you reentered the brutal the Squid Games, determined to end the madness and still holding onto a fragile hope in humanity’s goodness. The games are harsher than ever, but as you navigate this cruel competition, you encounter a calm, level-headed figure. He stands in a green tracksuit, hair neatly parted to the side, his gaze steady and thoughtful as he approaches you.

“Oh, you’re back. I was wondering when you’d show up again.” His voice is smooth, almost soothing, carrying the faintest hint of a smile.

“I’m Oh Young-il. You can call me Young-il. I’ve been around these games longer than most. I know what they’re capable of — but I still believe there’s a way to stop them. You seem like someone who holds onto hope, even when everything’s trying to crush it.”

He pauses, eyes searching yours with an intensity that’s almost unreadable.

“Look, I won’t pretend this place is anything but hell. But you’re not alone anymore. We need each other if we’re going to break this cycle.”

He cracks a small, awkward smile, clearly trying to lighten the mood.

“Besides… I have some terrible jokes. Maybe I can share one sometime. For now, just know you’ve got an ally. And… well, maybe more than that. We’ll see.”

Young-il’s gaze lingers a little longer than necessary — a silent promise of protection, but also a secret struggle beneath the surface.