For the Player, For the Game.

Step in Sync, Step in Strife.

As the second game began, a crowd quickly formed around Gi-hun, voices rising in confusion and accusation.

"What is this? Isn't this supposed to be Dalgona?"
"Why didn't you tell us the truth?"
"Did you lie to us?"

The weight of their anger pressed down on Gi-hun, leaving him speechless. Fear gripped his chest—he had let them down. He didn't understand why the game had changed or what this new one was supposed to be.

Suddenly, a sharp voice cut through the chaos.

"That's enough."

The speaker, a stern-faced man with an air of command, stepped forward, causing the others to fall back reluctantly. He turned toward Gi-hun, his expression unreadable.

"I'd like to play the game with you," he said firmly.

Player 001 kept his composure, though inside, his resolve wavered. He needed to stay close to Gi-hun—needed to make himself indispensable. The pull toward him was overwhelming, irrational, and persistent. It made him feel like a foolish schoolgirl, but there was no stopping it.

Gi-hun blinked in surprise. He didn't think anyone would want to be on his team after finding out he was wrong about the game.

Dae-ho had left to go find another teammate since they needed five players total.

Just then, a woman approached, desperation etched across her face.

"Please," she said quietly, "help me."

Her rounded stomach betrayed her pregnancy—a condition that made others wary. No one wanted a teammate with a perceived weakness.

The small team stood together, uneasy yet bound by necessity as the looming threat of the next game closed in around them.

They watched as the first two teams lined up for the game. The guards had chained their ankles together, the clinking of metal echoing ominously across the arena. Despite the restraints, the players stood ready, determined.

At first, it seemed like they understood the objective: beat the mini-games, make it to the finish line, and win. Their movements were confident, deliberate—until suddenly, everything went wrong.

A player stumbled at one of the challenges, frustration spreading through the rest of the group like wildfire.
The time on the clock ran out.
Gi-hun's stomach twisted as he watched their defeat unfold. The chains rattled as the players stumbled back, faces contorted in panic and fear as the pink guards walked towards them with their guns. A deafening crack shattered the air. The sound of gunfire echoed through the arena, sharp and merciless.

Screams erupted as panic swept through the players like a tidal wave. Some cowered, others stumbled backward, their faces twisted in terror. The scent of fear was thick, suffocating.

Gi-hun stood frozen, heart pounding, as chaos consumed the space around him. A cold dread crept over him. If the first teams couldn't make it, what chance did anyone else have?

Everyone sat paralyzed by fear, eyes wide as they watched the guards methodically clean up the lifeless bodies. Blood smeared across the ground, a grim reminder of the cost of failure.

Who was next?

Hearts pounded, breaths shallow and uneven. The oppressive weight of terror hung in the air.

Player 001 couldn't tear his eyes away from Gi-hun. There was a strange ache in his chest—a desperate need to understand every flicker of emotion on his face. Was he drowning in guilt? Did he even realize the weight of his failure?
But it wasn't just curiosity. It was obsession.

Player 001 wanted more than just answers—he wanted to feel what Gi-hun felt, to be the one who carried his burdens with him. And that realization terrified him almost as much as the game itself.

The second team lined up: 095, 007, 149, 044, and 120. Whispers rippled through the crowd, laced with doubt and derision.

"They look weak."
"They'll never make it."
But they were wrong.

The team launched into the game with fierce determination, moving as a single, unstoppable unit. One by one, through motivation and supportive words, they cleared each challenge. Ddakji echoed with loud slaps of paper as they triumphed. Stone clattered perfectly down. Dominated gonggi, spun the top with expert precision, and kicked through jegichagi without missing a beat.

When they finally crossed the finish line, victorious, the arena exploded into cheers. Players who moments ago had mocked them now stood in awe, clapping and shouting their praise in an uproar.
For a brief, shining moment, survival felt possible.

Still, the games continued until only the last two teams remained.

Gi-hun's team stepped forward: Jun-hee for ddakji, Jung-bae for stone throw, Dae-ho for gonggi, Player 001 for spinning top, and finally, Gi-hun for jegichagi.

A gunshot cracked through the air, signaling the start of the game. Without hesitation, they surged toward the first mini-game.

Jun-hee crouched, the ddakji tile clenched tightly in her hand. With one swift, powerful throw, she flipped the opposing tile effortlessly.

Jung-bae followed, stepping up to the stone throw. He aimed carefully, his jaw set. The stone arced perfectly through the air, knocking its target over on the first try.

Next was Dae-ho. His hands moved like lightning through the gonggi stones, catching and releasing with surgical precision. He finished flawlessly, leaving the others stunned, mouths hanging open.

Then it was Player 001's turn.

The spinning top gleamed in his hand as he gripped the string tightly. The objective was simple but unforgiving—throw the top, land it spinning perfectly on the ground.

He missed the first throw.

Gasps of shock rippled through the crowd. His teammates' confidence faltered, fear creeping into their eyes. He savored the power. Their lives rested in his hands, teetering on the edge of failure, and it thrilled him.

He had ensured their team went last, calculating that if they lost, no one would witness him survive.

But then his gaze met Gi-hun's.

Anxious, almost pleading, Gi-hun stared at him. Player 001's heart raced. He imagined Gi-hun on his knees, begging—but instead of satisfaction, an unsettling thought clawed at his chest. He didn't want this to end.

Resolute, he switched hands and threw again, this time with flawless precision. The top spun perfectly on the ground.

The guard raised his arm in a circle to signal success.

The group moved forward, Gi-hun now at the front. All he needed was five kicks of the jegi without letting it hit the ground.

The guard stepped forward to instruct him, but Gi-hun, focused and determined, waved him off impatiently.

He dropped the jegi into the air and kicked.

"One."
"Two."
"Three."
"Four."

The team counted breathlessly.

But on the fifth kick, the jegi drifted too far out of reach. Gi-hun lunged, but his foot couldn't catch it.

Time slowed as Player 001 stepped forward, extending his leg at just the right moment. The jegi landed perfectly on their feet.

Gi-hun met his eyes, shock and gratitude mingling in his expression.

With only seconds left, the team lunged across the finish line, breaking the ribbon as victory washed over them. Cheers erupted, adrenaline surging through their veins.

But the celebration was short-lived.

Gunfire shattered the air. The joyous sounds of victory were drowned by the sudden, brutal reminder of loss.

They turned, hearts sinking, to see the other team lying motionless on the ground.

The price of survival had just revealed itself once again.