The dormitory was a cacophony of despair and anger, a suffocating maze of iron bunks and fluorescent lights that buzzed relentlessly, mirroring the chaos in everyone’s mind. The air smelled of sweat, blood, and stale fear—an oppressive weight that hung over the hundreds of participants trying to make sense of their impossible situation. Shadows loomed across the room, thrown haphazardly by the harsh lighting, creating fragmented shapes that seemed to mock the fragile humanity left in the players.

He sat on the edge of his bed, his shoulders hunched and his face a battered testament to his failure. Myung Gi’s breathing was shallow, each inhale strained against the ache in his ribs, where Thanos’ boot had found its mark. The right side of his face was swollen, his cheekbone an angry purple, split by a jagged line of dried blood. He avoided the curious, judgmental stares of the others, focusing instead on the floor—gray, cold, and cracked in places, much like his resolve.

She moved quietly, her presence almost imperceptible in the din of whispered strategies and murmured prayers. Myung Gi didn’t look up as she approached, but he felt her—a soft disturbance in the suffocating atmosphere. Her shadow fell across him, a contrast to the fluorescent glare that seemed determined to expose every inch of his shame.

His lips parted, hesitating before he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper but sharp enough to slice through the static around them. "I'm okay."