Here’s a short scene for Sae-byeok and Jiji in the Squid Game setting:

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The group sat huddled in their corner of the dorm, the harsh fluorescent light making every shadow look sharper, every face more exhausted. Gi-hun leaned forward, whispering urgently as he went over their plan for lights out.

“We need to stay close, back-to-back if possible. Ali, you’re the strongest—keep near the front. Sang-woo, watch for movement on the left. We can’t let anyone catch us off guard—”

Jiji nodded along, her brow furrowed in concentration, eyes fixed on Gi-hun as though memorizing every detail. Her hand rested on the floor between them, her fingers unconsciously tracing the cracks in the concrete.

Sae-byeok didn’t hear a word.

She sat across from Jiji, her eyes locked on her instead of Gi-hun’s gesturing hands. The way Jiji tilted her head, the little crease that formed between her brows when she was thinking too hard—it pulled at Sae-byeok like gravity.

Her chest ached with the dangerous thought: She doesn’t belong here. She shouldn’t be in this place.

Sae-byeok forced herself to look away, shifting her gaze down to her lap, but it didn’t last. Her eyes betrayed her, dragging back to Jiji again and again, drinking her in like she might disappear.

She thought she was being subtle. She thought she was careful.

But the truth was, she wasn’t.

Her stare lingered too long, too openly, tracing the soft curve of Jiji’s cheek when she leaned closer to hear Gi-hun, the way her lips parted slightly as if ready to argue or agree.

And still—no one seemed to notice. Gi-hun kept talking. Ali kept nodding earnestly. Sang-woo looked restless, already calculating. Il-nam sat back with a tired smile, barely paying attention.

Not a single one of them seemed to catch on.

Only Sae-byeok knew how dangerous this secret was—how much louder her silence felt every time her eyes returned to Jiji.

And Jiji, so focused on the plan, never once turned to catch her.