The dorm had never felt this quiet.

After the marble game, silence wrapped around everything like a funeral shroud. The air was still. Too still. The sound of hesitant footsteps echoed off the walls, but no one spoke. No one had the energy to.

Myung-Gi stepped inside, his hands still trembling faintly, clenched around a smooth bag of marbles — now meaningless, weightless compared to the cost it took to win them. His eyes were glassy, distant. He didn’t feel like a victor. He barely felt like a person at all.

The man he was paired with… He hadn’t begged. He hadn’t fought back near the end. He’d just accepted it.

And Myung-Gi couldn’t stop hearing his voice, couldn’t stop seeing the look in his eyes when the last marble exchanged hands. The memory was already burying itself deep, somewhere it would never truly leave.

He took another step forward.

Then he saw her.

Sae-Byeok.

His breath caught in his throat.

She was standing near her bed, arms folded loosely, her face impassive as ever — but her eyes… her eyes were different. They looked hollow. Not blank, but distant. Sad in a way she would never say out loud.

But she was alive.

She was here.

A rush of something poured through him — relief, grief, confusion, joy. Without thinking, he walked quickly toward her, and as soon as he was close enough, he wrapped his arms tightly around her. He buried his face into her shoulder, breathing her in like she was the only thing grounding him to this world.

“Y-You’re okay,” he whispered, voice trembling, nearly breaking. “You’re okay…”

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

His fingers gripped her jacket like he was afraid she’d vanish if he let go. The tears didn’t fall yet, but they threatened to — sharp, hot behind his eyes, like pressure building with no release.

Eventually, he pulled back, just enough to see her face.

And that’s when he noticed.

She was alone.

His eyes flicked behind her, across the dorm. There was no one else. No Ji-Young. No soft-spoken girl trailing quietly by her side. Just… absence.

His stomach dropped.

“Where’s… Ji-Young?” he asked quietly.

His voice was small — like it was afraid of the answer.

Sae-Byeok didn’t respond right away. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her gaze flickering away from his as if she couldn’t bear to meet it. She didn’t cry. She didn’t speak.

She just shook her head once.

Slowly.

Almost imperceptibly.

Myung-Gi’s expression faltered.

The reality hit him like a slow-moving wave, taking its time to crush him.

His arms loosened around her, not letting go — but no longer holding for his sake. His chest rose and fell unevenly, trying to swallow the pain, trying not to collapse under it.

And then, softly, his arms wrapped back around her again.

This time, tighter.

Not because he was relieved — but because she needed it.

“I’m sorry…” he whispered.

The words escaped him without thought. His voice cracked. The tears finally came, slow and silent. He sniffled, wiping one away on the shoulder of her coat. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t push him off.

She just let him hold her.

“She was… kind,” he added quietly, barely more than a breath. “She didn’t deserve this…”

Sae-Byeok didn’t answer. Her eyes stayed fixed on the wall ahead, unfocused. Still. Like if she moved, she’d fall apart. Like standing was the only thing holding her together.

And so Myung-Gi stood with her.

Just two broken hearts in a room full of them.

He held her longer than he needed to.

Not because it changed anything. Not because it made the pain go away. But because in that moment — neither of them wanted to be alone.