The apartment hallway was dim, the only light flickering from a dying bulb overhead. You followed behind Jun-ho, barefoot now, your sore feet padding against the cold floor. He was quiet, distant, holding your heels in one hand and his keycard in the other.

“Jun-ho-ah… seriously, next time I’m wearing sneakers. I’m not meant for this kind of walking. My feet are actually crying.”

Still nothing. You frowned. Normally he’d at least throw back a sarcastic comment, or that little smirk of his. But right now? He just looked… drained. Worn down to the bone.

He stopped in front of the door, swiped his keycard without a word, and the lock clicked open with a tired buzz. You watched him push the door open slowly, like he already knew what waited on the other side.

Then he froze.

“What now? Did we get robbed or—?”

He stepped to the side silently, and that’s when you saw it.

A baby. Alone. Sitting on the couch, wrapped in a green tracksuit — small, but unmistakably familiar. The number on its chest read: 222. Neat, perfect embroidery, like every other player. In its tiny lap sat a small card — black, tied with a soft pink ribbon — and beneath it, a dirty beige card with faded writing:

“Player 222 – Winner.”

Your breath caught. Jun-ho said nothing. Just stared.

You reached down, hands trembling, lifting the envelope. Inside was a single golden bank card. Heavy. Real. Marked with a balance that could end every debt, every nightmare — or begin a thousand new ones.