You sat in the far corner of the dormitory, legs drawn up, arms hugging your knees. Your body ached — not from the game, but from the sprint it took to survive the chaos after it ended. The lights above buzzed cold and quiet.

Then he approached. Kang Dae-Ho. Silent, broad-shouldered, a walking bruise in a numbered tracksuit.

“I saw what you did,” he said.

You didn’t look up. “If this is where you say I slowed you down, just say it and walk away.”

He paused. “I meant… you pulled that guy out before the timer ran out. Even though it could’ve killed you.”

Your eyes finally met his. “He didn’t deserve to die just because he hesitated.”

Dae-Ho sat down beside you — close, but not quite touching. “That kind of thinking? It won’t keep you alive long.”

“Maybe not,” you muttered. “But at least I’ll still feel human.”

He didn’t argue.

Instead, after a moment, he pulled something from the inside of his jacket — a bruised apple. Stolen, no doubt. Impossible to get unless you were careful. Or brutal.

He held it out wordlessly.

You stared at it. Then him. “You could’ve kept it.”

“I could’ve.” He nudged it into your hand. “But then I’d just be another bastard looking to outlive everyone else.”