No Way Out (Squidgame s2 x child reader)

|5|

🌃🌃🌃

As I turned to leave, my gaze flickered to the last person who had voted—001.

The old man. Around the same age as Gi-hun I suppose.

He stood there, his frail hands still resting on the voting panel, his face unreadable. But his eyes—dark and sharp—felt unnerving. There was something about him. Something that made my stomach twist.

He didn't look like someone who had stumbled into this by accident.

He looked... intimidating.

Not in the same way as the stronger, more aggressive players, but in a way that reminded me of Gi-hun. Like he knew more than he let on.

I shuddered and tore my eyes away.

As I turned back toward my bunk, my gaze met Gi-hun's.

I braced myself for disappointment, for anger—anything that would confirm I'd made the wrong choice. But what I saw instead made my breath hitch.

Worry.

Not rage. Not judgment. Just... worry.

It caught me off guard.

I wanted to say something, but my throat tightened. What could I say? That I didn't mean to press the blue button? That I regretted it? That I was scared?

I couldn't bring myself to voice any of it.

Instead, I broke eye contact and hurried back to my bed, curling up on the mattress. My hands were still trembling.

The room was silent, aside from the occasional shuffle of movement. No one knew what to say.

We were here to stay.

And now, we all had to live with that choice.

Sleep didn't come easily. In fact, I wasn't sure if I ever truly fell asleep at all. Every time my eyes shut, my mind filled with restless thoughts—worries about Eomma, about what would happen to her if I never made it back. And beneath all of that, a deeper fear lingered.

If I closed my eyes for too long, would I ever open them again?

When the speakers crackled to life, and that same classical piece began playing, I flinched. The melody was light, almost elegant, but now, it felt tainted. Twisted. A signal that the game would soon begin again.

For some of us, this would be the last time we ever heard it.

I forced myself to move, blending into the crowd as we shuffled toward the food distribution area. The line was long, filled with tired faces, but I kept my head down, avoiding their stares. I could still hear the whispers, hushed voices that weren't even trying that hard to be discreet.

"Alien."
"Unnatural."

I was used to it. Being so tall, so... different. I never quite fit in, not in Korea, not in America. People either fixated on me with admiration or disgust—there was never an in-between.

I ignored them, taking my tray—a small metal lunchbox with a water bottle—and turned to leave. But before I could take a step toward my bunk, a firm hand gripped my shoulder.

I tensed.

Then I looked down.

Jung-bae.

He smiled up at me, the kind of warm, easy smile that made it hard not to smile back. Before I could protest, he dragged me toward a familiar face.