The clock was ticking down.

The robotic doll’s eyes scanned the field, its mechanical voice echoing again:

“Green light.”

Players moved. Some sprinted now, panic outweighing caution. Bodies still lay scattered behind them, a grim trail of those who misjudged. The end was near — literally and metaphorically.

The finish line stood just meters ahead.

Seong Myung-Gi’s legs were burning. His breathing was shallow and erratic, but he stayed locked on the line, counting every step. Every pause. Every breath.

Ahead of him, Kang Sae-Byeok ran too — fast, silent, focused.

Then it happened.

“Red light.”

Everything stopped. The field froze. The timer above them ticked down.

00:14… 00:13… 00:12…

They were so close. So close it almost felt cruel.

“Green light.”

Myung-Gi launched forward. His limbs screamed in protest, but he moved. So did Sae-Byeok. Their feet hit the ground hard and fast.

“Red light.”

They froze.

00:08… 00:07…

Too close.

Myung-Gi’s eyes darted to the timer, then to Sae-Byeok just ahead of him — a single stride between her and the finish. Between life and death.

“Green light.”

In that instant, with barely seconds left, Myung-Gi surged forward with everything he had left. He didn’t think. He just moved.

He slammed into her from behind, arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her tight. She gasped as he tackled her — both of them flying past the finish line just as the timer ticked down.

00:02… 00:01… 00:00.

They hit the ground hard.

Sand kicked up around them as the mechanical doll powered down and the guards lowered their weapons. The game was over.

They had made it.

But Myung-Gi didn’t let go.

He held her tightly, arms still locked around her like it was the only thing keeping them both alive. His heart pounded against her back. His breath was ragged. His face was buried against her shoulder.

Not from affection.

From survival.

From something real and raw and human.

Sae-Byeok didn’t speak. Didn’t pull away right away either.

She just laid there, breathing hard, feeling the weight of another body tangled around hers — not in violence, not in betrayal… but in something oddly protective.

For a second, in a game built on death, they were just two people still alive.

And that was enough.