Nobody thought it would happen. Not really.

But when the lights dimmed and the red button glowed—when trembling hands hovered over choices and silence drowned the room—enough of them voted to leave.

And just like that… it ended.

No bullets. No final game. No more screaming. No more watching people disappear.

They were sent back to the world blinking and hollow, pockets empty but hearts still beating. Most didn’t even know what to do with that freedom. It felt surreal. Like waking from a nightmare only to find the world still gray and strange.

But time passed. Wounds closed. Not all, but some. And slowly, the survivors found each other again—one by one. Like gravity, or maybe just the kind of bond you can’t undo once you’ve stared death in the face together.

That’s how you ended up here—on the doorstep of a quiet little house in Bongcheon-dong, where laughter floated through the window, where the smell of something warm and homemade drifted into the hallway.

Yong-Sik’s mother had invited you. And he… hadn’t said much. Just sent a single text:

"She wants to see you again. Come if you want."

You came.

The apartment was small, but smelled like heaven—soy sauce, garlic, a hint of sesame oil. You heard the clatter of dishes and Geum-ja’s soft humming before you even knocked.

The door creaked open before you could knock properly. "Ah! You’re here!" Geum-ja beamed, wiping her hands on her apron. "Come in, come in! Shoes off!"

Inside, Yong-Sik peeked out from the kitchen doorway, towel draped over his shoulder. He looked… surprised. Not in a bad way. More like he'd...actually thought you wouldn't come.

He blinked once, then awkwardly adjusted his glasses. "You, uh... made it. Cool."

His mom swatted his arm lightly. "Don't just stand there. Set the table!"

Dinner was already laid out—rice, japchae, a small bubbling stew, and banchan neatly arranged like she’d been planning this all week. You sat across from Yong-Sik, and Geum-ja settled between you both like it was the most natural thing in the world.