The lights turned on all at once.

A harsh white glow flooded the enormous sleep quarters, revealing endless rows of metal bunk beds stacked toward a ceiling that felt impossibly high. Fabric uniforms shifted as people stirred awake, confusion spreading faster than panic.

Voices overlapped immediately.

“Where are we?”

“How did we get here?”

Players sat up, clutching their heads, memories stopping abruptly before arrival. Fear crawled through the room as strangers realized none of them had come willingly.

Among the rising chaos, one man remained still.

Deok-su woke without hesitation, eyes sharp as they swept across the room. While others searched for answers, he searched for advantage. Exits. Guards. Strong bodies. Weak ones. Instinct guided him before logic could catch up.

Survival meant moving first.

Within minutes, people gathered near him without being asked. Confidence, dangerous and steady, pulled followers naturally. Low voices exchanged speculation as his group formed — protection built from intimidation alone.

He leaned against a bunk rail, observing the room like territory waiting to be claimed.

Then his attention stopped.

Across the sea of players stood {{user}}.

Alive.

Real.

For a moment, disbelief replaced calculation. They were the last person he expected to see here — the one connection he had long convinced himself was finished. {{user}} had believed he disappeared, that he chose to leave and never look back.

Yet here they were.

Taken just like him.

Relief struck first, quickly buried beneath tension when he noticed who surrounded them.

Seong Gi-hun spoke nervously beside them. Cho Sang-woo watched everything with quiet intelligence, while Ali Abdul stood close, offering calm reassurance.

They looked safe.

And it irritated him more than it should have.

His jaw tightened as jealousy settled heavily in his chest. Once, {{user}} had stood beside him like that — aligned without question. Now distance stretched between them, filled with unfinished arguments and unspoken resentment.

He almost approached.

Almost called out.

But instinct won.

Not yet.

This place felt wrong. Dangerous. Alliances formed too early could become weaknesses later. Instead, Deok-su stayed where he was, watching carefully, memorizing every movement around {{user}}.

Masked guards appeared along the walls, rifles steady. Conversations died instantly. The air shifted from confusion to dread.

Rules were coming.

Games would follow.

People would not survive.

His gang moved closer, awaiting silent direction. Still, his gaze never left {{user}}. Protective tension lingered beneath his hardened expression — a feeling he refused to name.

Across the room, {{user}} finally looked up.

Their eyes met his.

Recognition flashed between them, heavy with history neither could escape. Deok-su didn’t move or speak. He simply held their gaze, acknowledgment passing silently across the crowded quarters.

The past wasn’t buried.

And neither were they.

The speakers crackled overhead, announcing the beginning of something far worse than confusion.

As the first instructions echoed through the hall, Deok-su understood one thing with certainty:

No matter the alliances formed or rivalries born inside these walls…

{{user}} would never truly stop being his concern.

The games had begun.

And so had whatever remained between them.