THE END GAME - SQUID GAME

Chapter 1

The sound of rain was deafening, a constant drumming against the cracked cement of the arena floor. Minseo Park stood in the center of the chaos, her chest heaving, the metallic taste of blood lingering on her tongue. Her hands trembled, slick with crimson, as she stared at the body lying motionless in front of her.

Her final opponent.

She had won.

A sharp burst of static crackled through the speakers, followed by an announcement. "Congratulations, Player 078. You are the winner."

The words didn't feel real. They echoed hollowly in the cavernous space, as lifeless as the corpses strewn across the arena. Minseo's legs buckled, and she sank to her knees, her body shaking with exhaustion and something deeper—something she didn't have the strength to name.

From above, the golden-masked VIPs watched silently, their grotesque animal faces gleaming under the harsh arena lights. The masked figure overseeing the games descended the stairs, their polished black boots clicking against the concrete.

"This is your prize," the figure said coldly, placing a metal suitcase in front of her. The locks clicked open, revealing stacks of crisp, neatly bundled cash.

Minseo stared at the money, her expression unreadable. A dark, bitter laugh bubbled up in her throat, but she swallowed it down. What was there to laugh at? This wasn't victory. It was survival, at best—a cruel, hollow survival that had cost her everything.

She didn't look up as the guards moved to escort her out. She didn't dare meet their masked faces. She only followed, her bloodstained sneakers squeaking against the floor, leaving behind faint, sticky prints as the steel doors to the arena closed behind her.

Freedom felt like a prison.

Minseo's apartment was pristine, a sharp contrast to the chaos she carried within her. The walls were stark white, devoid of any personal touches, and the furniture looked untouched, as if it had been staged by a designer.

She stood in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at her reflection. The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, casting harsh shadows across her face. Her black hair was damp, clinging to her forehead. Dark circles framed her eyes, making her look older than her twenty-one years.

A faint scar ran across her left eyebrow, a souvenir from the games. She traced it absentmindedly, her fingers trembling.

The reflection seemed to shift. For a moment, she saw Ji-hwan, the young man she'd killed in the final round. His face appeared behind her, pale and bloodied, his mouth twisted in a grotesque grin.

"You didn't have to do it," he whispered, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

Minseo blinked, and he was gone. She exhaled sharply, gripping the edges of the sink to steady herself. It wasn't the first time she'd seen him. It wouldn't be the last.

The package was waiting for her when she opened the door.

It wasn't unusual. Delivery boxes often piled up outside her apartment—things she'd ordered and forgotten about. But this was different.

It wasn't a box. It was a plain white envelope, her name scrawled across the front in thick, jagged black ink. No return address. No stamp.

She hesitated before picking it up. Her fingers tingled as if the envelope itself carried an electric charge.

Inside was a single photograph and a note.

The photograph made her stomach turn. It was an image of the VIPs—the same grotesque, golden-masked figures who had watched her fight and kill for their amusement. They lounged on opulent sofas, champagne glasses in hand, their masks gleaming under the chandelier light.

The note was brief, typed in bold black letters:
The real game hasn't ended. Find them.

Her fingers tightened around the paper until it crumpled.

"Bastards," she muttered under her breath.

She dropped the photograph and note onto the kitchen counter and paced the room, her mind racing. Someone was taunting her. Testing her.

And she couldn't ignore it.

Neon lights flickered erratically above the nightclub's entrance, casting the cracked pavement in hues of red and blue. Minseo slipped inside, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her oversized jacket.

The thrum of the bass hit her chest like a physical blow. Smoke hung thick in the air, mingling with the scent of cheap liquor and sweat. She scanned the room, her sharp eyes searching for the men from the photograph.

It didn't take long to find them. Two men huddled in the far corner, their heads bent close together as they spoke in hushed tones.

Minseo moved closer, pretending to nurse a drink she didn't plan to sip. She caught snippets of their conversation.

"...next shipment... recruits... the island..."

Her heart raced. They were talking about the games.

She didn't wait for more. She took a step toward them, but one of the men noticed her. Their eyes met, and his widened in recognition.

"Shit," he muttered, shoving his companion. "We've been made."

He bolted, and she followed without hesitation.

The alley behind the nightclub was narrow and filthy, the air thick with the stench of rotting food. The man stumbled over a pile of garbage bags, and Minseo took her chance, grabbing his arm and slamming him against the wall.

"Talk," she demanded, her voice low and deadly.

The man struggled, his breaths coming in short gasps. "I don't know what you're talking about!"

"Don't lie to me." Her grip tightened, and she pulled a broken bottle from the ground, pressing it to his neck. "The games. The island. Where is it?"

"I don't know anything!" he cried, his voice cracking.

She pressed the glass harder, drawing a thin line of blood. "Try again."

His eyes darted around wildly. "You don't get it," he hissed. "They're always watching. If you go after them, you'll end up just like the rest of us."

The words sent a shiver down her spine, but she didn't let it show. Before she could push further, the sound of footsteps echoed down the alley.

She turned, just for a second, but it was enough. The man wrenched himself free and disappeared into the night.

Minseo stood alone in the alley, the broken bottle still in her hand.

"Always watching," she murmured, her breath visible in the cold night air.

She dropped the bottle and walked away, her resolve hardening.