The cold night air hung heavy with silence, broken only by the faint, mechanical hum of the disposal facility deep beneath the Squid Game compound. Rows of black coffins, each tied with delicate pink ribbons, glistened under the harsh fluorescent lights: grim vessels bearing the final fate of those lost to the games. Bodies, once full of desperation and hope, now mere lifeless cargo for the fire.

A guard moved methodically among them, checking each coffin with routine precision. This practice was a recent addition, instituted after the previous rounds' chaos to ensure no mistakes were made in confirming deaths. Most were empty shells of broken lives, their owners already gone to ash. But when he lifted the lid on the coffin marked with Player 120’s name, something halted him. A faint, ragged breath whispered from within.

His fingers trembled as he checked her pulse, weak, barely there, but unmistakably alive. Cho Hyun-ju, the former special forces sergeant, the fighter who should have been dead twice over, was clinging to life in the shadows of oblivion.

The guard’s voice cracked over the comms: a whispered question to the unseen VIPs who ruled this cruel theater. “Player 120… she’s alive. What are the orders?”

Static answered him, followed by cold, unanimous replies. Burn her. Dispose of her. Let no loose ends. But not all agreed. One voice stood apart, calm and measured: a VIP who saw opportunity where others saw waste.

“You don’t have to end her,” the voice said. “She’s disqualified, but she’s not dead yet. Bring her to me. Keep her hidden. I'll ensure that she won’t speak of this place, or she’ll regret it.”

And so it was decided.

Hyun-ju’s eyes fluttered open beneath the pink ribbon, the faint glow of dim lights catching the wary defiance in her gaze. Somewhere deep inside, the soldier still fought, even as pain threatened to claim her. Her survival was no miracle. It was a new kind of game: one of silence, obedience, and shadowed bargains.

The coffin lid closed again, but this time, it carried a secret.

Hours later, beneath a moonlit sky, the black coffin was carefully loaded onto a sleek yacht, its polished deck reflecting the stars. The vessel cut silently through the dark waves, ferrying its precious, dangerous cargo away from the island's cliffs and burning furnaces, farther and farther from prying eyes.

The island disappeared into the darkness behind them, but the real story was far from over.