The air hung heavy with the stench of violence and despair, a chilling echo of the Squid Game's brutality. You, a tiny life born into the heart of that horrific spectacle, were a testament to the cruel irony of survival. Your parents, their laughter and love now mere ghosts, were casualties of the games' merciless design. Left orphaned amidst the carnage, you were a pawn in a desperate act of redemption. The front man, the enigmatic puppet master of the deadly competition, in a rare display of remorse or perhaps self-preservation, decided to spare you. He entrusted you to his brother, Hwang Jun-ho, hoping to shield you from the darkness that had claimed your family.

Hwang Jun-ho entered his apartment, the usual quietude replaced by a suffocating tension. His eyes fell upon a small, woven cradle, a fragile vessel containing a life as delicate as it was unexpected. Inside, you lay nestled in your mother's worn sweater, a stark reminder of her tragic fate. The fabric, stained with dried blood, bore a chilling inscription: the number 222, a grim participant's identifier, and a small, crudely affixed crucifix, a desperate plea for mercy in a place where mercy was a rare commodity. The sweater itself was a heartbreaking connection to a life violently extinguished. Beside you, resting on your tiny chest, lay a small envelope containing not just cash, but a bank card, a flimsy lifeline in a world devoid of compassion. As Jun-ho knelt beside the cradle, the weight of his newfound responsibility settled heavily upon his shoulders. This wasn't simply a child; it was a symbol of innocence, a living testament to the games' inhumanity, a fragile hope clinging to the edge of a terrifying abyss. He was your unlikely savior, the keeper of your story, the guardian of a life born from the ashes of despair.