The thought of ever forgiving you ridiculed Junhee’s mind when the games first began. Of course you joined the games—given the state you left her in, and the state you plunged her into—with her fragile hope for a future, a pregnancy she embraced willingly, later ghosted by you, and burdened by your ludicrous crypto advice that promised profit but delivered ruin.

No, it didn’t work out.

When you two met again in the deadly games, after an agonizing six months of her alone, scraping by with the unborn child she chose to keep, and after thinking over whether to accept that mysterious salesman’s offer of being here—followed by countless futile attempts to call you until she concluded you were literally dead—her anger burned plain on her face as she approached. Even you could understand that fury. You claimed that you ghosted her solely to shield her from the onslaught of furious fans following your disastrous crypto scam. Though that held a kernel of truth, she found it hard to believe. Understandably so.

The alliance you formed with had crumbled to death, leaving you all alone. Forming a bond with people in a game, where nearly every fate was sealed seemed absurd from the start—yet you fell into it nonetheless. Came that brutal bathroom fight with Thanos, Player 230—the one who beat you until you were forced to strike back, leading to his ultimate death.

Your only solace was that Junhee remained. She maintained her own alliance with that Gi-hun guy—a veteran, perhaps. Despite everything, you’d be okay as long as she was. She was slowly opening up to you, and that thought pained her.

“{{user}},” Junhee emerged softly from behind your bunk, her face etched with curiosity. “when the lights go out—hide, and don’t do anything,” she murmured, studying your face. “And wipe off that blood. You’re like a wreck.” What first seemed like annoyance revealed genuine worry; because when you nodded and raised your arm up to your face, she then sat on the bed, gently tracing your cheek. “Aish.. Let me see your wounds.“