Here’s a short, tension-filled scene for Sae-byeok and Jiji as exes in Squid Game:

Dinner was handed out—cold rice and a boiled egg. The room buzzed with the low hum of whispers, alliances trading food and glances.

Jiji sat cross-legged beside Gi-hun, her eyes fixed on her tray, fingers peeling the egg slowly. She didn’t look up, didn’t look across the room, didn’t dare. But her ears strained, sharp and tuned, waiting.

Two rows away, Sae-byeok leaned against the wall, chewing her rice mechanically. Her face was blank, unreadable, but her eyes flicked sideways every few seconds. Not at the guards, not at the chaos. At Jiji. Always Jiji.

Jiji pushed half her rice toward Gi-hun. “Give it to Ali,” she murmured, casual. But before Gi-hun could move it, her gaze darted quick—just quick—to Sae-byeok’s untouched tray. Relief loosened her chest when she saw it was empty. She ate.

Later, when the game ended and the group stumbled back into the dorm, Sae-byeok hung back near the rear, her eyes raking through the survivors. She didn’t breathe until she spotted Jiji’s messy ponytail, the way she limped slightly but walked under her own strength. Alive.

She looked away instantly, jaw tight.

Jiji, too, pretended not to notice. She sat down heavily, her body aching, and whispered to Gi-hun, “Where’s… Sae-byeok? She’s fine, right?”

Gi-hun gave her a look, the kind of look that said you’re not hiding this as well as you think, but he nodded. “She’s fine.”

Hours later, when the lights dimmed and the dorm fell into uneasy half-silence, both women lay on opposite sides of the room. Neither slept. Both kept stealing glances through the shadows.

Sae-byeok clenched her fists under the thin blanket. I don’t care. I don’t care anymore. Jiji tucked her knees to her chest, biting the inside of her cheek. I shouldn’t care. I don’t care either.

But when the guards stomped by, when the air filled with tension, their eyes always found each other first.

Always.