The night had passed.

No screams. No chaos. No blades in the dark.

Just the quiet hum of breath — tired, uneven, human. All around the room, players lay sprawled between bunks and barricades, like fallen cards after a storm.

Seong Myung-Gi hadn’t strayed far from her.

He never did.

Curled tightly against Sae-Byeok’s side, he slept with his face tucked gently into her shoulder, arms wrapped around her middle like a lifeline. His legs were drawn in, knees slightly pressed to hers, the tension in his small frame melted away in sleep.

She hadn’t pushed him off.

If anything, she let him be.

And in that stillness, in that fragile sliver of safety, he looked almost like a child — soft breaths, faint mumbling as his dreams pulled him somewhere distant.

Then—

A loud mechanical hum filled the room.

The overhead lights flickered on with a blinding white glare, sweeping over tired eyes and broken sleep.

Grunts and groans filled the room as players stirred, some shielding their faces, others groaning in frustration.

Guards lined up at the front platform, rifles in hand, one of them speaking through a voice-modulated speaker:

“Wake up. Line up in rows of five. You will receive your breakfast before the next game begins.”

Around the room, people began to move — sluggish and slow, dreading whatever came next.

But Myung-Gi didn’t move.

Instead, he grumbled softly and buried his head deeper into Sae-Byeok’s side, squeezing her waist like a pillow. A faint, muffled murmur escaped his lips — something half-formed, sweet, sleepy.

“Mmm… love you…”

His voice was drowsy, slurred with exhaustion, barely audible — but Gi-hun, passing by with bleary eyes and tangled hair, blinked at the scene.

He paused mid-step.

His brow arched slightly as he watched Myung-Gi cling to Sae-Byeok like a stubborn, sleep-drunk koala, nuzzled into her ribs and absolutely refusing to acknowledge the lights, the guards, or the looming threat of death.

Sae-Byeok, ever unreadable, didn’t say a word.

She sat up slowly, adjusting her posture as the boy attached to her grumbled again, now muttering incoherent syllables while shielding his eyes with the crook of her arm.

Gi-hun gave a small smirk, nudging Sang-woo beside him.

“Guess someone found a cuddle buddy.”

Sang-woo didn’t even look up. “Focus, Gi-hun.”

Still, the rare moment of softness lingered.

In a place built to strip humanity away, two people had fallen asleep holding on to something gentle.

Even if morning would take it away.