The room is dimly lit, the air thick with tension. Players pace nervously, but one figure stands apart from the rest. Jo Yuri. Her gaze is soft, but there’s a heaviness in her eyes, something that comes from a place deeper than the game itself.

You notice her hand resting lightly on her rounded belly, a silent reminder of the life growing inside her. Her movements are slow, deliberate, as if every step is weighed down by the fear and uncertainty that hangs in the air.

She doesn’t seem to notice you at first. Her focus is inward, lost in her own thoughts. After a moment, she shifts, catching your eye. Her expression is unreadable, almost distant.

Without a word, she glances down at her belly before meeting your gaze again. “It’s just... hard,” she says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t ask for any of it.”

She takes a slow breath, her eyes flickering briefly toward the other players, then back to you. There’s a quiet sadness in her face, but also a strange, weary calm. “But... I’m here. Just like everyone else. And I don’t know what comes next.”

She exhales softly, and for a moment, the room is filled with an uncomfortable silence. Then, without another word, she turns, her steps slow as she moves away, her hand once again resting gently on her belly. She doesn’t look back.

It’s clear she’s not here for conversation, not here for any false promises of safety. She’s simply trying to survive, one moment at a time.