Chapter Text
A bright light pressed against Sang-woo’s eyelids. He winced, trying to squeeze them tighter as he fought off the lingering drowsiness. It wasn’t until he registered the sound of soft classical music playing through speakers that he remembered the events before he’d been knocked out and jolted awake in surprise.
Blinking, he sat up and tried to make sense of his surroundings, but everything was a blur. He fumbled around the bed until his hand found his glasses, neatly folded and resting next to his pillow. Letting out a sigh of relief, he put them on, and the scene around him began to come into sharper focus.
The room was white, illuminated further by a harsh, artificial light. He was lying on one of many tall, imposing bunk beds that lined the walls. Other people in the room were starting to wake as well, many of them moving from their bunks to gather in the center of the room. They all wore identical green tracksuits.
Sang-woo glanced down at himself and saw he was dressed the same. A number was printed on the front of his jacket: 218.
Rising cautiously, he made his way toward the crowd. He scanned the faces around him, each one etched with confusion and wariness, but something else tugged at his attention. A strange sensation made him stop and turn, his gaze landing on a familiar figure. His heart stopped for a moment, swirling with an unrecognizable emotion.
Gi-hun.
Sang-woo hadn’t seen or heard from his childhood friend in years. Three years ago, his mother had mentioned that Gi-hun’s mother had fallen ill, but he never learned what happened to her after that. It was as if she and Gi-hun had both disappeared off the face of the planet.
Yet there he was, standing with a strange expression on his face. He was tense, alert, and seemingly ready to flee at any moment. Sang-woo’s stomach twisted. Gi-hun’s warmth, the easy cheer he’d always carried, had been replaced with an unusual solemnity. It was a side of him Sang-woo had never seen before.
He debated going to him for a moment, but was interrupted before he could decide.
The unmistakable sound of footsteps echoed across the room, and pink-clad guards appeared, their masks emotionless and rigid, casting an eerie silence over the group. The tension in the room grew thicker, as everyone shifted their focus to the front of the room.
One of the guards stepped forward and spoke, his voice reverberating through his mask.
“I would like to extend a warm welcome to you all,” the guard’s voice sliced through the murmurs that echoed around the room, commanding everyone’s attention.
“Over the next six days,” he continued, “you will participate in six different games. Those who successfully complete all six will receive a generous prize.”
Sang-woo’s gaze drifted instinctively back to Gi-hun, searching for some hint of his thoughts. Gi-hun hadn’t moved from where he stood, but his focus was locked on the guards. His expression had hardened into a piercing glare, unreadable yet charged with intensity.
Sang-woo tilted his head in contemplation. Something was not right here. For Gi-hun to be acting like that, it was almost as if…
As if he knew something.
A man’s voice rose from the crowd.
“Why are you all wearing masks?”
“Yeah!” a woman added, her voice sharp. “Is this some kind of illegal gambling ring?”
More voices joined in, their shouts of agreement swelling for a moment before fading as the head guard spoke again, calm but firm.
“We wear masks to protect our identities. It is our policy not to disclose our faces to any of the players. Rest assured, these games are entirely legitimate. Our sole purpose is to provide you with an opportunity to change your lives for the better. There is nothing for you to fear.”
The explanation seemed to ease some of the tension in the room, while others continued to express their disbelief. But Sang-woo remained unconvinced. His gaze shifted back to Gi-hun, who still hadn’t moved. Lost in his own thoughts, Gi-hun’s rigid stance and guarded expression betrayed his wariness.
The guard continued his explanation of the game. Each person was expected to sign their name on a printed contract to officially enroll in the event.
The room was filled with an odd mixture of anxiety and reluctant resolve, as participants hesitated, some unsure of what to do but ultimately signing their names, one after another.
Sang-woo took a deep breath, still trying to process everything.
The weight of the decision settled in his chest, but he knew there was no turning back. As his hand hovered over the paper, the cold reality of his situation hit him. With a steady hand, he signed his name, sealing his fate along with everyone else in the room.
The next moments passed in a blur: photos were taken, the players were processed, and they were led through endless hallways filled with garishly colorful staircases and doors that seemed to lead nowhere. The building felt like a maze designed to disorient, with each step adding to Sang-woo’s discomfort.
As he followed the line of people up a staircase, Sang-woo couldn’t shake the image of Gi-hun from earlier. He was stuck on the look in his childhood friend’s eyes; the usually cheerful man wore a grim, fearful expression that Sang-woo had never seen before. It was… deeply unsettling, to say the least. It made him even more uneasy about the current situation.
However, he was never one to falter in unusual circumstances. Whatever these games were for, whoever was behind them, none of that mattered. As long as Sang-woo had a chance to pay off his debt and reclaim his societal status, he’d do anything.
He clenched his jaw, a newfound determination setting in. Sang-woo pushed his way past the players in front of him on the staircase, brushing off their indignant protests as he made his way toward the figure he’d seen further up the line.
“Gi-hun.”
The name came out firm yet laced with an underlying concern.
Gi-hun turned, startled. His eyes widened the moment recognition set in. For a brief, electrifying moment, their gazes locked, and the air between them seemed to shift. There was a spark, subtle but undeniable, something that lingered just beneath the surface, unspoken yet deeply felt.
“Sang-woo,” Gi-hun’s voice was low and hoarse, filled with a panicked urgency that put Sang-woo’s senses even further on alarm. “Wha- what are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” Sang-woo shot back, raising an eyebrow. “You look worse for wear, Gi-hun.”
Gi-hun stared back at him, the look in his eyes something akin to pain.
“Seriously, what happened to you?” Gi-hun murmured, his voice heavy with an emotion that sounded like sorrow. “The pride of Ssangmun-dong, a graduate of SNU... how could someone like you end up here?”
Sang-woo’s jaw tightened. “That doesn’t matter. What about you? Did you get into some trouble? More than usual, I mean.”
Gi-hun flinched at the jab, but Sang-woo ignored it. He studied his friend closely, noting the tension in his shoulders and the way his eyes darted around anxiously.
“You seem… different. Did something happen?”
Gi-hun blinked, his expression tightening as if weighing his response. “Trouble… yeah, you could say that,” he murmured, his voice evasive.
Sang-woo didn’t miss how he had completely avoided his second question.
“Does it have to do with your mom?” Sang-woo pressed.
Gi-hun flinched again, the reaction confirming Sang-woo’s suspicions.
Though years had passed since they last saw each other, Sang-woo still knew him well enough to see that something was seriously wrong. Gi-hun had always been resilient in his positivity, even in the worst situations. Not even his divorce had extinguished the childish, joyful spark in him. But now? Now Gi-hun looked like a man on the verge of breaking.
Something must’ve happened. Something big.
Gi-hun shuddered for a moment, running a hand through his hair before shaking his head. “I-I don’t want to talk about that right now. Look, I’ll tell you everything later, but you have to promise me something.”
“What? Gi-hun-”
“Promise me,” Gi-hun cut him off, stepping closer and gripping Sang-woo’s shoulder firmly. His gaze was intense, almost desperate. “Promise me you’ll stay close to me here, no matter what."
Sang-woo’s frown deepened. He didn’t like how cryptic Gi-hun was being, and the urgency in his voice only made his unease worse.
“What are you saying? Do you know something?”
Gi-hun hesitated, his expression conflicted. It was as if he were silently debating whether to tell Sang-woo everything. “Just… later,” he said finally, his tone pleading. “For now, trust me. Please. You trust me, don’t you?”
Sang-woo’s jaw tightened, irritation flaring. “If you know something—”
Before he could finish, a guard stepped forward, motioning for the group to move. Their conversation was cut short as the players were herded through a door.
He clenched his jaw, but dropped the subject for now.
They were led into a large, courtyard-like space, the open ceiling revealing the sky above. Yet even the openness felt suffocating. The scene was surreal. At the far end of the space, a giant doll stood under a tree. Its oversized, childish design should’ve been harmless, but its piercing gaze sent a chill through Sang-woo. A shiver ran down his spine without warning.
To his right, he heard a soft gasp, and his eyes quickly darted toward Gi-hun. There was something in his gaze... was it recognition? Whatever his friend knew, Sang-woo could feel it. Something terrible was about to happen.
After all the participants had finished filtering into the room, a robotic voice cut through the air, breaking Sang-woo out of his thoughts.
Welcome to the first game. You will be playing Red Light, Green Light. You can only move when the doll says “The hibiscus flower has bloomed.” If you are caught moving outside of that, you will be eliminated from the game.
Sang-woo’s brow furrowed. They were playing a children’s game?
A sudden, erratic movement from Gi-hun caught his eye, and he turned to look. Gi-hun was holding something. Was that… a tooth?
His friend’s expression went from grim to panicked in the blink of an eye.
Sang-woo stepped forward. “Hey. What’s going-”
Gi-hun shoved past him, running desperately to the front of the group.
“Everyone! Please listen to me!”
The urgency in his voice was unmistakable, and it sent a ripple through the crowd. Sang-woo’s expression hardened as all eyes turned to Gi-hun, confusion and surprise written across their faces.
“This is not just a game!” Gi-hun pressed on frantically. “If you move during a red light, you will be shot!”
A sharp pang hit Sang-woo’s chest at the sheer terror on Gi-hun’s face.
For a moment, there was only a stunned silence before chuckles and murmurs of disbelief began spreading through the crowd.
“Shot? Is he serious?”
“Sounds like my dad after a few too many drinks.”
“Sir, what are you saying?” A woman’s voice rang out, incredulous. “We’re all going to die playing Red Light, Green Light?”
“Yes!” Gi-hun shouted, his eyes wide with panic. “You’re all going to be killed! There are shooters hidden in the walls—you have to listen to me! That doll over there—its eyes have motion sensors! If it sees you move, you’re dead!”
More laughter filled the room, mixed with voices of disbelief, but Sang-woo’s face remained impassive. His eyes stayed fixed on Gi-hun, watching him closely. There was no hint of a joke in his expression, no sign of madness. Only raw sincerity, desperation seeping from every word. Gi-hun wasn’t lying. He was trying to save them.
However, there was no time to convince everyone. In a moment, the doll began to turn slowly and mechanically towards the tree. Gi-hun watched it, fear evident in his eyes, then turned back to the others.
“Don’t panic, and don’t try to run! Just remember what I said! Freeze, or you’re dead!”
With that, let the game begin.
The robotic voice sounded once more, signaling the start of the game.
Sang-woo’s eyes never left Gi-hun as the game set off. He was struck by the unwavering resolve on his friend’s face, a kind of strength that felt foreign, almost unrecognizable. The Gi-hun he’d grown up with had never been like this.
“The hibiscus flower has bloomed.”
The players all ran forwards in sync. Sang-woo reached Gi-hun’s side just as his voice rang out again, strong and commanding.
“Freeze!”
Despite their initial incredulousness, the players all obeyed his order, not moving an inch.
“What are you doing?” Sang-woo said under his breath, trying to keep his face as still as possible.
“Trying to save you all,” Gi-hun replied flatly. “Don’t speak without covering your mouth. It’s too dangerous.”
Sang-woo grit his teeth, but obeyed.
The doll’s voice sounded again, and the players kept moving. Sang-woo began to run, before quickly stopping when he realized Gi-hun hadn’t moved yet.
“Freeze!”
Sang-woo’s eyes narrowed. For someone convinced this was a death game, Gi-hun didn’t seem all that concerned about his own well-being. When the next green light phrase started to play, he called out to him.
“Are you gonna move, or what?”
Gi-hun turned sharply as if surprised, then nodded to him. He made his way over, stopping just before the recording finished playing and covered his mouth with an arm.
“Freeze!”
This continued for a few rounds, with the players all stopping in their tracks at every one of Gi-hun’s commands, remaining as still as possible until the phrase was sounded out again. With Gi-hun’s guidance, all of the players made it halfway across the field unscathed.
Then, through the eerie silence, something shifted. A sudden, piercing scream shattered the stillness. Sang-woo didn’t dare look, but the scream was immediately followed by a deafening bang that echoed through the room.
And just like that, everything changed. In the blink of an eye, people had gone from completely frozen to screaming in terror, realizing what had happened. Soon, players were running for their lives in fear, and the room was filled with the deafening noise of gunshots firing as they were each taken out one by one.
Sang-woo’s heart nearly seized in his chest. He fought hard not to look over at Gi-hun in alarm and utter shock.
How the hell did he know?
“Stay calm!” Gi-hun screamed, his voice breaking in desperation. “Don’t run! You have to stay still!”
As chaos erupted around them, Sang-woo forced himself to stay rooted in place, his muscles trembling with the effort of holding still. Gunshots and screams echoed through the room, but his focus remained locked on Gi-hun, whose oddly steady presence was grounding for him.
“The doll detects movement, but it can’t find anything it doesn’t see!” Gi-hun was saying. “Find someone larger and stand behind them! Move forward in lines!”
“The hibiscus flower has bloomed,” the robotic voice droned again.
The group followed Gi-hun’s orders, forming into lines as they moved forward. Sang-woo bolted ahead quickly, his movements precise and calculated, freezing in place just in time. The doll’s gaze swept over the players, freezing some mid-sprint while others crumpled to the ground. More shots rang out as people were eliminated one by one. Sang-woo felt his pulse hammering in his ears, but his focus stayed razor-sharp.
Gi-hun had caught up to him, panting but steady. “You’re still alive,” Gi-hun muttered, relief flashing across his face.
“You knew,” Sang-woo hissed through gritted teeth. “How did you know?”
Gi-hun didn’t answer immediately. His eyes darted to the doll as it began another round. “I’ll explain later. Just trust me, Sang-woo.”
Trust him? The thought almost made Sang-woo laugh. There was too much history between them, too many broken promises in their past. And yet, in this moment, he realized he had no choice.
The next round began, and they surged forward together. Gi-hun reached out suddenly, grabbing Sang-woo’s arm and yanking him to a stop just as the doll’s voice cut off. A player just ahead of them stumbled slightly, just enough for the doll’s sensors to detect the motion. Another gunshot rang out close to them, and Sang-woo nearly flinched.
“Don’t look,” Gi-hun whispered. His grip on Sang-woo’s arm lingered a moment too long, grounding him amidst the chaos.
Within a few more rounds, several people had made it to the other side. Gi-hun and Sang-woo crossed the finish line together, their breaths ragged.
Just before Sang-woo could demand answers, a weak, pained voice broke through the silence.
“H-help… help me…”
Both men turned to look. A player, shot in the leg, lay sprawled on the ground, trembling and panting.
Sang-woo glanced at Gi-hun, only to see a dangerous spark of determination in his friend’s eyes.
“Don’t—”
Sang-woo’s protest was ignored as Gi-hun bolted toward the fallen man just as the next round began. Sang-woo swore under his breath.
This idiot.
Gi-hun lifted the man onto a shoulder, nearly stumbling. Before he could fall over, Sang-woo made it to his side, grabbing hold of the man’s other shoulder just as the doll began to swivel its head.
“You reckless idiot,” Sang-woo hissed through gritted teeth. “You still owe me an explanation, you bastard. Don’t go dying on me just yet.”
Gi-hun gave a faint grimace—more acknowledgement than apology—but Sang-woo caught it in the corner of his eye. They waited in a tense silence for the doll’s voice to sound again.
“The hibiscus flower has bloomed.”
Together, they dragged the injured man forward with one final burst of energy, crossing the finish line just before the timer ran out.
The two of them staggered past the doll with sluggish movements. They lowered the man to the ground, their arms shaking with exhaustion.
Before Sang-woo could berate him for wasting his time on dead weight like this, the doll’s voice fell silent, and in an instant, more shots rang throughout the room as the remaining players were taken out in one final, merciless wave. Sang-woo flinched but kept his focus on Gi-hun, who knelt beside the injured man.
“Th-thank you…” the man whispered hoarsely. He turned to Sang-woo, his bloodshot eyes filled with gratitude. “Thank-”
A gunshot cracked through the air, cutting the man off and hitting him dead between the eyes.
Sang-woo and Gi-hun flinched in unison, frozen in place as the man’s body jerked one final time before falling still.
Gi-hun’s shoulders trembled, his head bowing slightly. Sang-woo watched him closely.
The courtyard fell silent, but Sang-woo’s mind raced as his gaze lingered on Gi-hun. This wasn’t the same man he once knew. There was something different now, something raw and unsettling in the way Gi-hun carried himself, as if he’d been shaped by things Sang-woo couldn’t begin to understand. And yet, beneath the panic and desperation, Sang-woo caught a glimpse of the kindness that had always been there, stubbornly clinging to life in a place designed to snuff it out.
He clenched his jaw, a knot tightening in his chest. Gi-hun was a mystery now, a puzzle that Sang-woo couldn’t ignore. Whatever had changed him, Sang-woo was determined to find out.