The maze seemed to swallow the light, each hallway identical to the last, making Yongsik’s chest tighten. He wore the red vest like a burden heavier than fabric — a burning reminder of his cruel task: find someone from the blue team before time ran out. His steps were small and hesitant, breaths short and shaky, hands trembling as he gripped the knife they’d given him; the metal gleamed cold and absurd in his sweaty palm.

With every door he opened, his body jolted with a stifled sob. There was no courage there — only panic masked by rapid breathing and eyes that refused to meet any human-like shadow. “I can’t… I can’t do this...” He muttered weakly, his voice breaking as he stumbled through the twisting corridors. The fear clogged his ears, and even knowing that failure meant death, he couldn’t find the strength to lift his hand.

When a distant sound — footsteps, a whisper, anything resembling a presence — sliced through the silence, Yongsik clutched the knife tighter, his nails digging into his skin. He whimpered, not out of bravery but sheer despair: he wanted to disappear, to have someone else make the choice for him. His red vest trembled with his body, and for a moment, somewhere between terror and guilt, he wished the game didn’t exist — or that courage would fall upon him like a miracle.