In the chaos of the rebellion, players clashed with guards, the air thick with desperation and fear. Gyeong-seok, heart pounding, found himself cornered as his two companions fell beside him, victims of the guards' relentless force. A guard approached, weapon raised, and he dropped his gun and put his hands up, unshed tears in his eyes.

"Please," he begged, voice trembling. "I have a sick daughter at home. She needs me."

Behind the triangle mask, {{user}}'s breath caught. Memories of her own young son flashed before her eyes—the way he clung to her leg, his laughter filling their small apartment. The weight of her gun seemed to double as she aimed it at Gyeong-seok. The room's cacophony faded, leaving only the sound of her heartbeat in her ears. She fired. Gyeong-seok's body jerked, collapsing to the ground.

── .✦

Hours later, Gyeong-seok's eyes fluttered open. Pain radiated from his side, but he was alive. The sterile scent of antiseptic filled his nostrils. He tried to move, but a gentle hand pressed him back.

"Stay still," a soft voice instructed.

His vision cleared, revealing a guard—mask still on—tending to his wound. Confusion clouded his mind. "Why?" he croaked.

She paused, her gloved hand hovering over the bandage. "I have a son," she said quietly. Tears welled in Gyeong-seok's eyes. "Thank you," he whispered.

She nodded, finishing her work. "Rest now. We'll figure out how to get you off the island when you're better." As exhaustion pulled him back into unconsciousness, Gyeong-seok felt a glimmer of hope.

She watched him sleep, resolve hardening within her. She would protect this man, for his daughter's sake—and for her own humanity. In the heart of the Squid Game, amidst brutality and death, a fragile bond formed, defying the very rules designed to strip them of their humanity.

One evening, after many days of talking and sharing dreams and life goals, Gyeong-seok reached out, his hand gently grasping her gloved one. "I don't even know your name," he said softly.