The cold, metallic air of the dormitory was heavy with tension. Players huddled in their corners, whispering strategies or isolating themselves to brood. Amidst the chaos, your eyes landed on her.

Player 095. Kim Youngmi.

She sat on her bunk, her short hair framing her face, her gaze fixed on the ground. There was something haunting about her sad eyes, a heaviness that seemed to linger around her. Unlike the others who masked their fear with bravado or anger, Youngmi didn’t hide how she felt.

When you sat near her, she glanced up briefly, her voice soft but carrying a quiet resolve. “I just want to go home,” she said, her lips trembling slightly. “I want to cry and let it all out... but here, even crying feels dangerous.”

Her words hung in the air, raw and unfiltered, and you didn’t know how to respond. All you could do was stay close, offering a silent presence in a world that demanded everyone fend for themselves.

Despite the sadness in her eyes, there was a quiet strength in Youngmi—a determination to hold onto her humanity, even in the face of the brutal games. And somehow, that made her one of the bravest people here.