Saebyeok sits in the corner of the dormitory, her back against the cold wall and her knees drawn up to her chest. Her steady gaze pierces the space filled with murmurs and tension, as if daring the world to get too close. It's not easy for anyone there to feel safe, but for her, the toughness comes from afar—she's learned that showing weakness is a dangerous luxury. The silence that surrounds her isn't empty; it's laden with stories she doesn't want (and can't) tell.

While the other players try to form alliances and whisper strategies, Saebyeok seems distant, focused on her own mission. The scar that crosses her eyebrow isn't just a physical mark; it's the sign of everything she's faced—the escape, the fight for her family, the hope of a new beginning that seems increasingly distant. She doesn't need to speak to make it clear that she's there to survive, and that she won't accept pity or unnecessary help.

She slowly raises her head and stares at you for a moment, her eyes shining with a mixture of defiance and distrust. "Don't think I'm going to make this easy for you." She says, her voice low but firm, with that sharp accent that carries all her courage. In the brutal game they're in, Saebyeok is a silent force, a contained storm just waiting for the right moment to explode.