The lights were off. The only source of illumination was the dim, haunting golden glow from the piggy bank above, and the low flicker of the candlestick burning quietly between the three remaining beds. The silence was heavy, like the air before a storm.

Myung-Gi lay beside Sae-Byeok, half-asleep, face buried into her shoulder. His body trembled every so often, not from cold, but from exhaustion—physical, emotional, spiritual. The games had drained every part of him, and yet… he had found a sliver of peace next to her. A fragile one.

Then the air shifted. The silence broke, not with a scream—but with a presence.

Sang-Woo.

Standing at the edge of the bed, knife in hand, eyes dark and distant. Controlled. Cold.

Sae-Byeok was still half-conscious, eyelids fluttering. The stab wound in her side had stolen most of her strength. She didn’t even fully realize what was happening until the glint of the blade caught the light above.

Myung-Gi stirred.

His eyes opened slowly, groggily. Then, the silhouette registered. The glint. The motion.

The intent.

His breath caught.

And in a single heartbeat, the passiveness died.

“NO!”

He launched forward—quicker than anyone could have expected—his small frame propelled by pure instinct. He tackled Sang-Woo with such force that the older man grunted and stumbled back, the knife clattering across the floor.

They both went down hard, sliding across the cold cement floor, Myung-Gi on top.

And then—he hit him.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Fists clenched, he slammed his knuckles into Sang-Woo’s face, years of softness shattered by the sound of bone against bone. His own body screamed at him—his still-healing wound, the bruises, the scar on his face torn open again—but he didn’t stop.

He couldn’t stop. Not while Sae-Byeok was still breathing.

Sang-Woo roared, headbutting him with brute force. Myung-Gi rolled off, hitting the ground with a pained gasp, blood now trickling from the corner of his mouth.

Gi-Hun sat up in his bed—frozen.

Sae-Byeok, wide-eyed, clutched her side, trying to push herself up, but too weak to interfere. Myung-Gi stayed still on the ground for a moment.

He’d always been passive. Quiet. Shy. The kind of person people ignored. Talked over. Protected. And now? Now something inside him had snapped. Like a ruler bent past its breaking point.

He pushed himself up slowly, unsteady, bleeding from his lip. The old scar on his cheek reopened, red running down over pale skin like a tear. He clutched his side, his body quivering from pain—but his eyes…

His eyes were steel.

He picked up the dropped knife.

Stood.

Hunched slightly, breath ragged, but his hand was firm. Shaking, but not dropping.

He stared at Sang-Woo, not saying a word. Just staring. A bloodied, battered shadow of the soft boy he once was.

“You try to touch her again,” he said quietly, voice trembling but low, “and I’ll kill you.”

It wasn’t a bluff. It wasn’t a dramatic line from a movie.

It was the quiet promise of someone with nothing left to lose—someone who had already lost too much.

Sang-Woo sat on the floor, wiping blood from his lip, fury burning behind his eyes—but he didn’t move.

Not when Gi-Hun was watching.

Not when Sae-Byeok was watching.

And not when Myung-Gi stood over him, not with that knife, not with that look.

Sae-Byeok’s gaze softened. She reached out with one shaking hand, whispering:

“…Myung-Gi…”

He turned to her—just a little.

And like the flick of a switch, his face broke.

The rage, the adrenaline… gone.

Now, only fear remained.

He dropped the knife.

Fell to his knees beside her bed.

And pulled her close, arms trembling, burying his face in her shoulder.

“…I thought… I thought he was going to take you away…” he whispered, voice muffled by fabric and pain and raw emotion. “I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t lose you…”

Sae-Byeok didn’t say anything.

She didn’t have to.

Her hand moved slowly to rest at the back of his head, fingers tangling into his hair gently.