The dormitory was a cavernous space, sterile and cold, bathed in the harsh glare of fluorescent lights that hummed relentlessly overhead. Rows of steel bunk beds stretched endlessly, their thin mattresses offering little comfort to bodies battered by the brutal games. The air was thick with the mingled scents of sweat, fear, and the faint metallic tang of blood. A heavy silence hung over the survivors, broken only by the occasional soft sob or the scrape of restless feet against the concrete floor.
Gi-hun collapsed onto his assigned bunk, the thin mattress barely cushioning his aching muscles. Every movement sent sharp reminders of the Tug of War’s brutal toll—his palms raw and bleeding, legs trembling with exhaustion. He closed his eyes, but sleep was elusive. The faces of those who had fallen haunted his mind—their screams, their final moments etched vividly in his memory. The giant doll’s unblinking eyes seemed to stare into his soul, a relentless specter of death.
Beside him, Sae-byeok sat quietly on the edge of her bunk, her dark eyes distant and unreadable. The pain from her hidden wound throbbed steadily beneath her jacket, a dull ache that refused to be ignored. She clenched her fists tightly, fighting back tears and the creeping despair. Her thoughts were with her brother, the fragile hope that kept her moving forward despite the nightmare surrounding them.
Ali tended carefully to a shallow cut on his arm, his large hands surprisingly gentle. His face was set in a mask of quiet determination, but the flicker of fear in his eyes betrayed the heavy weight he carried—the thought of his young son waiting for him beyond these walls. He whispered promises to survive, to return to the life he had left behind.
Deok-su prowled restlessly, his scowl deepening as he muttered curses under his breath. His usual bravado was tempered by the grim reality of survival. The dragon tattoo on his arm seemed to writhe with suppressed fury as he stared at the others, suspicion and anger simmering beneath his harsh exterior.
Sang-woo sat apart from the others, meticulously cleaning a small wound on his hand. His eyes were cold and calculating, already plotting the next move in this deadly game. The victory in Tug of War was a temporary reprieve, and he knew the true battle was far from over. His mind raced through strategies, alliances, and betrayals yet to come.
The survivors exchanged glances filled with unspoken fears and tentative hopes. Trust was a scarce commodity here—every alliance shadowed by suspicion, every gesture weighed against the possibility of betrayal. The thin walls of the dormitory felt like a cage, closing in with every passing moment.
Gi-hun’s thoughts drifted to his daughter, Ga-yeong, and his mother. The prize money was a lifeline, a chance to escape the crushing weight of debt and failure. But at what cost? The nightmare they were trapped in demanded sacrifices that no one could fully comprehend.
Outside, the distant hum of the ventilation system was a constant reminder of their captivity. The soft murmur of voices rose and fell like waves—fragments of plans, whispered fears, and desperate prayers.
As dawn approached, the cold, mechanical voice of the intercom shattered the fragile calm: “Prepare for the next game. Gather in the main hall in one hour.”
The survivors rose unsteadily, muscles protesting with every movement. They were weary, battered, and broken, but the game demanded their return. The nightmare continued, and the true test of their will was only beginning.
Gi-hun met Sae-byeok’s gaze once more, a silent promise passing between them—a vow to endure, to protect, to survive.
The path ahead was dark and uncertain, but for now, they had each other.
And in this hellish game, that was everything.