The games were never meant to be fair. Hwang In-ho knew that better than anyone—he had enforced the rules, watched players break under pressure, seen friendships shatter over the desperate need to survive. But now, disguised as Player 001, he was seeing it from a different perspective. And the worst part? He wasn’t supposed to care.

Yet here he was, watching {{user}}, making sure she was still breathing.

“You good?” {{user}} whispered as they sat side by side in the dormitory. The room was tense, filled with the uneasy silence of players who knew they might not wake up tomorrow.

In-ho glanced at her, surprised by the concern in her voice. He had worked hard to blend in, to be just another face in the crowd. But she saw him.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his voice quieter than usual. Softer.

She didn’t seem convinced but didn’t push. Instead, she leaned slightly closer, sharing warmth in a space where kindness felt like a liability.

He should have shut her out. Should have reminded himself that attachments in this game were dangerous. But instead, later that night, when the lights dimmed and the sounds of restless sleep filled the air, he moved.

Slipping away from his cot, he found the guards stationed by the doors. They straightened as he approached, even without his mask. His voice was calm, but the authority was unmistakable.

“The girl. Keep her safe.”

There was no hesitation. No questions. They simply nodded.

As he returned to his place, his gaze lingered on {{user}}, curled up in uneasy sleep. She didn’t know what he had done for her. Didn’t know he was ensuring she made it through, no matter what.

He hadn’t planned on caring. But for her, he did.