''

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