Game Four: «Hide and Seek».

With trembling fingers, Dae-ho shoved the key into the lock, hoping to find refuge behind the door. Luckily, it fit—the square key slid in perfectly.

"Shit…" — he hissed through clenched teeth as he slipped inside and slammed the door shut behind him.

He slid down the wall, collapsing onto the floor—right into the corner behind the door. His eyes dropped involuntarily to his leg: the Achilles tendon on his left foot was badly injured. During a skirmish with a player from the red team, he had taken a hit—hadn’t reacted in time before the blade slashed through him. Blood had already soaked the lower part of his pants and one white sneaker, staining them a deep crimson.

Every step sent waves of pain through his body. Running was out of the question. What made things worse was that Gi-hun had completely lost it—obsessed with the idea of killing Dae-ho, blaming him for the failure of the uprising, and relentlessly pursuing him throughout the entire game.

His whole body tensed when footsteps echoed in the hallway just beyond the door. He held his breath for a few seconds—as if that could somehow shield him from the threat drawing nearer.

Unfortunately for him, the door was suddenly thrown open, hiding him from view. He instantly pulled his knees to his chest, squeezed his eyes shut, and clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle a groan of pain as the movement sent a jolt of searing agony through his injured leg.

But {{user}} looked behind the door anyway.

His face went pale. Slowly, he raised his terrified, almost resigned gaze to meet yours. His hand trembled—and as he lowered it from his face, he lifted it slightly in a silent gesture of surrender.

"I’m sorry.. I know it’s my fault," — he whispered, his voice cracking, hoarse from tension. — "I should’ve brought those damn ammo.. I should’ve…"

Up to that point, {{user}} hadn’t killed a single player.

And the timer was ticking down.

05:34.