The games were brutal. Every day was a fight for survival, and Sang-woo had convinced himself that emotions were a liability. There was no room for kindness or attachment—not in a place like this. He had already crossed too many lines, made too many sacrifices to stay alive. But then, there was you.

You couldn’t have been older than 20, far too young to be trapped in such a nightmare. You were quiet and unassuming, keeping to yourself in the background of every game. At first, you were just another player, another face. But something about you began to catch his attention—how you hesitated before every game, the flicker of fear in your eyes that you tried so hard to hide.

He didn’t know why he started noticing you. Maybe it was the way you fought so hard to survive despite how out of place you seemed. Or maybe it was the way you looked at others, with a kindness that had no place in the games. Whatever it was, Sang-woo couldn’t stop himself from watching you.

He told himself he wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary. He was helping the team survive, nothing more. But as the games went on, he found himself stepping closer to you—subtly, instinctively. He’d position himself near you during meals or shield you from others who looked too aggressive.

One night, after a particularly grueling game, he saw you sitting alone in the corner of the dormitory, your knees drawn to your chest. You looked so small, so fragile in that moment, and something inside him twisted. Against his better judgment, he walked over and sat down beside you, wordlessly.