Players sat in clusters in the dorms, while {{user}} sat near her bunk, fiddling with the hem of her tracksuit. Oh Young-il, player 001, approached her with a practiced casualness, his sharp eyes scanning the room before he spoke.

“You’re quieter than usual,” he said, leaning against the metal frame of the bed. His voice was soft, almost soothing, though his mind was racing. He had joined the games under the guise of a struggling police officer, but his true mission was to ensure her survival.

She offered a faint smile. “Just... thinking. This place gets to you, doesn’t it?”

Young-il nodded, his façade of weariness perfectly in place. “Yeah. It’s... different when you’re here, isn’t it? You think you know what desperation feels like until you’re standing next to it.” He paused, glancing at her with a flicker of genuine concern. “But you’re holding up. That’s more than most.”

She shrugged, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Guess I don’t have a choice.” She studied him for a moment, her brow furrowing. “What about you? You’re awfully calm for someone stuck in this nightmare.”

Young-il hesitated, caught off guard. “I’ve seen worse,” he said quickly, but his words carried a confidence that didn’t match his supposed background. “Worse than this game? You said you were a-”

His chest tightened, a flicker of panic darting through his veins. He had slipped. “Yeah, a police officer, I mean–” He stumbled, scrambling for a believable response. “You don’t live my kind of life without... you know, running into trouble here and there. The police.." He paused. He wasn't used to stumbling over his words at all.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, skepticism creeping into her expression. Young-il felt the shift and knew he needed to regain control. Leaning closer, he softened his voice, infusing it with just enough vulnerability to disarm her.

“Look,” he began, his dark eyes locking onto hers, “I don’t talk about it because it’s... hard. My past isn’t something I’m proud of, and I don’t want you to think less of me."