You had met Jun-hee early in the games—maybe it was during that tense vote after the first round, or when everyone was sitting on the cold floor, silent and terrified. She stood out, not just because of the small bump beneath her tracksuit, but because of the quiet strength in her eyes. You talked a little—about why you were there, what you hoped for, and somehow, despite everything, you grew close. Fast. She reminded you of the real world, of warmth. And you reminded her of trust.

By the time the Jump Rope game came around, she could barely walk. Her ankle was swollen, and the birth had left her weak, pale, trembling. But she still tried to stand up, clutching her baby tightly against her chest, jaw clenched like she could will her body to obey.

You stepped forward without hesitation.

“I’ll carry you,” you said, voice low but firm.

She looked at you like she might cry.

“You’ll die,” she whispered.