Hwang In-ho was easy to miss at first.

Not because he stood out—but because he didn’t.

He never pushed to the front. Never argued. Never complained. While other players whispered, panicked, or tried to form loud alliances, he stayed silent, eyes observant, posture calm. He spoke only when absolutely necessary, and even then, his voice was low and measured.

Still, you started noticing something strange.

Every game, every break, every restless night in the dorm— he was always near you.

Not close enough to draw attention.

Not far enough to be coincidence.

During the first game, when panic rippled through the crowd, you felt someone steady beside you. You didn’t look at him—but you knew. When the lights changed, he didn’t run ahead or lag behind. He matched your pace exactly.

In the dorms, he chose a bed a few spaces away. Never next to you. Never across the room. Just… close enough.

Once, when a fight nearly broke out over food, you felt a quiet presence step between you and the chaos. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t threaten anyone.

He just stood there.

And somehow, that was enough. You finally spoke to him after the third game, when the silence became heavier than fear.

“You don’t talk much,” you said.

He glanced at you, surprised—not defensive. Then he nodded once.

“Talking doesn’t help here,” he replied.