The heavy steel doors slid open with a grinding screech, revealing a bleak, windowless chamber bathed in harsh fluorescent light. The survivors shuffled inside, their faces pale and drawn, eyes hollow with shock and disbelief. The room was cold and sterile, its concrete walls stained with moisture and grime, the floor slick with the residue of sweat and tears.
A worker in a magenta jumpsuit stepped forward, clipboard in hand, his expression unreadable behind the black fencing mask. His voice was flat, devoid of sympathy. “There are 201 players remaining,” he announced, the number hanging in the air like a death sentence.
A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd. Some players sank to their knees, sobbing uncontrollably. Others pressed trembling hands to their mouths, trying to stifle the rising panic.
Gi-hun’s heart pounded as he scanned the faces around him. A woman with dark circles under her eyes begged, voice cracking, “Please, let me go. I’ll pay back every won. Just let me leave.” Her hands trembled as she clasped the worker’s arm, desperation etched deep into her features.
Another man, gaunt and hollow-cheeked, pleaded, “I have a family. I’ll do anything. Just not this.”
The worker’s gaze was cold and unyielding. “This is a game. Those who break the rules are eliminated. You remain because you survived. The prize money grows. Play to win.”
The words fell like stones into a sea of despair.
Sang-woo stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “Clause three of the contract states that the game can end if a majority of players vote to quit.”
A fragile hope flickered among the survivors. The possibility of escape, however slim, sparked whispered conversations and cautious glances.
The worker nodded curtly. “Very well. A vote will be held.”
Before the vote, the worker revealed a towering glass piggy bank filled with stacks of cash—25.5 billion won, the accumulated prize money from the eliminated players. The sight was staggering, the crisp bills gleaming under the harsh lights.
Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd. The promise of unimaginable wealth rekindled greed and fear in equal measure.
Gi-hun’s fingers clenched into fists. The money was a lifeline, a chance to save his daughter and mother from their crushing debts. But at what cost?
The survivors were herded toward the voting booths—sleek, white chambers with two buttons: green for “End” and red for “Continue.” The choice was simple in appearance but monumental in consequence.
Players hesitated, some trembling, others resolute. The room was thick with tension, the air heavy with fear and uncertainty.
As the votes were cast, the atmosphere crackled with anticipation. The decision would shape their fates.
When the count was announced, the majority chose to continue. The nightmare was far from over.
The worker’s voice echoed coldly: “The game continues. Those who wish to rejoin may do so. The door remains open.”
Gi-hun exhaled slowly, the weight of the choice settling on his shoulders. The path ahead was dark and uncertain, but the promise of hope—however fragile—kept him moving forward.
Outside the chamber, the world remained indifferent, unaware of the hell unfolding within these walls.