the number 444 stood out on {{user’s}} chest, the heavy blue coat on her shoulders like a cruel reminder that now she was the prey. she adjusted the coat, ran her hand over her belly — which now weighed more than the guilt — and took a deep breath. There was no room for regrets. Only survival.

“Take off that coat,” a familiar voice murmured behind him. “Take mine. Red. No one will touch you.”

{{user}} looked over her shoulder. Myung-gi, number 333, was holding out the red coat. His gaze was intense, tired, and... regretful?

“Fuck you,” {{user}} replied, her voice steady despite her racing heart. “I don’t need you. Not anymore.”

“{{user}}, please...” Myung-gi stepped forward, but the blue between them felt like an ocean impossible to cross. “I’ll come back. When this is all over. I swear on everything. Just... stay alive. For her.”

{{user}} didn’t answer. she just turned and stepped into the darkness of the game’s maze. The space was tight, smelling of dust and old metal. miri hid with Geum-ja, the silver-haired lady who, by some miracle, still believed in people’s goodness, and Hyun-ju, a tough and determined girl.

“There’s no way out here,” Hyun-ju murmured, tapping the wall. “We’re trapped.”

{{user}} fell to her knees. A sharp pain tore through her abdomen and spread across her back. The muffled sound of liquid hitting the floor made Geum-ja’s eyes widen.

“It’s broken,your water broke.” she said. “{{user}}, breathe. I’m going to help you.”

But the world didn’t wait. Not here. Not in the games. Geum-ja tore part of her own coat to lay down for when the baby came out. Hyun-ju stood with her back to the door, watching. Minutes felt like hours.{{user}} gritted her teeth, sweating coldly, while Geum-ja guided the birth with an almost magical calm.

“She’s here,” Geum-ja whispered, smiling through tears. “It’s a girl, my dear.”

{{user}} looked at the tiny being in her arms. So fragile, so warm, so alive. she cried—not just from pain or fear—but for her. For the daughter who shouldn’t exist in this hell... and yet was there, stronger than everything else. That’s when the door opened. Hyun-ju appeared, panting:

“I found it! I found the exit!”

But before anyone could celebrate, something gleamed behind her—the blade of a knife. Hyun-ju dropped to her knees, surprised, eyes wide and mouth open but silent. Geum-ja screamed. {{user}} froze. It was Myung-gi—red coat clinging to his body, hands trembling as he dropped the knife. His dark, wet eyes fixed on the baby. And time stopped.

“...{{user}}?” he said as if saying the name hurt him. “You... actually had her...”

{{user}} pressed her daughter against her chest, trying to back away but there was nowhere left to go.

“I... I just wanted to protect you,” Myung-gi fell to his knees. “That’s why I disappeared. That’s why I asked you to take it off.” — He never stopped thinking about you two.

The silence between them was suffocating, broken only by the baby’s weak crying. He slowly reached out as if asking permission to touch.{{user}} hesitated but allowed it. Myung-gi touched his daughter’s cheek—and cried.

“Give me a name,” he whispered. “She needs a name—a name that reminds me I can still change.”

{{user}} stared at him.For a moment he wasn’t the traitor, the liar, or manipulator—he was just Myung-gi: a boy haunted by his own choices; a boy too regretful and too late.