The voice was cold, indifferent as it echoed through the room.

"The host of the game is Park Se Eun."

The words hung in the air like a thick fog, suffocating the silence that followed. Kyung-jun's heart froze in his chest, and for a moment, the world seemed to grind to a halt.

Park Se Eun.

The name hit him like a punch to the gut, dragging him into a dark, forgotten corner of his mind. A corner he'd buried so deep, so far away from everything else—especially from Minji—that he could barely remember it. But now, as the voice continued, that long-forgotten corner began to crack open, and the memories came rushing back like a tidal wave.

Everything came flooding back. The laughter, the taunts, the whispers that were never meant to be heard.

Se Eun.

He remembered her now—how she had always been there, always watching, always waiting for him to notice her. But he had never noticed. Not the way she wanted. Not the way she needed.

Before Minji.

He remembered the way she had looked at him, eyes filled with hope, with longing. The way her smile had trembled whenever they spoke. She had always been so quiet, so unsure of herself—until the day everything changed.

He could see her, standing on the bridge, her hands gripping the rails, her face flushed with frustration. The wind whipped her hair around, but she was oblivious to it. She had only eyes for him.

"Why?!" she had shouted, voice breaking. "Why is it always her? Why is it always Minji?!"

He had turned away then, the words cutting into him. "It's not like that, Se Eun. You wouldn't understand. I—I like Minji. Not you."

She had recoiled, her face crumpling in pain, and the sound of her sharp intake of breath haunted him still. He had wanted to leave then, wanted to turn away and go to Minji, the one he loved—the one who mattered. But something inside him snapped.

She doesn't understand, he had thought. She never understood.

And then, in a burst of anger and frustration, he had said it. "Why do you care so much? Just... just let it go, Se Eun. You're not her. You'll never be her."

He had regretted it the moment the words left his mouth, but it was too late. Se Eun's face had twisted with pain, her eyes filled with an intensity he hadn't seen before.

"You... You don't get it, do you?" she had whispered, stepping closer to him, her voice low and trembling. "I would've given anything... anything to be the one you noticed. But I was always second to her. Always second to your precious Minji."

Her words had struck him hard, like a slap to the face, but before he could respond, she had stepped back. A step too far. Her foot had slipped, the railing giving way under her weight. She had tried to grab it, to steady herself, but it was no use.

And then she had fallen.

Time had slowed, the world going silent around him as he watched her disappear into the darkness below. He had screamed her name, but it had been too late.

The memory was like a knife to the heart, every piece of it twisting deeper with each passing second. His hands clenched into fists, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps.

Minji...

She was alive. He had kept her alive. He had fought for her. He had given everything for her. But now...

Now, in this moment, Se Eun's death—the way it had been his fault—felt like a weight too heavy to bear. He had been the one to push her away. He had been the one to make her feel worthless.

She had fallen because of him.

And now, in the midst of this twisted game, he had to face the consequences of his actions.

The memories—the guilt, the pain, the regret—hit him like a wave, crashing over him with no mercy. He closed his eyes, his hands shaking, trying to stop the flood of thoughts. But it was impossible. They kept coming, relentless.

Se Eun had died, and he had never even said goodbye.

"Kyung-jun?"

The voice broke through his thoughts, and he snapped his eyes open. It was Minji—his Minji—standing in front of him, her expression neutral, but the distance between them had grown again. The cold, empty version of her he had seen before still lingered in her eyes, but now there was something more—something familiar, something he thought he had lost forever.

He blinked, the memories still fresh, still sharp. The words he had said to Se Eun, the way he had looked at her like she didn't matter... He couldn't escape it. He couldn't escape her.

"I..." he started, voice breaking, but the words failed him. What could he say to her now? What could he say to Minji when everything felt broken beyond repair?

He had failed Se Eun. He had failed Minji.

And now, he would pay for it all.

The game was no longer about survival. It was about guilt. About redemption. About facing everything he had run from—everything he had done.

But deep down, as much as he wanted to scream, to rage against it all, Kyung-jun knew this:

The game was never about winning. It was about surviving the consequences of their past.

"Park Se Eun? The one who committed suicide?" Eun-chan's voice broke the stillness, his uncertainty hanging in the air.

They were all gathered around a table, a photo placed at the center like an unspoken accusation—a snapshot frozen in time, its very existence now haunting them.

"She was the host," Yoon-seo's voice was flat, like she was stating a simple fact, but there was something lifeless in her tone.

Minji, her cold alter ego now fully taking hold, frowned as she gripped the photograph tightly. The edges of the paper crinkled under the pressure of her fingers, her knuckles turning white. "But... she's dead. How could she be the host?" The question was more rhetorical than anything, a cold realization creeping into her chest.

"It must be part of the game," Jeong-won murmured, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall, exuding the same detached calmness he'd been showing since the very beginning. "Ever since we found this photo, our memories have started to come back. Like someone flipped a switch."

Minji's chest tightened. A cold, unfamiliar shiver ran down her spine. Her memories, her past—they were all slowly resurfacing, uninvited, like dark ghosts demanding attention. She looked up at the others, her gaze sharp, unfeeling. "But why did those memories disappear in the first place?" The words left her lips like a distant echo, her mind struggling to make sense of it all.

Na-hee's eyes widened as the pieces clicked together in her mind. "Wait... So the ghost Yoon-seo saw that day... That was Se Eun?" Her voice trembled with panic, but Minji felt nothing. Nothing except a cold, hollow certainty that the past had come to claim them all.

Yeon-chan's fists clenched in frustration. "Why is she doing this? I barely even talked to her! Why do I have to go through this hell?" His voice was sharp, laced with anger and fear, but Minji barely flinched.

Jeong-won, as dispassionate as ever, spoke again, as if discussing the weather. "There was a rumor that it wasn't suicide. That someone actually killed her."

Minji's eyes narrowed, her heart pounding painfully against her ribcage. A sickening, gnawing feeling twisted in her stomach. She glanced at Jeong-won—his casual tone, his indifference—it didn't sit right with her. Something about him felt off. She tried to recall when exactly Jeong-won had entered her life, but her memories of him were hazy, fractured, like a piece of a puzzle she couldn't quite place. He had always been there, lingering in the background, but... why didn't she remember?

Yeon-woo hesitated, then spoke, his voice almost too quiet. "I heard that too. They say... someone pushed her."

From the corner of the room, Jun-hee tensed. Minji's eyes flickered toward him, but she didn't say anything. A cold thought, an even colder realization, began to form in her mind—a piece of the puzzle falling into place with a disturbing snap.

"Wait..." Minji's voice was colder than it had ever been, her lips curling into something between a smirk and a frown. "What if Se Eun started this game to tell us the truth?" Her words hung in the air, fragile yet heavy with meaning. "What if she was murdered? And now she's trying to say that her killer is among us?"

The room fell into a suffocating silence. Minji's gaze swept over each of them—disconnected, distant. They were all pieces of a broken puzzle, fragments of a life she didn't even recognize anymore. She was a stranger to them, and they to her.

Jun-hee swallowed hard, his voice strained. "You're saying that one of us... killed Se Eun?" The question was almost a whisper, but it carried the weight of an accusation no one was ready to face.

The eyes in the room began to shift, unease spreading like a plague.

They settled on So-mi.

"What? Why are you looking at me?" So-mi snapped, her defensiveness almost palpable, but Minji only stared, unblinking, cold. She didn't care. Not anymore.

Minji let out a sharp exhale, her mind already calculating. "Let's start by listing all the confirmed mafia members." She spoke with precision, her tone sharp and commanding. She didn't need to soften it anymore. Not when everything had become so cold, so fractured.

"Woo-ram, Ju-won, and that's it... but we don't know the rest," Eun-chan listed, his voice as emotionless as always.

Na-hee hugged her arms tighter, lost in thought. "Park Woo-ram killed Joo-young because she looked down on him. Maybe he also killed Se Eun?"

"Did something happen between them?" Yeon-chan asked, his voice uncertain.

"We don't know," So-mi muttered, her voice distant, distracted. "But Woo-ram always liked girls. Maybe he confessed to her, and she rejected him."

Yeon-woo's expression darkened. "So... this is all Woo-ram's fault?"

Minji's gaze was cold, unwavering, as she looked at each of them. The pain from the past was no longer her burden—it belonged to all of them now. The game had turned into something more than just survival. It was a test. A reckoning. And in the end, the truth would always find its way out, no matter how hard they tried to bury it.

But Se Eun, the girl who had once loved, once hoped, and now had been reduced to a specter of her own tragic end, was just the beginning. And Minji? She was the one left to carry the weight of everything they had lost.

The game wasn't about survival anymore. It was about redemption—or the lack of it.