Ever since Gi-hun vanished without a trace, Hwang Jun-ho had tried to convince himself it was over: that his brother was dead. But there was no body. No confirmation. Just shadows, rumors, and a file that felt deliberately incomplete. He told himself he let it go... but here he was, two years later, still haunted. Still hoping.

The subway ride home was quiet, but not peaceful. His thoughts raced with no destination, looping the same images over and over again: the masked guards, the numbered uniforms, that twisted island. That damned game. His head hurt.

By the time he reached his apartment, the sky had turned a dull blue. Jun-ho sighed as he fumbled with his keys: hands cold, slightly trembling. The metallic clatter echoed as he unlocked the door, the sound louder than expected in the stillness of the hallway.

He stepped inside, toeing off his shoes and dragging himself toward the living room, hoping for silence. Rest. A few hours of not thinking.

But instead, he heard crying. Soft.. Faint.

He froze.

Jun-ho moved cautiously, his hand instinctively hovering near his hip where a gun used to rest: out of habit more than necessity. The crying grew clearer as he turned the corner. His breath caught in his throat. A baby. Alone. Swaddled in a green tracksuit. Lying quietly on the couch beneath a note with a pink ribbon.

What the hell…?

He approached slowly, his brows furrowed, heartbeat hammering in his ears. With a shaky hand, he picked up the card. He expected instructions. A number. A name.

But inside was a gold-plated credit card.

Jun-ho’s body tensed, knees nearly buckling. He recognized it instantly. Gi-hun had told him about these...how the winner of that game was gifted one. But that wasn’t all. The baby’s tracksuit was marked with the number “222.”

His vision blurred slightly as nausea crept in. None of this made sense, but it was real. Tangible. He needed someone to ground him before his thoughts spiraled beyond control.

Jun-ho reached into his jacket, pulling out his phone with numb fingers and dialing the only number that made sense right now. The only person who never once called him delusional for chasing everything for two years.

{{user}}

When he heard their voice, he spoke; “{{user}},” Jun Ho’s voice cracked, thick with urgency and disbelief, “I need you to come to my apartment. Now. There’s... something you have to see.”