The food sat untouched in front of you.

All three of you had eaten in silence, but only one of them was still watching you when you returned to your corner — Sang-woo.

He sat with his back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, staring not at Seong Gi-hun, but at you. You hadn’t spoken to him since the marble game. Since he… since he won.

You hated how quiet he was. How still. How calculated. And you hated more that even now, after everything, you didn’t move away when he stood and walked toward you.

“You should sleep,” he said softly.

You looked up. “You didn’t.”

“I don’t plan to.”

A beat passed. Then another.

“I trusted you,” you whispered.

“I know.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Do you hate me for what I’ve done?”

You didn’t answer.

Instead, you asked, “Did it ever matter to you? Me?”

Sang-woo’s jaw tightened. He didn’t reply right away — just lowered himself to the floor beside you and leaned his head back against the cold wall.

“I didn’t want it to,” he said eventually, voice quiet. “But it did.”

And then, without a word, he took your hand. Not like a romantic gesture. Not out of guilt. Just… grounding. A silent truce before the final game.