#nam-su

Cross My Heart

synapse: three games left. nam-gyu is acting like he doesn’t care…but he does

pairing: nam-gyu x reader

contains: strong language, mentions of sex, death, graphic injuries described

a/n: yes i can. i promise i wasn’t ignoring your ask, i just wanted to write it out first. btw i really liked writing it. i put a lot of effort into it so I hope you like it.

. . .

Y/N had blacked out the last ten minutes like a bad dream. She couldn’t even remember stepping up to the gumball machine or turning the crank that sealed her fate. It was only the sound of a guard’s voice, sharp and mechanical through the modulator, that jolted her back to the present. Her fingers were already curled around the small box they’d handed her. The color was painted across the side in thick blue ink.

She was on the blue team. The hunted.

When she lifted the lid, a single silver key lay inside, strung through a chain meant to be worn around the neck. No weapons, no backup. Just a key — and the rapidly fading hope that she’d find a door to safety before someone like him found her first.

She slipped the chain over her head with numb fingers and sat down on a nearby bench. Her stomach churned.

She didn’t need to look up to feel him approaching.

Red vest. Knife in hand. That cocky strut in his step like he owned the world and everyone in it.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Nam-gyu greeted, kneeling in front of her like this was some twisted proposal. “What’s the matter? You nervous about possibly dying?”

Y/N didn’t answer at first. Her jaw clenched as she looked away, her fingers curling around the edge of the bench.

“I would trade with you,” he continued, resting his chin on his hand like she was just being dramatic. “But you’re mad at me. I still don’t get why.”

Her gaze snapped to him, fire in her eyes. “You seriously don’t know why?”

“Se-mi?” he scoffed. “You didn’t even talk to her.”

“You don’t think Min-su did?” she shot back. “You killed her because she voted X? Because she wanted to go home? Or was it just because she bruised your precious ego?”

Nam-gyu snorted, unbothered. “She wouldn’t shut the fuck up. Thought she was some kind of hero. I couldn’t stand the way she looked at me like she was better.”

“And what if I talk back to you like that? You gonna kill me next?”

He smirked, tongue running along his teeth. “No. I like fucking you too much.”

Her glare didn’t waver, but he kept going. “Besides, I don’t have a reason to. Thanos is dead. Gyeong-su too. Se-mi’s gone. You and me? We’re what’s left. We’re the ones that made it. That’s gotta count for something.”

“What about Min-su?”

He scoffed. “Kid’s dead weight. He’s not like us.”

Nam-gyu set down his knife for a moment and reached for her hand, voice dipping low and coaxing. “Come on, just swap to red. We’ll get high, have a little fun, and slit a few throats together. After that…” His smile curled like smoke. “We find a room. Just you and me.”

Y/N jerked her hand back like his skin burned. “I’m good,” she said, standing up. “I’m not in the mood to fuck.”

He gave a small shrug, picking his knife back up like it was no big deal. “Fair. But remember, you’re blue now. And I’m red. So if I find you first…”

“Then you’ll have a fight,” she interrupted, voice cold. “I’m not going down easy. If you want my key, you’ll have to take it off my corpse.”

Nam-gyu laughed under his breath as she walked past him, the tension snapping like a taut wire. He watched her go, his eyes trailing the sway of her shoulders, the way she didn’t look back.

His fingers found the small metal cross that hung from his neck, last of the pills nestled inside. He didn’t take one. Not yet.

He’d lied. He wasn’t planning to kill her.

And deep down, he wasn’t sure if what he felt for her was hate or something worse — something dangerous.

He stood there for a moment longer, then turned and melted into the crowd of hunters.

. . .

Blue team had gone in first. Thirty minutes to hide. Thirty minutes to run or claw their way to an exit. It felt like a fever dream with no end.

The arena was massive, surreal. The ceiling stretched high above them like the sky in a child’s picture book — painted in gentle shades of twilight blue, speckled with uneven golden stars and fat yellow crescent moons. They shimmered under flickering lights that gave the illusion of something magical. But magic didn’t live here. Only madness.

The walls were concrete beneath layers of grotesque mural work — rolling hills, stubby trees, and flower fields in chalky colors that clashed with the coppery scent of blood already hanging in the air. A child’s fantasy smeared over a killing floor. The cheerfulness was disorienting, like walking into a dream where you already knew you’d die.

And Y/N was alone.

Ten minutes in, she had already seen what happened to those who weren’t fast enough.

She’d passed two blue players — both slumped lifeless, red soaking through their tracksuits. She forced herself not to look at their faces as she pulled the keys from their necks, adding them to her own. Circle. Triangle. Square. Three shaped keys. One step closer to freedom. If freedom even existed beyond this place.

Her body was running on instinct. Adrenaline. She didn’t know how long she’d been sprinting, ducking behind doors, unlocking them, hiding, and moving again.

It wasn’t just Nam-gyu she feared — though his shadow lingered in the back of her mind like a blade to her throat.

It was everyone in red. Every knife-wielding body out for blood. Out for her.

And everything was going okay.

Until it wasn’t.

She turned a corner too sharply, the slap of footfalls echoing behind her. Too close. Too fast. She didn’t think — she just moved, slipping into the nearest door, pulling it closed and crouching in the dark.

Through the small crack of the door, she saw the blur of a blue player sprinting down the corridor, a red player chasing him down like a wolf. Her heart raced, eyes locked on the scene.

She didn’t hear the door behind her burst open.

By the time she turned, it was too late — Player 096 lunged at her, the blade of his knife catching the light just as it slashed past her face.

She ducked, barely avoiding it, his forearm slamming into her shoulder as he shoved her to the ground. Pain shot through her ribs, but she kicked out wildly, her foot connecting with the back of his knee and sending him crashing down beside her.

He was fast. Too fast.

His weight pressed her down as he grabbed her wrists, trying to pin them, his knife hovering over her. She screamed, twisting, grabbing his wrist with both hands, pushing, pushing to keep it away from her chest.

He growled, then used his free hand to grab a fistful of her hair and slam the back of her head into the floor.

Stars exploded behind her eyes. Her fingers went slack for a moment, pain blooming through her skull.

She gasped, dazed — but alive. For now.

096 grinned. A sick, gleeful grin as he pressed the knife teasingly to her throat, letting the blade kiss her skin.

He raised it high with both hands to finish her off.

And that was his mistake.

Y/N moved on instinct. With a scream, she drove her knee up and kicked him square in the chest. He stumbled back, landing hard. She rolled, scrambling toward the door. Tried to yank it open — but his body blocked the exit.

“Shit!” she hissed.

He lunged again, slashing. She ducked. The blade drove into the door where her neck had been.

She didn’t wait.

She bolted through the other door he’d entered from, tearing down the corridor, taking the stairs two at a time. Her legs burned. Her chest felt tight. But she didn’t stop.

096 was already behind her again, the thud of his boots pounding the concrete.

She spun into another open room and slammed the door shut behind her just as he turned the corner.

Crack.

The door smacked him hard across the face and shoulder. He collapsed, groaning, dazed.

Y/N didn’t hesitate.

She stomped on his wrist, pinning it to the floor. He tried to buck her off, but she pried the knife from his grip, her breath ragged, her hands slick with sweat and someone else’s blood.

“Please—!” he gasped, eyes wide. “Please, I’m sorry—don’t—”

Her jaw locked. “Fuck you,” she whispered.

Then she stabbed.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

She didn’t stop until he stopped moving.

Blood splattered her face, warm and sticky across her cheeks and throat. Her chest heaved, but she didn’t flinch. Not anymore.

She stood over his lifeless body, her hands still gripping the knife.

Then the mechanical voice blared through the speakers, monotone and cold:

“Player 096, eliminated.”

Y/N gripped the blood-slicked knife with trembling fingers, her heart hammering against her ribs like it wanted out. She was ready to move — to keep running, hiding, surviving — but then she froze.

There was someone in the hallway. Watching her.

Min-su.

He stood half-shrouded in shadow, wearing a red vest now, a knife dangling from his hand. But it wasn’t just that. His eyes…

Glazed. Vacant. Haunted.

Her breath caught.

“Min-su,” she said quietly, trying to keep her voice calm. “What are you doing?”

He blinked slowly, stepping closer. “Y/N…” he said, almost dreamlike. “I can’t find Se-mi. You have to help me find her.”

Her stomach twisted. The way he moved, the slackness in his expression — she knew that look. The drugs. He had them in his system. How? It didn’t matter. Someone must’ve slipped him something. Or…maybe he took it himself.

“Min-su, stop. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He didn’t stop. His steps were slow but steady, and the closer he got, the more his pupils dilated. She saw the shift in his gaze — how her face twisted in his perception, how her voice no longer reached him.

“I need you to stop him,” he mumbled. “Nam-gyu wants to hurt her. You have to stop him.”

“Min-su, listen to me,” she pleaded, backing up. “It’s me. It’s Y/N.”

But it was already too late.

All he saw now was Nam-gyu. The mocking voice. The insults. The sneers. His mind replayed it all — distorted, warped by the chemicals surging through his veins — until Y/N’s face blurred into his.

He yelled and lunged.

She yelped and dodged, running.

“Min-su!” she called, panicked, glancing over her shoulder. “We were friends! Don’t do this!”

But he didn’t hear her.

She sprinted blindly around a corner and collided with another body, crashing to the floor. A fellow blue player — who took one look at the chaos and bolted in the other direction.

She tried to get up, but Min-su was already there, looming above her with the knife glinting in his hand.

“Min-su…” she gasped, scrambling back. “Please—I’ve only ever tried to help you.”

But he wasn’t hearing her. His lips were trembling, eyes wild and unfocused.

She kicked up hard, catching him in the stomach. He stumbled back, enough for her to scramble to an open door and try to slam it shut.

But he reached it first.

The door slammed hard into her ankle — the sound and sensation made her stomach flip. She screamed, crumpling to the ground. Pain lit up her leg like fire.

Then he was on her again, dragging her onto her back. She raised her arm in defense just as the knife came down.

The blade plunged clean through her palm.

She screamed — a raw, animal noise torn from her throat — as blood burst between her fingers and the steel. She thrashed, pushing against him, sobbing from the pain.

Then—

Two pairs of footsteps.

Nam-gyu’s bloodshot eyes widened. “What the fuck—?!”

Myung-gi slowed, then stopped. It wasn’t who he was searching for. Not Jun-hee. His gaze flicked to Y/N, bloodied and writhing in pain, and then back to the wall.

Nam-gyu didn’t stop.

“Min-su, you little fucker!” he roared, charging forward and yanking him off of her. The knife tore free from her hand with the motion, and she shrieked again, curling protectively around the wound.

Min-su stumbled back and slammed his head into the metal doorknob. He crumpled, stunned.

Nam-gyu dropped to his knees beside her. “Shit…fuck… I was joking, okay? When I said if I found you first…”

“My ankle,” she sobbed. “My hand…”

He looked — her ankle was twisted at an unnatural angle, her hand mangled and slick with blood. He clenched his jaw, looking up at Myung-gi.

“MG Coin!” he barked. “Get over here!”

Myung-gi hesitated. “She’s a blue player. We’re supposed to—”

“You want me to help you find your bitch, right?” Nam-gyu snapped, already looping her arm over his shoulder. “Then help mine.”

Myung-gi flinched at the words but nodded, jogging forward.

Together, they lifted her off the floor. She cried out again, the pain radiating through every nerve as her broken ankle dangled uselessly. Her blood smeared across both of them as they half-carried, half-dragged her down the hall.

Nam-gyu kept muttering under his breath — curses, apologies, threats — but he didn’t let go of her. Not even for a second.

Behind them, Min-su stirred again, groaning. But the trio was already disappearing down the corridor, swallowed by shadows and flickering lights.

Nam-gyu kicked a door open, the sharp slam echoing off the concrete walls as he and Myung-gi hauled Y/N inside. The room was small and windowless, lit only by a flickering overhead bulb that cast eerie shadows across the space. Neon-colored crayon drawings of suns and stick figures littered the dark walls, glowing faintly in the dim light like forgotten memories of happier times. The air was stale, thick with the scent of sweat and metal.

They lowered her carefully — or as carefully as Nam-gyu could manage — onto the floor. She winced and bit back another scream as her ankle brushed the ground, tears slipping down her cheeks unchecked. Her hand throbbed like it had a heartbeat of its own, blood still leaking from the jagged puncture where the blade had gone straight through.

“What do we do now?” Myung-gi asked, looking over at Nam-gyu with uncertainty.

Nam-gyu exhaled harshly, running a hand down his face. “She’s gonna have to hide in here until the game’s over.”

“That’s your plan?”

He rounded on him. “Look at her fucking ankle, MG. Does it look like she’s about to sprint her way out of here?”

Myung-gi glanced down at Y/N. Her chest was rising and falling in short, labored breaths. Her fingers trembled as she pressed the edge of her sleeve to the wound in her hand, trying to slow the bleeding. She didn’t speak — maybe couldn’t. The pain had hollowed her out.

“So what?” Myung-gi said, his voice sharp with disbelief. “We just sit in here and hide with her? There’s more blue team to hunt. More players—”

“No shit,” Nam-gyu snapped, straightening to his full height. He looked at Y/N, then back at him. “She stays. We go.”

“You trust no one’ll find her?”

Nam-gyu’s mouth twitched. “They won’t. She’ll be fine…if she keeps quiet.”

Y/N managed a weak nod, her face pale and slick with sweat.

Nam-gyu stepped toward the door, gripping his knife with more force than necessary. His other hand lingered over the cross necklace at his chest, thumb brushing the cool metal like a nervous tic.

He was halfway out when Myung-gi spoke.

“You said earlier in the hall…” Myung-gi’s voice was quiet but cutting, making Nam-gyu stop in place. “That she was nothing. Just an easy lay.”

Nam-gyu paused, hand on the doorframe.

“So why are you doing this?”

There was a silence — not hesitation, but something heavier. Nam-gyu looked back over his shoulder, expression unreadable. “Same reason you’re looking for your bitch, MG Coin,” he said coolly, a shrug rolling off his shoulders like it meant nothing. “Because I care.” He didn’t wait for a response. Just turned back and pushed open the door. “I’m going back out there,” he added. “Go with me. Don’t. Doesn’t matter.”

Myung-gi looked between him and Y/N, conflicted. Then, with a quiet sigh, he bent down to retrieve his knife. He nodded, wordlessly.

Y/N watched them go, the sound of their footsteps fading down the corridor.

And then she was alone.

The fluorescent light above her buzzed softly. The childlike drawings stared down at her with wide, colorless eyes. She let her head fall back against the wall, her hand cradled to her chest, her ankle screaming with every shift of her weight.

She tried to breathe — slow, deep. But all she could think was:

How long could she really stay hidden?

And if Nam-gyu didn’t come back… would she even want to survive?

Y/N sat in the corner of the dim room, breathing through clenched teeth. Sweat and tears streaked her face, and her heart pounded in her ears like war drums. But she had no choice — if she wanted to live, she had to act now.

Control the bleeding first.

Gritting her teeth, she shrugged out of her jacket — difficult with one functional hand and searing pain in the other. Her fingers fumbled with the zipper of her blue tracksuit vest until she peeled the jacket off, leaving only her sweat-damp shirt beneath. The moment cold air hit the bloodied fabric of her sleeve, the pain sharpened. Her hand — pierced clean through — throbbed in sync with her pulse.

She laid the jacket on her lap and used her teeth to tear a long strip from the cuff. It took time. Every motion sent a lightning bolt of pain up her arm, but she endured. She had to.

Once she had the strip, she inspected the wound: the entry was through the palm, the exit near the base of her knuckles. The bleeding had slowed, but not enough. Her fingers were stiff and already beginning to swell.

She took another breath. Then folded the strip into a thick pad and pressed it directly against the wound.

A scream tore through her throat through gritted teeth, involuntary and raw. Her vision blurred for a second.

Keep pressure. Hold it steady.

She used her knee to brace the injured hand while she wrapped another piece of fabric — this time torn from the inner lining of the jacket — tightly around the pad and her hand, securing it with a rough knot over her wrist. She knew it wasn’t perfect. The knife had missed major arteries — thank God — but she wouldn’t be using that hand for anything soon. And infection would come next if she wasn’t careful.

She leaned back against the wall, catching her breath.

Then came the ankle.

She’d been avoiding looking at it, hoping the pain might pass. It didn’t. The joint was swollen, visibly out of alignment. Likely a dislocation, she thought. Not a clean break — that pain would’ve been sharper, more immobilizing. This she could still fix.

But it was going to hurt.

She pulled her leg closer, sweat dripping down her temple. Her fingers dug into the soft groove just above her heel. The joint was misaligned — obvious even through her sock. She pushed the fabric down and bit into the collar of her jacket sleeve to muffle her cries.

One breath in.

And then with a brutal motion, she pulled her foot forward and twisted.

A sickening crack of bone and cartilage echoed through the tiny room. She screamed into the cloth, muffled and guttural, falling sideways onto the floor.

Then stillness.

The joint slid back into place. The searing pain gave way to a dull, nauseating throb. Her foot still couldn’t bear weight, but it no longer hung at the wrong angle.

She lay there for a moment, shivering, bloodied, and half-conscious. But the bleeding had slowed. Her ankle was set. And she was alive.

That would have to be enough for now.

. . . 

When the final ding of the timer echoed through the arena, signaling the end of the hunt, Nam-gyu didn’t waste a second. He ran.

His shoes pounded against the concrete as he retraced his path through the maze of cartoon-painted corridors until he found her — slumped against the wall in that forgotten room, blood drying on her hand, her eyes heavy with exhaustion but still alert.

“Come on, baby,” he muttered, crouching to sling her arm over his shoulder. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Together, they hobbled back to the dormitory, Y/N barely able to put weight on her leg. Every step was agony, but she clenched her jaw and bore it. The worst part was already over.

Probably.

As they stepped through the metal doors of the dormitory, the buzz of conversation faltered. Heads turned. A few whispered. Nam-gyu didn’t care. His grip tightened protectively around her waist as they moved toward their side of the room.

“How you feeling?” he asked, his voice almost gentle now.

“Like I got stabbed through the fucking hand,” she mumbled. “And like my ankle’s broken in three places.”

“Charming,” he muttered, helping her sit down on the edge of a lower bunk. 

She groaned softly, eyes fluttering shut as the mattress creaked beneath her.

Nam-gyu straightened — and almost immediately reached for the small cross necklace that hung from his neck.

Except it wasn’t there.

His fingers groped at bare skin. His eyes narrowed. He yanked off his jacket, shook it out, checked both front and back of his tracksuit. Then dove into his pockets.

Nothing.

Panic flashed across his face.

“Baby,” he said sharply, turning to her. “Have you seen my necklace?”

She blinked slowly. “No.”

“You sure? You don’t have it?”

“You want to frisk me, Nam-gyu?” she replied, deadpan. “You probably dropped it back in the arena.”

His gaze flicked over her, then over to the rest of the returning players. She followed his eyes — and froze when she saw Min-su. He stood near the back, head down, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot like a boy waiting to be scolded. She didn’t know if he remembered what he’d done. Maybe the drugs had wiped it clean. Maybe he just didn’t care.

Then he looked up.

Their eyes met.

And Y/N knew. She knew he had it — that Nam-gyu’s precious necklace full of pills had somehow ended up in his hands. But she said nothing. Despite the pain, despite the trauma, she wouldn’t throw Min-su to the wolves. If Nam-gyu knew the truth…

She looked away.

Nam-gyu didn’t. He kept pacing. Then his hands were on her — patting her down, not rough, but frantic. Her sides, her pockets, her thighs. She hissed in pain as his fingers roamed upward again, not stopping even when he reached her chest.

His hands cupped her breasts, feeling around the sides as if his necklace might be hidden inside her bra.

She shoved one of his hands back with her good hand. “It’s not there. I told you, I don’t have it.”

He let out a strangled scream and clutched his face with both hands, pacing in a circle before storming toward the nearest guard.

“I left something in the arena,” he said breathlessly. “I need to go get it. Just give me two minutes, okay?”

The guard stepped in front of him, silent and unmoving.

“I need it,” he said again, trying to push past — only to be shoved back with a hard arm. “Please, please, come on! I can’t do anything without it!”

The guard didn’t respond. Another stepped in, lifting his rifle.

Nam-gyu lunged — and got slammed to the ground for it. The barrel of a rifle hovered inches from his face, the red triangle mask above it unflinching.

Y/N shifted forward on the bed, trying to stand. “No—!”

But then a sound cut through the tension like a blade.

A baby’s cry.

Everyone turned.

Two women stepped into the dormitory — Player 222, limping heavily, her face pale with exhaustion, and Player 149 behind her, cradling something in her arms. A newborn, wrapped tightly in 222’s jacket. The crying grew louder, high-pitched and frantic.

Gasps echoed throughout the room.

Even Nam-gyu froze, his chest heaving, as he looked at the infant.

Y/N’s eyes widened. 

The guards turned, momentarily distracted by the impossible.

The Games had rules. Harsh, bloody rules.

But now… there was a baby in the dormitory.

And nobody knew what the hell to do next.

The baby’s cries echoed like a siren through the dormitory. For a moment, it swallowed everything — the tension, the fear, the blood in the air. All the players stood frozen in some mix of awe and horror, staring at something they’d all forgotten existed: life.

But the silence didn’t last.

Nam-gyu stormed back toward her, the fury barely restrained in his tight fists and twitching jaw. He didn’t look at the baby. Didn’t care. Not right now. His hands ran through his hair as he muttered curses under his breath, pacing in a crooked line until he finally dropped beside her bed like something in him snapped loose.

“I can’t do this,” he rasped, gripping the edge of the mattress so tightly his knuckles turned bone-white. “I can’t fucking do this without it. I’m gonna lose it. I am losing it.”

Y/N watched him carefully, chest still rising and falling with effort. She could see the tremors in his hands now — subtle at first, but building. His eyes were red, but not from the drugs this time. From whatever came after.

Withdrawal.

“You’re okay,” she said softly, gently. “You’ve gone a few hours without it before, right? You just need to breathe—”

“Don’t tell me to breathe,” he snapped, turning toward her, his eyes wild. “You don’t get it, Y/N. My chest is fucking tight. My head’s pounding. My skin itches. Everything hurts and it’s only been—” he looked up at the large monitor as if time mattered, then gave up and slammed his fist down on the bunk. “I need it!”

She flinched at the noise, hand tightening over the makeshift wrap around her palm.

“Nam-gyu,” she said calmly, keeping her tone even, “look at me.”

He didn’t.

So she reached out — shakily, painfully — and rested her bloodied hand on his knee. He finally looked.

His face cracked then. Just slightly. Like something behind his usual smirk and snarl had started to rot away.

“You’re here,” she whispered. “You made it through the game. You saved me. You’re here. But if you lose control now, if you make a scene, they’ll kill you. And I’m not gonna survive in here without you.”

His eyes burned into hers. She could see how fast his mind was moving, how everything was crashing in at once — rage, fear, need. He leaned forward suddenly, forehead pressing against her shoulder as his whole body trembled.

“I should’ve killed that little shit,” he growled into her collarbone. “Min-su. I should’ve fucking killed him. After what he did to you—”

Her hand came up slowly, settling on the back of his head.

“I don’t want him dead,” she said. “Not by your hand. That won’t help me. It won’t help you.”

“He almost killed you. He slammed a door on your ankle. Stabbed your fucking hand, Y/N. Do you understand how close I was to losing you?”

“I do,” she whispered. “But I’m still here.”

He pulled back, looking at her — breathing heavy, eyes glassy.

“You’re the only thing keeping me from ripping someone’s throat out right now,” he said, voice rough. “You know that?”

“Then let me keep you steady,” she said.

His hand found hers — the uninjured one — gripping it tightly.

She leaned her forehead against his.

And for a moment, just one, the rest of the dormitory faded.

Min-su.

The guards.

The baby.

The games.

None of it mattered more than this.

Than the fragile line they walked between violence and something dangerously close to love.

. . .

The lights overhead flickered to life in a slow pulse, casting a sterile glow across the dormitory. The heavy footsteps of guards marched in a steady rhythm, lining up like shadows across the walls. Most of what was said was zoned out but she could read the board: Twenty-six players remain. Current prize total: 43.1 billion won. Each remaining player’s share: 1.724 billion won.

Nam-gyu was curled beside her on the narrow bed, drenched in sweat. His face was pale, lips cracked, body trembling like a fraying wire pulled too tight. His head rested low on her stomach, his fingers tangled lightly in the hem of her shirt — not possessive like many times before, just…grounding. Desperate.

Like being close to her could mimic the drug that was no longer in his system.

“Breathe,” she whispered softly, stroking a hand through his damp hair. “Just breathe through it. You’re almost through the worst.”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t move away either. His breathing came in shallow, ragged waves.

Then the guard called his number.

“Player 124.“

Nam-gyu flinched. He let out a quiet, choked breath before slowly rising. He wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist and turned to her, the wildness in his eyes dulled now — not gone, just buried under the fog of pain.

“I’ll help you,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse.

He draped her arm around his shoulder again, careful of her injured hand. Together they hobbled forward, every step slow and heavy. He stopped in front of the voting booth, steadying her with one arm before he let go. She nodded, signaling she could stand on her own.

For the first time since entering the games, Nam-gyu looked up.

He stared at the glowing board, the two buttons in front of him. A red X. A blue O.

For so long, the choice had been easy. Win. Kill. Survive. But now — with the drugs gone and her blood still staining his clothes — everything felt quieter.

He pressed the red X.

The vote to leave.

Then, with a quiet exhale, he reached for the edge of his jacket and peeled off the old blue O patch he’d worn since the very first game.

And picked up a fresh red X.

Not the hunter.

Not the hunted.

Just… a player.

He stepped aside, and Y/N limped forward.

She didn’t need to look at the buttons for long. Her eyes lingered on Nam-gyu, on the way his shoulders sagged now, like the weight of survival had finally settled into his bones.

Then she pressed X.

They had played long enough.

They had bled long enough.

And now… they both wanted out.

The final vote lit up across the screen, each red and blue light clicking into place like the teeth of a lock snapping shut.

16 for O. 9 for X.

No one cheered. No one moved.

It was a quiet kind of devastation — the kind that sat in the pit of your stomach and stayed. The kind that made your hands feel heavy, like they belonged to someone else. The kind that told you: you’d die here.

Greed had won. 

Again.

Nam-gyu stared at the ground, unmoving, jaw clenched so tightly it made his temples twitch. His hand flexed at his side like he was searching for something that wasn’t there — the necklace, the pills, a reason to keep pretending he was in control.

Y/N didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. The silence between them said enough.

He finally turned to her, offering his arm again.

She took it without hesitation.

Together, they made their way back to the bunk, one slow step at a time. His hand stayed firm around her waist, and her arm gripped his shoulder for balance. Their bodies leaned into one another like two broken structures barely holding each other up.

As they reached their corner, Nam-gyu helped her sit back on the lower bunk. He crouched in front of her, head bowed, hands on his knees.

His voice was quiet. “I really thought we’d be out…this….it might’ve been different.”

Her fingers brushed the edge of his jaw, coaxing his face up to meet hers. “So did I.”

His eyes flicked to hers, then away. “We’ll have to survive one more.”

She nodded, though it hurt. “One at a time.”

Nam-gyu settled beside her, his back against the cold wall. The tremors in his hands had started to come back, but he didn’t mention it. He didn’t need to. She laced her fingers — the ones that still worked — through his, anchoring him.

And for the moment, that was enough.

Not hope. Not yet.

But something close enough to hold onto.

. . . 

Y/N couldn’t remember sleeping.

Not really.

Her body begged for rest — ached for it, screamed in every nerve and muscle for just one uninterrupted hour. But her mind wouldn’t let her.

Instead, she sat upright in the bunk all night, back pressed against the cold metal wall, Nam-gyu curled beside her, drenched in sweat and trembling from the inside out. Withdrawal gripped him like a sickness, stealing away all the sharpness and swagger he usually wore like armor. He groaned softly in his sleep, his face twitching, muscles jerking every so often as if his body was fighting phantoms she couldn’t see.

And still, she stayed up for him.

If someone had told her a week ago that she’d be watching over Nam-gyu, of all people—him—through the night like he was something fragile, she would’ve laughed in their face.

But this wasn’t the man who used to grin at her with blood on his hands and pills on his breath. This wasn’t the same cocky, chaotic, sex-obsessed drug addict who prowled the dorm like a wolf in a red vest.

This was just Nam-gyu now. Weak. Hurting. Human.

And even as the withdrawals tore through him, he’d still helped her — saved her when Min-su nearly killed her. Became her crutch when her ankle couldn’t hold her weight. He didn’t abandon her. Not once.

So she stayed.

Every so often, she’d wake him up gently, enough to press a water bottle to his cracked lips and whisper, ‘Drink.’ He’d groan, blink blearily, obey, and then fall back into the pit again.

Time blurred after that.

She didn’t remember when the lights flicked on or when the guards came in to count heads. She didn’t remember when the piggy bank buzzed to life again or when someone screamed in the far corner over something they saw.

It was only when they passed the second row of bunks — her injured leg dragging beside her — that she saw it.

Player 149.

The old woman who had come in with her son. She barely knew her, had only shared a few glances in passing. But the image seared itself into Y/N’s mind with perfect clarity.

The woman hung silently from a twisted bedsheet, eyes closed. Her face was pale and peaceful in a way that made it worse.

She hadn’t made it to the next game.

Her son died in the fourth one. And without him, she’d quietly folded herself into the sheets and let go.

Y/N didn’t realize she was crying until she blinked and felt the damp warmth on her cheeks. She didn’t sob. Didn’t break down. Just stood there, held up by Nam-gyu, eyes red and throat tight as the guards came in and gently cut the sheet.

They didn’t speak. Just placed her in the black coffin. A pink bow on top. Like it meant something.

Y/N watched until the box disappeared from the dorm.

And then her body moved forward again, barely feeling the steps under her feet.

It wasn’t until they reached the last flight of stairs that she heard him — Nam-gyu’s voice, quiet and rough beside her.

“Almost there, baby,” he said, his arm firm around her waist. “Last step.”

She nodded, barely able to return the pressure of her grip on him.

Her head was swimming, her hand still throbbed beneath the jacket wrap, her ankle ached with every inch forward. But with his help, she climbed the last stair.

They walked through the tall green doors into the next room.

The next game.

And whatever horror waited for them inside.

The arena for the fifth game was eerily quiet.

It resembled a child’s toy set built on the edge of a nightmare.

High above a cavernous drop, a narrow bridge stretched between two round platforms, suspended in the void like a fragile thread. The bridge itself was a rickety construction of wooden planks and rusted steel beams, just wide enough for one person at a time. Beneath it, there was nothing but a black pit that seemed to go on forever, the kind of darkness that made your stomach drop just looking at it.

At one end of the bridge stood a towering doll — a girl in a faded red dress, frozen in mid-motion. Her molded plastic hands gripped a thick rope that stretched across the full length of the bridge. Opposite her, at the far end, another oversized doll stood still — a boy dressed in a green-striped shirt and tan shorts, unmoving, blank-eyed.

The rope hung suspended between them, motionless for now — like a loaded weapon that hadn’t fired yet.

Everything was still.

Unnervingly still.

And then, from the ceiling speakers, that cold, detached voice rang out: “Welcome to the fifth game. The game you will be playing is Jump Rope. You must cross the bridge as you jump over the rotating rope and get to the other side within 20 minutes. You may decide on the order amongst yourselves. Now, let the game begin.”

And just like that, the countdown began.

A loud mechanical beep echoed across the chamber as a twenty-minute timer illuminated on the far left wall, numbers glowing red and merciless.

At the same time, the jump rope began to move.

At first, it was slow — a gentle sway, harmless. But then it dipped lower, gathering speed as it arced across the bridge. Whoosh. It sliced through the air, skimming just above the wooden planks with frightening precision before lifting again, then crashing down a second time.

Y/N stared at the bridge, eyes trailing the rope’s path.

Then she looked down at her ankle.

Swollen. Purple. Barely able to bear her weight. Jumping was laughable. She could barely stand.

This was it.

Her arm slipped from around Nam-gyu’s shoulder as she leaned back against the cold painted wall, one hand pressed over her chest, trying to slow the galloping pace of her heart.

Nam-gyu watched her from the corner of his eye, chest rising and falling too quickly. Then he looked toward the edge of the bridge — the abyss below. That endless drop, hungry and black.

He swallowed hard, eyes fluttering shut. He couldn’t carry her. Not now. Not like this. If he had the pills—the energy, the edge— maybe. But now?

He was terrified.

Terrified of dying.

More terrified of watching her die first.

He slowly sank to the floor beside her, legs folding beneath him as if gravity had become too much.

Then came the sound of footsteps.

Min-su.

He stopped in front of Nam-gyu, gaze unreadable. “Are you feeling okay?”

Nam-gyu didn’t even look up. He reached out and shoved his arm away with a weak snap of the wrist. “Piss off. Piss off, you fucking loser,” he muttered, his voice dry and barely above a whisper.

Min-su didn’t react. Not to the insult. Not to the trembling.

Instead, he reached into the front of his jacket… and pulled out the small, metallic cross.

Nam-gyu’s eyes widened instantly, breath catching in his throat.

The necklace dangled between Min-su’s fingers like bait. “Is it because of this?” Min-su asked, voice calm. Almost detached.

Nam-gyu scrambled, reaching for it — but Min-su yanked it back. He kept trying.

Min-su stood taller, lifting the chain above the edge of the pit behind him. The cross swung dangerously over the void.

“Fuck off!” Min-su barked. “Piss me off, and I’ll throw it.”

Nam-gyu screamed in frustration before covering his face and then slowly…he shifted to his knees. “Look, Min-su,” he breathed. “Min-su…” His voice cracked. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. For everything. I’m sorry.” He clasped his hands together, knuckles white. “I can’t do this without it. Please.”

Min-su’s jaw flexed. His grip on the cross tightened as Nam-gyu continued to plead.

Y/N watched from the wall, her heart breaking and her throat tightening all at once.

This was Nam-gyu.

Begging.

Not raging. Not laughing. Not manipulating.

Begging.

Not for himself.

But for both of them.

Min-su didn’t answer right away.

He just turned. Calmly. Quietly.

He walked to the edge of the platform where the bridge began, his steps echoing softly in the deathly stillness. Nam-gyu shot up from the floor with a jolt, staggering after him, desperation in every breath.

But it was too late.

Min-su tossed the necklace.

The small silver cross flew through the air and landed almost exact in the center of the bridge with a soft metallic clink.

Min-su turned to face him, expression hollow. “If you want it…” he pointed. “Go get it.”

Something in Nam-gyu’s chest snapped.

He grabbed the front of his own jacket like he was about to lunge, fury flooding his face — but Min-su shoved him back hard with both hands. “What’s the fucking matter, huh?” he barked, stepping forward. “You scared? You fucking loser.”

Nam-gyu just stood there, breathing hard.

He looked at the cross, lying so far away — yet so close.

He looked back at Y/N, who hadn’t moved from the wall. Her body was still, but her eyes were wide with dread.

His rage dimmed. His shoulders fell.

He closed his eyes and sighed. Then he turned and walked back toward her, crouching down in front of her.

“I’ll be back,” he said quietly.

Y/N shook her head. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m just gonna grab it,” he said like it was simple. “Turn around. Jump back with it. Take one. Then I’ll carry you across that bridge.”

“Nam-gyu, please—”

“I’ll feel invincible. Like… like Superman or some shit.” His eyes were distant now, glimmering with both fear and resolve. “We cross that bridge, and we’re one step from getting out.”

She blinked at him, fighting the scream rising in her throat. “Nam-gyu, no offense, but that plan is fucking stupid. Don’t risk yourself. Don’t—”

“I need to,” he said softly, cutting her off. “For both of us.”

And then — before she could stop him — he leaned down and kissed her.

It was soft.

Gentle.

Real.

His lips lingered just long enough to say everything he never had — and maybe never would again. He’d never kissed her before. Not even during all the bathroom hookups and dorm shadowy stolen moments. Kissing was too vulnerable, too intimate. It meant feeling something.

But now, it was all he had left.

When he pulled away, her eyes were glassy, wide.

It didn’t feel like I’ll be right back.

It felt like goodbye.

“Please don’t do this…” she whispered, her voice already breaking. “Please…”

Nam-gyu didn’t answer.

He just looked at her one last time.

And then he turned… and stepped toward the bridge.

Nam-gyu ran a shaky hand through his hair, jaw clenched tight, heart slamming against his ribs like it was trying to claw its way out. He stood at the edge of the platform, eyes fixed on the bridge — on the silent, mocking glint of the cross lying dead-center and tried to time it.

The rope lifted overhead, its path smooth and cruel.

He took a breath and jumped.

His feet hit the wooden slats with a thud, but the impact forced him into a crouch, hands splayed on the floor, breath caught.

The rope came again.

He jumped. Just in time.

Landed on his hands and the the tips of his toes. Crawled. Moved forward, fast but careful.

Another pass. Another leap.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t clean.

But it worked.

From the platform, Y/N stood frozen, her eyes locked on him, body trembling with every beat of the rope. Every time it sliced downward, she flinched, her hand going to her chest, her mouth silently forming his name.

She couldn’t breathe.

He was getting closer.

One jump.

Two.

And then—he reached it.

The cross.

Nam-gyu snatched it off the bridge in a fumbling grip, his fingers slipping as he tried to flip it open with one hand and prepare to jump again. The rope came closer, the wind from its swing whispering against his back.

He managed to open it mid-motion, the tiny hinges squeaking—

And froze.

It was empty.

His heart plummeted.

No pills.

No relief.

No escape.

He wasn’t going to save himself. 

And he wasn’t going to save her. 

He stood there, blinking, barely hearing anything, barely seeing until he looked up over his shoulder, eyes seeking her.

Y/N was already watching him.

Their eyes met.

Hers filled with fear. Then with tears.

Her lips moved — a scream:

“Jump!”

But he didn’t hear it.

Not really.

Because time slowed down, and suddenly the rope was there again.

This time, he didn’t jump.

The rope slammed against his ankles with brutal force, ripping his feet out from under him. His body hit the planks hard. He rolled — once, before crashing against the edge of the bridge—

And then he was gone.

Y/N let out a strangled gasp and slapped both hands over her ears just in time to muffle the sound of his scream as it echoed down into the void—

And ended.

"Player 124, eliminated."

Just like that.

Nam-gyu was gone.

And Y/N… was alone again.

Y/N didn’t realize she was crying until her hands came up to cover her face and came away wet.

The sobs came softly at first — a trembling inhale, a cracked exhale — until the grief took over. Her shoulders shook as she curled in on herself near the wall, muffling her cries in her palms.

She was crying over Nam-gyu.

The same asshole who came on too strong the very first day they met. Who flirted shamelessly and loudly, then had the audacity to say a woman didn’t belong in their group. The same guy who persuaded her into sleeping with him by the second day. Who made her his second go-to escape (next to the drugs), his little secret in bathroom stalls and shadowed corners. And who, through all of it, never kissed her — because kissing, he once said, was ‘too intimate. Beyond what I want from you.’

The same guy who told her to her face he only liked her for the sex.

Who had stared at her before the fourth game and basically said, “If I find you first, I’ll kill you.”

She wanted to focus on that. She tried to.

She tried to cling to all the ways he hurt her, used her, reduced her to nothing more than a warm body and a distraction. If she could hold onto that version of him — cruel, selfish, impossible — maybe losing him wouldn’t feel like being carved open from the inside.

But her mind betrayed her.

Because it remembered other things, too.

It remembered him — the Nam-gyu who didn’t hesitate to pull her into a room during the last round in the third game. Who threw himself at Min-su in a blind rage when she was nearly stabbed to death. Who carried her when she couldn’t walk and stayed beside her through her worst night, even as he shook with withdrawal and trembled from the lack of his pills. He had no strength left — and he gave what little remained to her.

And today, he’d died trying to get something that would help both of them survive. He’d kissed her for the first time, real and unfiltered, then leapt into hell for a pill that wasn’t there.

Nam-gyu didn’t die a hero.

He died violent, and young, and desperate — just like people always said he would. Like Thanos. Like Gyeong-su. Like all the other doomed men she’d once stood beside.

No one on the outside would mourn a dead ex-club promoter and junkie.

But she would.

Because despite everything he was—violent, impulsive, cruel—he tried to be something better in the end. Even if just for her.

He died gallant.

Or at least…trying to be.

Y/N wept for him, silently and endlessly. Not because she loved him, not exactly. Their relationship had never been anything close to stable. She didn’t know what to call it. But she had cared for him.

And now he was gone.

Just another number. Another name that would vanish into the folds of the Game.

But to her, he wasn’t just another player.

He was Nam-gyu.

And she couldn’t stop crying.

Min-su stood a few feet away, silent.

Then he took a hesitant step forward. “Y/N…” he said quietly.

She slowly lifted her head, her cheeks wet, eyes rimmed with red, lips trembling as her breath hitched between sobs. She didn’t bother wiping the tears this time. She just looked at him — broken, hollowed, raw.

Min-su shifted awkwardly, his gaze flicking to her ankle — the ankle he’d crushed — and then back to her face. His voice cracked as he spoke again.

“We should try and cross the bridge… together. I can help you.”

She blinked at him like he’d slapped her. “You want to help me,” she said, voice hoarse, “after you tried to kill me in the last game?”

His face faltered. “I’m sorry about that, okay? I was high, I didn’t know—”

“I have done nothing but try to be kind to you,” she snapped, her words shaking now. “I was the one trying to get Nam-gyu off your back. I stood up for you. I tried to keep you safe.” More tears streamed down her face. Quiet this time. Steady. “And you still tried to kill me,” she whispered.

Min-su opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

She shook her head, bitterly. “I knew you had his pills. I knew what would happen if Nam-gyu found out. He would’ve gutted you.” Her voice cracked again. “I didn’t say a word.”

Min-su sniffled, guilt breaking through his eyes. “Y/N… I’m trying to fix this. Please.”

“You can’t fix it,” she whispered. “You should’ve just killed me in the last game. Maybe Nam-gyu wouldn’t have died trying to carry both of us.” She looked up fully then, voice like glass. Cutting. “Gyeong-su died because Thanos picked you to live. Thanos died because you couldn’t take responsibility for your choices. You started that fight — you ran, and he paid for it.”

Min-su’s face crumbled, but she didn’t stop.

“Se-mi died because you hid. Because you didn’t defend her. She probably screamed for help and you hid.” Her voice broke again. “Nam-gyu is dead because you were trying to avenge a dead girl you turned your back on, just hours before, like she meant nothing to you.”

She wiped her tears with the sleeve of her jacket, breath trembling.

“You got me killed, too. You broke my ankle. Left me to die.” She pointed to it — bruised, swollen, taped with a strip of her own jacket. “All of them. Gyeong-su. Thanos. Se-mi. Nam-gyu. Me. You killed us all,” she said softly, looking away, her voice no longer angry — just hollow.

Min-su exhaled shakily, eyes glistening. She saw him fight the urge to cry, his chest heaving slightly like he couldn’t breathe.

Then he reached into his pocket.

He pulled out the final pill.

No words.

He popped it into his mouth, swallowed dry, and walked toward the front of the group.

He didn’t look back at her.

He simply got in line — behind a trembling player — and waited for his turn to jump.

Y/N sat slumped against the cold wall, her injured leg stretched in front of her, arms limp at her sides.

One by one, the remaining players jumped.

Some screamed. Some didn’t. Some made it across with barely a second to spare. Others plummeted — swallowed by the pit in an instant, their stories ending midair.

And she just watched.

Her tears had dried. Her eyes stung, but she didn’t blink much anymore. Her breath came shallow, like her lungs had given up on trying to fill all the way. Her body was heavy. Her heart heavier.

The clock ticked mercilessly on the far wall.

Then — movement.

Player 222.

The young woman who once clutched her pregnant belly, now limping forward with a ghost-like calm.

Y/N’s gaze locked on her, confusion slowly setting in… until she noticed the way the girl walked. The same stiffness. The same quiet pain in every step.

Her ankle was broken too.

They were the same.

Two injured women. Two wrecked bodies. No way forward. No real chance.

On the far end of the bridge, 456 reached out toward her, panic etched in his face as he nearly attempted to cross the bridge again. But 222 only stopped him and spoke through the tears, voice raised as she begged him to take care of her baby. To make it worth something. To make her mean something.

And then she stepped forward.

No hesitation.

One broken step.

And she was gone.

Y/N flinched as she vanished. Just like that.

She looked at the timer.

Eleven seconds.

This was it.

No fanfare. No final words. No big, bloody send-off.

Just time.

Running out.

She placed one hand on the wall behind her and forced herself upright. Her leg screamed in protest. Her balance wavered. She took one breath, then hobbled toward the edge of the platform — to the very spot where Nam-gyu had stood, where Min-su had mocked him.

She could still feel him there, the echo of that moment scorched into the floor.

She stood there.

Unmoving.

Her eyes flicked up to the nearest guard, whose rifle was already raised, aimed at her head like a countdown of its own.

She looked between the gun and the pit below.

Which one would hurt less?

The platform across the gap was already emptying, players led away.

She turned her head slightly—just in time to see the broken girl fall.

And then… the beep.

“The game is over.”

The announcement rang hollow.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t open her eyes.

Then—

She felt it.

The cold barrel pressed gently to her forehead.

She didn’t cry. Didn’t beg. Didn’t flinch. 

She just…waited.

One breath.

Two.

A final whisper of Nam-gyu’s name in her head.

Then—

BANG.

Darkness.

Besides that, the characters are very relateable in terms of backstories (even if we know very little about Nam-gyu).

In S3 when Nam-gyu started imitating Thanos it really broke my heart, because what do you mean he's going though withdraw and doesn't actually hate Thanos like he said in Hide and Seek?! Of course he doesn't!? If he did he would've taken his drugs and flung a long time ago!!