#player095

your right shoe is wrecked, the sole flapping loose after breaking off somewhere between saving young-mi and crossing the finish line. 

you nearly trip on the stairs leading back to the dorms, your balance thrown as the cheap rubber catches on a step. 

“these cheap-ass shoes,” you mutter under your breath, steadying yourself against the wall. young-mi, looks up at you, her eyes wide with worry.

“take mine,” she says softly, already bending to take off her shoes, “i don’t want you to fall.”

you shake your head, forcing a smile despite the ache in your chest. 

“keep yours, love. i’ll be fine.” you kick the broken shoe against the floor, the sole flapping pathetically, and guide her toward your bunk. 

young-mi insisted on moving to your bed, her own abandoned somewhere across the room. you don’t argue…you want her close, where you can feel her warmth, hear her breathing, know she’s safe for now.

you both collapse onto the thin mattress, the metal frame creaking under your combined weight. young-mi’s hair tickles into your side, her head resting on your shoulder, her dark hair spilling across your shoulders and the pillow. 

the dorm is full of low murmurs, with players processing the carnage of the first game, but you and young-mi carve out a small bubble of quiet, your hands intertwined under the scratchy ivory blanket. 

young-mi’s fingers are cold, trembling, and you squeeze them gently, trying to anchor her.

“how did you end up here?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, afraid to shatter the fragile calm, “you never told me about a card.”

young-mi’s breath hitches, her eyes dropping to the blanket. 

“i… i didn’t want to worry you,” she admits, her voice small. 

“it was a few days ago, when i was sketching outside the apartment. a man in a suit…he looked like he didn’t belong in sillim-dong…came up to me. he offered a game, like cards, and i won after the first time.” she pauses, her fingers tightening around yours. 

“he didn’t hurt me, just gave me a card with a number and an address. yongsan family park, 1 a.m., october 30th. i called it, and… here i am.”

you swallow hard, your throat tight. 

“at least he didn’t hurt you.” you mumble. 

youngmi’s eyes shot open in concern, “he hurt you?”

“he slapped me when i lost the first game.” you smirk, trying to find some type of humor in this dark situation. 

“i would have smacked him if i knew he hurt you.” young-mi frowned, rubbing her thumbs across your knuckles.

“why didn’t you tell me?” your voice cracks, a mix of hurt and guilt as you move on from your past moment with the salesman. 

you should’ve known, should’ve seen the signs. 

you were so caught up in your own card, your own fears, you missed hers.

“i was scared,” she says, tears welling in her eyes. 

“you’re always protecting me, y/n, and i didn’t want to be a burden. i thought… maybe i could handle it, win some money to help us.” young-mi’s voice breaks, and a tear spills down her cheek, catching the light. 

“but then the van, the gas… and the game. i saw those people die, and i—” she chokes on a sob, burying her face in your chest.

you wrap your arms around her, pulling her close, your heart aching with a protective love. 

“you’re not a burden,” you say firmly, your lips brushing her forehead, “never. i’m here, okay? i’ll protect you as best i can, if you’ll let me.”

she nods against you, her tears soaking into your tracksuit. 

“i will,” she whispers, “i love you, y/n. but… you have to protect yourself too. promise me.” 

young-mi’s voice is desperate, her eyes searching yours, and you see the fear there…not just for herself, but for you.

“i promise,” you say, but the words feel hollow. 

deep down, you know you can’t guarantee anything in this place, not after the blood on the gravel, the gunshots ringing in your ears. 

you stroke her hair, your fingers gentle, trying to soothe her. 

“we’re gonna get through this, together. i won’t let anything happen to you.”

“i’m not like you,” she says, her voice trembling, “i’m not strong or fast. these games… i can barely keep up. what if i can’t do it? what if i—” she cuts off, her sobs shaking her frame.

you tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet your eyes. 

“listen to me,” you say, your voice steady despite the panic clawing at your insides, “you’re stronger than you think. you’ve survived so much already…your parents, everything. i’m here. i’ll run every game with you, hold you up, whatever it takes. we’re a team, okay?”

she nods, her lips trembling as she tries to smile. 

“okay,” she whispers, “i love you so much.”

“i love you too,” you say, your voice thick with emotion. 

you kiss her softly, her lips warm and salty with tears, and for a moment, it’s just you and her, the dorm fading away. 

your love for her is a fire in your chest, burning through the fear, the exhaustion, the uncertainty. you’d die for her, you know that, but you also know she’s right…you have to stay alive for her too. 

your protectiveness is a double-edged sword, urging you to shield her while tethering you to this hellish place.

a loud buzzer cuts through the dorm, and young-mi clutches you tighter, her fingers digging into your arm. 

the double doors at the far end swing open, and a group of pink-suited guards march in, their masks as expressionless as ever. 

one with a square mask steps forward, their voice amplified through a speaker. 

“congratulations on surviving the first game,” they say, the words cold and mechanical, “you have proven your determination.”

the screen above the stage flickers to life, displaying a number that makes your blood run cold: 99. ninety-nine players eliminated. 

ninety-nine bodies left on that gravel field. 

young-mi’s breath hitches, her body tensing against yours. 

you hold her closer, your jaw tight, as the guard continues. 

“the prize for completing all six games is 45.6 billion won.” gasps ripple through the dorm, a mix of awe and greed. your heart sinks, panic rising silently. 

that kind of money changes people. you’ve seen it at the diner…customers fighting over a dropped coin, let alone billions. 

some of these players, you know, will do anything for that prize. 

anything.

after you and young-mi voted to leave this place, it didn't hold up. most of these freaks wanted to stay. 

the guards distributed dinner…a single boiled egg and a bottle of water, handed out like rations in a prison. 

you take yours, passing the egg to young-mi when she hesitates. 

“eat,” you say gently, nudging her. 

“you need your strength.”

she takes it, her fingers brushing yours, and you both sit cross-legged on the bunk, the blanket draped over your shoulders. the egg is bland, the water lukewarm, but it’s something. 

young-mi picks at her egg, her eyes distant. 

“what would you do with the money?” she asks, her voice soft, almost wistful.

you lean back, thinking of the life you want for her, for both of you.

 “i’d buy us a nice apartment in gangnam,” you say, naming the ritzy seoul neighborhood where skyscrapers gleam and money flows like water. 

“somewhere with big windows, no leaks, no hot plate for a kitchen. we’d pay off all our debts…your loans, mine, everything. we’d be free financially.”

young-mi smiles, a real one this time, her eyes lighting up. 

“i want a garden,” she says, her voice dreamy. 

“somewhere we can grow tulips, like at morning bloom. red and orange, holding each other.”

you laugh, the sound surprising you in this grim place. 

“then we’ll get a place in the countryside instead,” you tease, nudging her shoulder, “big garden, tulips everywhere, maybe a cat or four.”

she giggles, the sound soft and warm, and you both laugh under the blanket, your heads close, your world shrinking to this moment. 

for a second, it’s like you’re back in sillim-dong, curled up on your futon, the games forgotten. 

unfortunately, this temporary happiness ends. 

a shadow falls over you, and you glance up to see number 044, the shaman woman, smirking from a nearby bunk. the woman’s eyeliner is smudged now, but her gaze is sharp, like she’s dissecting you. 

that shaman needs to leave me the hell alone, you think while your irritation is flaring. 

you turn back to young-mi, ignoring the shaman, and see young-mi yawn, her eyes heavy.

“you’re tired,” you say, brushing a strand of hair from her face, “sleep. i’ll be right here.”

“you’re tired too,” she murmurs, her hand finding yours under the blanket, “promise you’ll rest?”

“i promise,” you say, though you know sleep won’t come easy. 

you both lie down, young-mi’s head on your chest, her breathing slowing as she drifts off. 

you stare at the bunk above, the metal bars cold, and you try to quiet the panic in your mind. 

the next game is coming in the morning, and you know, deep in your bones, that it’ll be worse. 

all you can do is hold young-mi close, her warmth your only calm, and wait for dawn.

chapter five is linked here