LGHTNOVELBOOK Chapter 19: Chapter 19
The door slid open with a quiet, mechanical hiss, revealing a corridor bathed in eerie purples and deep shadows. Unlike the garishly colorful playgrounds and twisted childlike arenas they had been trapped in before, this place exuded something far more sinister. The walls were sleek and smooth, almost sterile, their polished surfaces reflecting the dim, artificial glow of the overhead lights. There were no windows, no decorations, no pretense of innocence here. The air was thick, stagnant, as if it hadn't been disturbed in years. The silence pressed in, heavy and suffocating, swallowing even the smallest sounds.
Rae-a stepped in first, her movements controlled, her breathing measured. The floor beneath her boots was too clean—too perfect. There were no signs of struggle, no bloodstains like in the previous rooms. And yet, something about it felt wrong. The walls seemed to lean in, trapping them in a space that was never meant to be seen by players. This was not part of the game. This was something else. A place for the ones who pulled the strings.
Gi-hun followed, his steps more hesitant, his head turning as he scanned their surroundings. "This place gives me a bad feeling," he murmured under his breath.
"You're not wrong," Jungbae muttered, shifting uncomfortably. "Feels like we're walking into a trap."
Rae-a didn't respond immediately. She was listening. Not just to them, but to the space around them. The quiet here wasn't natural—it was manufactured. The air vents above let out a soft hum, but beyond that, there was nothing. No distant echoes, no footsteps, no indication that anyone else was here. And yet...
They were being watched. She knew it as surely as she knew how to use a gun.
Jungbae exhaled sharply. "Which way?"
Rae-a's gaze flicked across the corridor, scanning the walls, the exits, the unseen threats lurking ahead. There was no signage, no indication of where any of these doors led. That was intentional. If players made it this far, they were never meant to leave.
Her fingers twitched slightly before she lifted her hand, flicking her wrist in a decisive motion. "Left," she said quietly.
Gi-hun and Jungbae nodded, following her lead as they turned down the hallway. The lighting here was different—colder, harsher. The ceiling lights cast elongated shadows that stretched across the floor like reaching hands, warping with every step they took.
As they moved, Rae-a pulled out the spare radio she had kept. She turned the volume down as low as possible, just enough to pick up any transmissions. A burst of static crackled through, then a voice.
"There are people in the corridor to the control room."
Rae-a froze for half a second.
Her grip on the radio tightened. A slow, simmering anger coiled in her stomach, pressing against her ribs. Of course, they were watching. She had known that. But hearing it—hearing them track their exact position, reducing them to nothing more than moving targets on a screen—sent something sharp crawling beneath her skin.
She turned to the others, her expression shifting. Something mischevious glinted in her eyes—satisfaction, almost. Confirmation.
"We're going the right way," she murmured.
Gi-hun let out a quiet breath. "Great. That means we also don't have much time before—"
A soft mechanical whir caught Rae-a's attention. Her head snapped upward, so quickly that you could almost hear it.
There. Mounted just above them, barely noticeable in the dim light, was a small, rotating camera, its lens glinting as it focused in on them.
Her jaw tightened.
"Of course," she muttered, her voice edged with frustration.
Jungbae followed her gaze, swearing under his breath. "They can see us. What do we do?"
Rae-a exhaled through her nose, shifting her weight.
"Simple."
She raised her rifle.
Bang!
The first shot rang out, shattering the glass lens. Sparks crackled from the broken device, and a dull thud echoed as fragments rained down onto the polished floor.
She pivoted smoothly.
Bang!
Another camera fell, its once-silent gaze now nothing more than a smoking ruin.
Gi-hun and Jungbae stared at her, but neither said anything.
She didn't stop.
Bang!
A third.
She wasn't just taking them out—she was making a statement. She knew they were watching, and she wanted them to feel it.
Lowering her gun, she tilted her head slightly, staring at the last broken camera. Her lips curled at the edges, her expression unreadable.
"Annoying," she muttered, voice barely above a whisper.
The corridor remained silent, but she knew better. Somewhere, behind a screen, someone was watching. Someone was angry.
Good. Let them be.
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The moment their feet hit the stairwell, the air ignited with gunfire, a violent eruption of sound and chaos that sent shockwaves through the metal framework.
Rae-a barely had time to react before a round clipped the railing beside her, sending a spray of molten shrapnel against her arm. She hissed, ducking low and backtracking as the staircase trembled beneath the assault. The deafening roar of gunfire swallowed her senses, drowning out everything but the frantic pounding of her heart.
Bullets screamed through the confined space, ricocheting off metal railings and slamming into the sleek walls, leaving deep, smoking craters in their wake. The muzzle flashes from the upper landing flared like lightning in the darkness, illuminating the pink-clad guards who had been waiting for them.
"Shit—!" Gi-hun swore as he yanked himself back, narrowly avoiding a bullet that grazed the space where his head had been a second ago.
Rae-a reacted instantly. With a swift jerk, she grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him down the stairs, her own gun already raised. She fired two shots as they fell back, her aim sharp and unshaken despite the chaos. One of the guards flinched, a bullet grazing his side, but it wasn't enough to take him down. Rae-a scowled at the bad precision.
Jungbae had already darted to the left, pressing himself against the cold wall, his gun snapping up. Gi-hun and Rae-a were slammed against the right, their backs pressed to the unyielding surface as bullets collided into the walls and stair rails, sending shards of debris flying.
Rae-a took a sharp breath through her nose, jaw clenched. Their position was a nightmare—wide open, nowhere to move. The guards had full control of the high ground. If they didn't do something fast, they'd be gunned down before they even made it past the second flight.
"They knew we were coming," Jungbae growled, slamming a fresh magazine into place. His knuckles were white around his rifle.
"No shit," Rae-a panted, wiping the sweat and grime from her brow. Her ears were still ringing, the relentless echo of gunfire rattling her skull. She risked a glance upward—more guards pouring onto the upper landings, their tactical rifles trained with ruthless precision.
They were pinned. They were boxed in. A kill zone.
Jungbae didn't waste time with words—he leaned out from his cover and fired. Three clean shots. One bullet caught a guard's shoulder, sending him stumbling back with a pained grunt, his rifle clattering against the railing. But another immediately took his place, firing back with ruthless precision.
"There's too many of them!" Jungbae growled, pulling back before a spray of bullets could rip through him.
"We need to push forward!" Rae-a called over the chaos. She adjusted her grip on her gun, pressing her back harder against the wall. "If we stay here, we're dead!"
"Yeah, working on it!" Gi-hun snapped, voice tight with strain. He glanced at Rae-a. "How many bullets do you have left?"
She checked her magazine quickly. "Not enough for all of these."
His jaw tensed. "Fuck."
Without hesitation, Gi-hun grabbed his radio, pressing the button with urgency. "Hyun-ju! We need more ammo, now!"
Static buzzed for a second before Hyun-ju's voice cut through.
"We're on it. Hold your position."
Rae-a let out a sharp breath, eyes flicking to the guards above. They were shifting positions, trying to find better angles to shoot down at them. One of them was creeping closer to the next platform down, likely to get a better shot.
Her eyes narrowed. He had to be taken down.
"Cover me," she ordered, pushing off the wall before Gi-hun could stop her.
"Rae-a, what the—!"
She was already moving.
Rae-a bolted toward the metal railing that lined the bottom of the stairwell, sliding over it in one fluid motion. As she hit the ground, she rolled onto one knee, gun snapping up. She fired off three quick shots, aiming for the guard making his way to a lower level.
The first bullet struck his shoulder. He jerked back with a strangled sound, fingers spasming around the trigger as he fell.
The second bullet hit another in the leg, sending him toppling over with a pained shout.
The third found its mark between a guard's eyes, dropping him instantly.
The return fire came fast—too fast. The remaining guards refocused on her, bullets tearing through the space she'd been a second ago. Rae-a barely had time to throw herself behind the base of the staircase, her heart pounding against her ribs.
"You're fucking insane!" Gi-hun barked, but she could hear the hint of grudging respect beneath the frustration.
She smirked, reloading swiftly. "You're just figuring that out?"
Jungbae took the opportunity she had created, firing off more shots while the guards were momentarily thrown off. Gi-hun followed suit, their bullets forcing the enemy back.
One of the guards up top reached for his radio. Rae-a immediately clocked his movement, recognizing the intent—he was calling for reinforcements.
Not happening.
She burst from cover, raising her gun. One precise shot, straight to his throat. Blood splattered against the wall as he choked, the radio slipping from his fingers.
More gunfire erupted, forcing her back down.
"Are the magazines on their way?" Gi-hun shouted into the radio, frustration lacing his voice.
"Getting them now—" Hyun-ju's voice crackled, but it was interrupted by another burst of static.
Not good.
Rae-a's breathing was steady, but she could feel the weight of their dwindling ammunition pressing on them. She glanced at Jungbae and Gi-hun, then up toward the guards still holding the high ground.
They needed to end this standoff. Now.
The relentless chatter of rifles echoed off the concrete walls, drowning out the sound of their own ragged breathing. Spent shell casings clinked and rolled across the steps, their metallic chime lost beneath the onslaught. The thick stench of gunpowder filled the air, mingling with the sharper scent of blood that now stained the walls and floor.
Muzzle flashes strobed through the suffocating haze, momentarily illuminating the twisted bodies of fallen guards sprawled across the stairs above them, some of their bodies slipping down a few stairs. The dead piled up, their weapons still clutched in stiffening hands, their pockets filled with extra magazines. But the remaining guards were smart, or just too many. They had the high ground, and they weren't letting up.
Pinned against the stairwell's walls, Rae-a kept her gun steady, her breath even despite the burning in her lungs. The heat of the barrel seeped into her palms, but she barely registered it.
They were running dangerously low.
She knew it. The others knew it too.
And if the guards figured it out, they'd be swarmed in seconds.
"We're running out," she muttered, voice even but sharp. Her gaze flicked upward, eyes narrowing. Too many still left. "If we stop firing, they're going to realize we're low and push forward."
Gi-hun followed her line of sight, then looked at the bodies slumped a few steps ahead. A flicker of understanding crossed his face. He glances up momentarily, seeing the piles of corpses one floor up.
"I'll grab the ammo from the bodies."
Rae-a's head snapped toward him, her expression instantly unimpressed. "Are you actually fucking stupid?"
Jungbae let out a breathless laugh. "C'mon, man, if you're gonna die, at least let me go first. Don't make me look bad."
Gi-hun shot them both a glare. "Just cover me."
"Your funeral," Rae-a muttered. But she was already shifting, adjusting her stance, her grip firming on her rifle. Ready to wipe out another row on a moments notice.
Gi-hun moved.
Rae-a snapped into action. Two shots. Cover. The gun bucked in her grip, sharp and familiar, but she controlled the recoil with ease. She fired again, grazing a guard's ear—just enough to make him duck back.
Jungbae mirrored her, unloading a controlled burst, keeping another pinned behind a pillar. The scent of burned gunpowder thickened, curling acrid in her throat.
Gi-hun lunged over the fallen bodies, hands scrambling for the extra magazines. He yanked one free, shoving it into his vest, then reached for another—
The guards caught on.
"Shit—MOVE!" Rae-a snapped.
A burst of gunfire tore down toward him.
Gi-hun dove, rolling hard against the stairs as bullets shredded into the corpses he had been crouched over seconds before. A sickening crunch, the wet squelch of flesh tearing—his cover had just saved his life.
He gritted his teeth, fingers tightening around the stolen magazines. "Got them!"
"Then get your ass back here!" Rae-a snapped.
Jungbae fired another burst, forcing the guards into cover. The stairwell rang with the relentless exchange of bullets, the heat of battle pressing down on them like a vice. Sweat slicked Rae-a's skin, but she ignored it, firing again—a calculated shot, her mind already tracking the next target.
Gi-hun sprinted back, bullets barely missing him as they struck the ground at his heels. The sound of gunfire was deafening. Rae-a kept shooting, her focus absolute.
Then—
A metallic clatter.
Gi-hun skidded behind cover, where Rae-a was, panting, tossing the magazines toward them. They all snatched them up instantly, fingers moving on instinct.
A sharp inhale. A moment of tension. The briefest pause as they slammed fresh rounds into their weapons.
They fired.
Muzzle flashes burst through the stairwell like flickers of lightning, each shot a calculated, precise answer to the chaos. Rae-a's breathing evened out, her mind cold, methodical. She tracked movement, caught a guard mid-reload—a second of weakness.
She took the shot.
The bullet struck clean through his eye. His body jerked backward before collapsing against the railing. Blood splattered across the wall, dark and glistening.
Jungbae's rifle sang, a relentless burst cutting down another. A body tumbled down the steps, limp and weightless. Gi-hun followed up, firing twice—one shot to the chest, the second to the throat.
Silence.
The last guard slumped forward.
Rae-a exhaled, lowering her gun just a fraction.
A smirk pulled at the corner of her lips as she shot Gi-hun a look. "See? Told you running into gunfire was fucking stupid."
Gi-hun gave her a flat glare, still catching his breath.
Jungbae huffed, shaking his head. "We're not dead, so I'm calling it a win."
Rae-a didn't let her guard down, eyes flicking up toward the next floor. They had momentum, but the fight wasn't over. Not yet.
Jungbae cursed under his breath as he ducked behind cover, slotting in his last magazine. "Shit—how many more of these assholes are there?"
Rae-a pressed herself against the wall, stealing a quick glance upward before snapping back as a bullet whizzed past her face. "Too many," she muttered.
Rae-a pulled her pistol up again, forcing herself to focus. Two shots—one to the chest, one to the head. The guard barely had time to scream before his body crumpled.
Another took his place instantly.
The gunfire was relentless. A flicker of movement— Jungbae fired, clipping a man's leg. The guard collapsed with a strangled yell, but he was still reaching for his weapon.
Rae-a didn't give him the chance. She stepped forward, a single clean shot to the skull. Blood splattered against the steps.
The magazines Gi-hun collected were depleting fast.
"We need to push up," Rae-a said, voice steady despite the chaos. "Sitting down here, we're just waiting to die."
Gi-hun clenched his jaw, his grip tightening on his rifle. "We don't have the numbers."
"We don't have the ammo either," she quipped back. "At this rate, they'll just overrun us."
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Rae-a barely registered the sound of hurried footsteps over the chaos of gunfire until she caught a glimpse of movement from the side. More guards? She pivoted sharply, raising her gun on instinct, finger tensing on the trigger—
But then she saw him.
Young-il.
Relief slammed into her so hard it nearly stole her breath. It was an unfamiliar sensation, one she hadn't allowed herself to feel for anyone in a long time. For a split second, it overwhelmed everything else—the biting coldness of the corridor, the acrid smell of gunpowder thick in the air, the sharp ringing in her ears from constant gunfire. None of it mattered. Because he was here. Alive.
She didn't think. She moved.
Before she even processed it, she was already closing the distance between them, and before she could stop herself, her arms wrapped tightly around him.
Young-il froze.
His body tensed beneath her touch, every muscle locked in place as if someone had just struck him in the chest. He hadn't expected this. Not from her. Not in the middle of a war zone. Rae-a was calculated, pragmatic, someone who never wasted movement, who never sought comfort in fleeting things. And yet—
She was holding onto him like she needed this. Like she needed him.
Something inside him cracked.
Slowly, hesitantly, he lifted his arms, letting them settle around her. His grip was firm but careful, one hand coming up to rest against the back of her head, fingers barely grazing her hair, the other pressing lightly against her back. He let himself feel it—just for a moment. The warmth of her body against his, the way her breathing was uneven, not from exertion, but from something else.
And for the first time since he entered these games, he hated himself.
Because he knew this wouldn't last.
She didn't know.
She didn't know that this was the last time she would see him like this—the last time she would hold Young-il and not the stranger lurking beneath his skin. She didn't know who he really was.
Gi-hun's voice pulled them both back to reality, shattering the moment like fragile glass.
"Glad to see you are still breathing, but uh—" He tilted his near-empty rifle up, giving Young-il a pointed look. "You got any more ammo, or are we fighting with harsh words now?"
Rae-a exhaled, her fingers loosening before she slowly stepped back, her arms falling away from Young-il, and rolling her eyes at Gi-hun's sass. His hands hesitated before dropping as well, but his expression had already hardened, slipping back into neutrality.
Young-il's brows furrowed. "Hyun-ju and Dae-ho were supposed to be getting more. They haven't come back yet."
The moment those words left his mouth, an uneasy silence settled between them, heavy and suffocating.
Rae-a's stomach twisted.
The thought sank its claws into her mind, sending a cold rush of panic through her veins. Dae-ho had been struggling—she knew that. His hands had been shaking, his breaths uneven, his eyes distant in a way that told her he wasn't fully here. He was caught in something, something deep and dark, something that clawed at him from the past. What if he froze up? What if he couldn't pull the trigger when it mattered?
And Hyun-ju—strong, capable, fearless Hyun-ju. Military experience or not, she wasn't invincible. Rae-a had seen too many good fighters fall. A single mistake, a moment of bad luck, and even the strongest could be taken down.
"We don't have the ammo to finish this," Jungbae muttered, his voice grim.
The tension in the air thickened, pressing down on them like a weight. This wasn't just about fighting to survive anymore. If they ran out of bullets here, it was over.
Rae-a's jaw clenched as she exhaled sharply, her mind already cycling through their options. There had to be another way. There always was. She just had to find it.
Her gaze flickered toward the walls, the layout of the corridors flashing in her mind. "The halls," she murmured. She looked back toward where they had come from, then glanced at Young-il, eyes sharp with calculation. "They're a maze, but when we first came through, I noticed another path."
Young-il's brows furrowed. "And you didn't say anything?"
Rae-a rolled her eyes. "Because there weren't enough of us before," she said, her tone clipped but unwavering. She gestured to him and the two new players who had arrived with him. "Now there are."
Young-il's expression was unreadable, but he was listening.
"There's another route back that we can use to flank them," she continued, her voice steady and certain. "They aren't expecting an attack from behind, which means if we move fast, we can trap them between both fronts. But we don't have time to hesitate. If we're doing this, we do it now."
Young-il held her gaze, searching for something in her expression. Doubt? Uncertainty? Fear? He found none.
She was confident.
She usually was.
Young-il's voice was calm, a sharp contrast to the turmoil around them. He gave a firm nod, his grip steady on the rifle. "I'll go," he said, the words purposeful, carrying a weight of responsibility. "The other two will come with me."
Rae-a's immediate response was instinctive. She didn't hesitate. "I'll go too."
His answer was instant. Sharp. Unyielding.
"No."
The forcefulness of his tone startled her. It wasn't just an objection; it was a definitive refusal, one that made her pause, her lips parting to protest, but no words came. She stood there, blinking, trying to process the firmness in his voice. He wasn't just disagreeing—he was refusing.
Her mouth opened again, but before she could speak, his words cut through the air, even softer now, but no less resolute. "It makes more sense for you to stay here." His eyes met hers, steady, unwavering. "Three people per group. If you come, you leave them weaker."
His logic was sound, but Rae-a felt a tightening in her chest. He had a point. A practical, cold point. And yet... something inside her rebelled against it, something unspoken, something deep in her gut that pushed back. She didn't want to leave him. She didn't want to be separated from him. She had a feeling she knew why—maybe it was the unspoken bond that has developed between them, or the strange sense of comfort that only he seemed to provide in this madness.
For a long moment, they simply stood there, the space between them heavy with unsaid words. Young-il sighed, the sound a quiet release, before stepping closer. His gaze softened, and without any further warning, he reached for her, lifting his hands to gently cradle her face.
Her breath caught.
His touch was warm, fingers rough yet achingly gentle against her skin. His thumbs brushed lightly over her cheekbones, grounding her, centering her in a way that felt almost unbearably intimate. Then, as if drawn by something beyond words, his thumb drifted lower, tracing the curve of her bruised lip with an aching softness.
Rae-a's breath hitched.
The touch was fleeting, barely there, but it sent a sharp pulse through her veins, searing and undeniable. His thumb lingered for a second longer than it should have, his gaze dropping, dark and unreadable, to her mouth. Noticing. Lingering.
She could feel it—the quiet pull between them, thick as gravity, suffocating in its intensity. Every inhale brought him closer, their breaths mingling, heat radiating between them like an unspoken confession. Her heart pounded, hammering against her ribs as her own gaze betrayed her, dipping to his lips before snapping back up.
A silent war raged between them.
So much unsaid. So much they couldn't afford to say.
And yet, without a word, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers. The gesture was simple, but it felt like everything, like time itself had paused.
Rae-a's entire body went still, and for the first time since the gunfire had started, since the chaos had unraveled, she felt utterly motionless. Her heart seemed to stutter, racing in her chest as if trying to break free. Her body stiffened, each breath a challenge to keep steady. Her senses were overwhelmed—his proximity, his touch, the warmth radiating from him.
And yet, in that stillness, she felt an inexplicable peace.
"Stay here." His voice was barely above a whisper, but the weight of his words pressed down on her, filling the air between them. "You'll see me soon."
She didn't understand the second meaning behind his words. Not yet.
But Young-il did.
His fingers curled slightly against her jaw, committing the feel of her to memory. This was the last time. He knew. This was the last time she would look at him with this expression, with anything resembling trust in her eyes, with that slight vulnerability she only ever allowed him to see. The last time she would hold onto him like he was someone worth holding onto. The last time he would be able to cradle her affectionately like this.
Because soon, she would look at him again—but it wouldn't be like this.
It would never be like this again.
He would see a face filled with hate. Hate for the man who had orchestrated this. Hate for the man who had commanded her obedience. And it would hurt him more than he would ever care to admit. Because the truth of this is, this frustratingly sharp and selfless woman has somehow found his way into his heart, indescribably. A variable of his game that he was not able to control.
But now he had to do what needed to be done. Rae-a needed to stay alive, and so did he.
Rae-a swallowed, pushing down the inexplicable weight pressing against her chest. His reasoning for going with the other two was logical, she told herself. It made sense. That was all that mattered.
So, with great reluctance, she nodded. She had trust that he would be okay.
With a small, almost imperceptible exhale, she unclipped the last of her spare magazines from her belt, pressing them into one of his hands, that was previously holding her face, their fingers making contact softly.
Young-il froze.
He blinked, his eyes flicking between the magazines in her palm and her face, clearly stunned. His brows furrowed, confusion clouding his expression as he slowly pulled his other hand from her face, staring at the magazines. "Rae-a, no. Keep them," he started, his voice faltering. "You need—"
But Rae-a smiled. A quiet, teasing smile, the kind that held something deeper behind it. She tilted her head slightly, lifting her Glock with a casualness that belied the weight of the situation.
"Relax," she murmured, her voice low, soothing. "I've got this."
The moment stretched out between them, thick with unspoken meaning. Three magazines—enough to hold her own, enough to keep her alive. Until he would be back.
Young-il exhaled slowly, holding her gaze. Memorizing it. He held her gaze, his eyes searching hers with a depth that Rae-a couldn't quite place. She didn't understand why he was looking at her like that, why his expression seemed to grow even heavier. Was it fear? Concern?
She didn't know what he was looking for—why his eyes searched hers so intently, why his expression felt heavier than it should have. But he did. And it concerned her.
This was the last time he would see her like this. The last time she would look at him with anything other than the burning hatred she would soon reserve for the man behind the mask.
His chest tightened, but he forced it down. This wasn't the time to be regretting the choices he has made.
He nodded, accepting the magazines. "Are you sure?" His voice was quieter now, but still measured.
Rae-a nodded confidently. "Go."
For a moment, Young-il lingered. His gaze softened, his jaw tight, like he wanted to say something, anything. To do something. But he didn't.
With one last glance, one last breath held between them, he stepped back. Without another word, he turned, moving with the two others in tow, disappearing down the corridor, swallowed by the dim, shifting shadows.
Rae-a stood there for a long while, the weight of the moment heavy on her shoulders. She exhaled, slow and steady, her lips pressing into a thin line. She didn't move—couldn't move—until the sound of their footsteps faded completely.
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Gunfire thundered through the air, each shot a brutal percussion that rattled through Rae-a's bones. The acrid scent of smoke and blood was suffocating, mingling with the metallic bite of gunpowder. She kept her stance firm, her movements precise, firing round after round with the efficiency of someone who had long since made peace with pulling the trigger.
To her left, Gi-hun and Jungbae fired relentlessly, their faces set in grim determination. The three of them worked in sync—move, cover, fire. The rhythm was instinctive, mechanical, a seamless display of survival.
Her hands were steady, but her pulse was a wild, erratic thing pounding against her ribs. Her fingers curled tightly around the grip of her Glock, the smooth metal a stark contrast to the grime clinging to her skin. She fired with ruthless precision, every squeeze of the trigger sending another enemy crashing to the ground. Shell casings clattered against the floor, bouncing and spinning before settling amidst the scattered corpses.
Beside her, Gi-hun reloaded, his jaw clenched, sweat trickling down the side of his temple. Jungbae fired in quick succession, his stance firm despite the tension bracketing his shoulders. The three of them moved in sync, shifting positions, covering each other's blind spots, their training—or desperation—turning them into a formidable force.
Yet, beneath the rhythmic pattern of shooting, of dodging, of calculating their next move, a gnawing unease rooted itself deep in Rae-a's chest.
But Rae-a's mind wasn't fully here.
It was with him.
He had disappeared into the shadows, moving with practiced efficiency, but something didn't sit right with her. He was capable—more than capable—but the feeling wouldn't leave her, clinging to her like a vice around her throat. She told herself to focus, to push him out of her mind, to finish this fight first.
A bullet barely missed her, grazing the air just past her ear, the heat of it searing against her skin. She exhaled sharply, adjusting her stance. There was no time to hesitate. She lifted her Glock and fired, watching as another masked guard crumpled to the ground, his body jerking violently as blood bloomed across his uniform.
"Down!" Jungbae barked, yanking her by the wrist just as another round of gunfire rained toward them. Rae-a inhaled sharply, her heart hammering as she adjusted her grip on her weapon. Her fingers were slick with sweat, but her hold was unwavering.
Gi-hun peeked out, firing off three quick rounds, hitting one of the guards directly in the throat. The man collapsed, his rifle slipping from his grasp as blood gurgled from his mouth. The grotesque sound barely registered to Rae-a as she refocused, waiting for an opening.
Through the chaos, through the storm of bullets and bodies hitting the ground, she couldn't shake the feeling clawing at the back of her mind. A suffocating dread, an instinct so raw it nearly made her falter.
That could have been the last time.
The last time she would fight with him. The last time she would see him alive.
Her hands tightened around her Glock, knuckles going white. She refused to think like that. She had to protect Gi-hun and Jungbae, just like she said she would. She had a job to do.
Forcing the dread aside, she refocused, squeezing the trigger again. Another guard fell, their body crumpling against the cold, blood-streaked floor.
A sharp curse from Gi-hun snapped her attention forward. He ducked, narrowly avoiding a bullet that whizzed past his head, embedding itself into the crate behind them.
"Jungbae, left!" Rae-a barked, pivoting as she fired at the approaching guards.
Jungbae didn't hesitate, taking down one of the masked men with a clean shot to the chest. The man collapsed, blood pooling beneath him.
Focus. Survive. Keep moving.
And then—
A crackle.
A burst of static erupted from Gi-hun's radio. The gunfire didn't stop, but Rae-a barely heard it now. Her entire body tensed as an all-too-familiar voice bled through the speaker, raw and fractured—
Rae-a's entire world stopped.
"Rae-a... Gi-hun... I-I'm sorry-y."
The world lurched.
Rae-a's blood froze in her veins, a vicious, unforgiving cold spreading through her limbs.
She had been in fights before. She had faced death more times than she could count. But nothing—nothing—had ever gripped her with the same raw terror as the sound of Young-il's voice in that moment.
Broken. Choking. Barely clinging onto something she wasn't sure was still there.
He sounded—wrong. A strained, ragged voice warped with suffering. Her stomach twisted violently, a sharp, crushing dread sinking its claws into her chest.
Gi-hun reacted first, gripping the radio with urgency. "Young-il? What happened? Are you—"
A sickening sound cut him off.
Not words. Not even a cry.
Just—gasping.
Wet, strangled, dying.
The sound of someone losing their battle to breathe.
Rae-a's vision blurred, her pulse hammering in her ears. She couldn't move. She couldn't think.
Her heart screamed.
No.
NO.
And then—she moved.
Before Gi-hun could stop her, before logic could even catch up to the raw desperation flooding her body, Rae-a was gone.
Her feet pounded against the ground as she took off, wind slamming against her face from the sheer force of her sprint. Her feet pounded against the ground before she even processed the decision, adrenaline surging through her like a wildfire. The rush of air clawed at her skin as she sprinted forward, weaving through the corridors and fallen bodies with reckless speed, shooting at anything she saw moving.
Faster.
She had to be faster.
"Please. Please, please, please—"
She didn't know if she was thinking it or whispering it under her breath. She didn't care.
The word repeated in her mind like a desperate mantra, beating in time with her pulse.
She just knew that if she stopped—if she hesitated—she would lose him.
Her breaths came in ragged gasps, burning her lungs as she pushed herself faster. She knew where he would be—knew the route he had taken, knew the exact place where he should have been.
The closer she got, the heavier the air became, thick with an unnatural stillness that sent ice prickling down her spine. The stench of blood was stronger here, mingling with the sharp, metallic tang of gunpowder. The dim corridor ahead seemed to stretch endlessly, shadows twisting into unfamiliar shapes as her vision blurred with panic.
A gunshot rang out.
Close.
Her stomach lurched, her steps faltering for just a second. The sound sliced through her like a blade, paralyzing her in place. For a single, agonizing moment, she couldn't breathe, couldn't move—could only stand there, terror wrapping around her like a noose.
Was that—was that him?
Her entire body trembled, but she forced herself forward, step by slow, reluctant step, every part of her dreading what she was about to see.
The hallway ahead was eerily still, the air thick with the suffocating weight of something she couldn't yet name. The smell of blood was stronger here, iron-rich and wrong.
She crept forward, her hands quivering, her body tight with dread.
She pressed her back against the cold concrete wall, inching toward the corner. Her hands curled into fists, nails biting into her palms as she steeled herself. Her heartbeat pounded against her eardrums, drowning out everything else.
Not like this.
Then, with a sharp inhale, she moved.
She turned her head, just enough to peer around the edge—
And reality shattered around her.
Rae-a's heart plummeted, a sharp, breath-stealing sensation that left her feeling hollow. Blood roared in her ears, her pulse hammering so violently that she could hear it over the distant echoes of gunfire.
Her body locked into place, her breath hitched, her fingers twitching against the grip of her gun. What... was she looking at?
Young-il stood with his back to her, unmoving, eerily still against the carnage at his feet. The bodies of two players lay sprawled before him, their lifeless forms drenched in deep, seeping pools of crimson.
For a horrifying moment, Rae-a thought he was dead too. That he was just another body—just another casualty.
But dead men don't stand.
Dead men don't shift.
Dead men don't reach down with steady, practiced movements to retrieve a radio from the fingers of a corpse.
Rae-a's breath hitched as he finally stirred, shifting just enough to crouch down and pry a radio from the stiffening fingers of one of the fallen players. His motions were deliberate, unnervingly smooth, the kind of effortless efficiency that came not from desperation, but from experience.
Her fingers twitched against the grip of her gun, an instinctive urge to react, to do something, anything, but she couldn't move. Couldn't blink. Couldn't even swallow past the knot forming in her throat as he rose back to his full height, his head slightly turning—not enough to see her, but enough to make her stomach plummet.
Her breath hitched violently as Young-il straightened, his posture unshaken, untouched by the grotesque scene surrounding him. His movements were too fluid, too controlled—not those of a man fighting to survive, but of a man accustomed to this.
Her hands shook, an uncontrollable tremor that made her gun feel foreign in her grip. She didn't even understand what was happening.
And then, with terrifying calm, he pressed the radio to his lips.
"Clean this mess up. Leave Player 089 alive."
This voice was authoritative, commanding, absolute. A voice that did not ask, but expected obedience. The voice that came through wasn't the one she had spent so many nights listening to, wasn't the voice that had murmured quiet reassurances in the dark, wasn't the voice that had taunted her with dry amusement or bitten back sharp remarks during tense moments.
Rae-a's entire body went cold.
Her vision blurred, her knees nearly buckling beneath the weight of her own breath.
The words echoed in her head, looping over and over again, but she couldn't make sense of them. Couldn't make sense of any of this.
The world tilted, her vision narrowing as a violent tremor of dread crawled through her spine. She knew that tone. It was the voice of authority. A voice that expected obedience. A voice that issued orders.
Her stomach twisted, bile rising in her throat.
Young-il was a player. He was just like her. They were the same. They had fought together, bled together, survived together. He had risked his life, had saved her life.
Hadn't he?
Hadn't he?
But the pieces were already clicking into place, snapping together with cruel, merciless precision. Each revelation a brutal blow to her chest.
The impossible flicker of awareness in his gaze before every game, the way he always knew when to move, when to act, how to play every situation to his advantage-like he wasn't just surviving, but orchestrating.
The seamless way he had switched hands during the pentathlon, right as they were getting close to losing.
The impossibly timed panel drop that had saved her life in the blindfolded wrestling match, shifting at the very last second, right before she lost to the man overpowering her.
She felt like she was sinking—like the floor had given way beneath her feet and she was free-falling into an abyss with no end.
She had seen men die. Had taken lives herself. Had endured horrors that would shatter most people beyond repair.
But this—this was something else.
Her breath came in sharp, uneven gasps as her mind reeled, scrambling to understand. To rationalize.
And then there were his words.
"You need to stop playing the hero."
Where had she heard that before?
Her breath faltered, her vision blurring as she stared at him, standing there like a ghost—like a monster she had never seen until now. Her lungs burned as she forced in a shallow, unsteady breath, but the oxygen didn't help. It didn't clear the fog in her head, didn't slow the erratic hammering of her heart, didn't stop the unbearable truth from unraveling before her.
He wasn't a player.
He never had been.
Young-il had never been fighting for his life. He had never been one of them.
He had been watching. Controlling. Commanding.
And now, she knew why.
Her pulse thundered, her fingers tightening around the gun so hard that her knuckles turned white. She wanted to raise it, to steady her aim, to do something. But she couldn't move. Could barely even breathe.
Because she knew what this meant.
She knew who he was.
The blood drained from her face, her knees weak beneath her weight.
Young-il wasn't just a liar.
He was the Frontman.
And he had been lying to her all along.