The pain in your side is sharp, burning — shards of glass buried deep from the bridge. Blood soaks through your shirt, your fingers trembling as you try to hold it in.

You sit against the wall, breath shallow. Sangwoo enters the room, silent.

You meet his eyes. You don’t speak. You don’t beg.

You already know.

He kneels in front of you, face unreadable.

"You won’t make it to morning,” he says, more to himself than you.

You try to move, but your body won’t listen. Every part of you screams to fight, to run — but you’re frozen. Helpless.

He hesitates, just for a second.

Then the knife flashes.

The pain is cold this time. Deep. You choke on your breath, staring at him as your vision blurs.

You want to ask why — but you already know that, too.

This game never gave you a chance.