You sat against the cold metal bunk, knees drawn up, hands trembling from the last game — the memory of marbles and betrayal burned into your chest. You didn’t cry anymore. There were no tears left, only silence and the quiet rustle of fabric as people moved like ghosts.

“Hey.”

His voice pulled you from your daze. Gi-Hun stood there, holding a tiny piece of bread and the corner of a blanket.

“I know it’s not much,” he said, offering the food first. “But you didn’t eat earlier. And it’s cold.”

You blinked at him. This man — this kind-eyed fool who smiled even with blood under his fingernails — had somehow held onto his decency.

You took the bread and let the blanket drape over your shoulders.

“…Why?” you finally asked. “Why do you keep helping people?”

Gi-Hun lowered himself to sit beside you. “Because if I stop, I’m not me anymore.”