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wlwcatalogue · 1 year ago

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Some WLW (?) Jdrama & Kdrama recommendations!

Jdramas and Kdramas have a (not-entirely-unearned) reputation for being very straight, but here are a few which are either canonically F/F or which prominently feature a female-female pair-- please enjoy! For those who enjoy following series in real time, Chaser Game W and She Loves to Cook, and She Loves to Eat S2 are both airing this January 2024 :)

As with my post on anime with yuri subtext, since subtext is so subjective, this list only includes series which I’ve actually watched, and so is by no means intended to be comprehensive. Also, it doesn't include any webseries, since those probably deserve a post of their own.

At-a-glance list:

Miss Sherlock (8 episodes, 2018) (subtext)

Night Light (20 episodes, 2016) (subtext)

Tokusatsu Gagaga (7 episodes, 2019) (subtext)

Painter of the Wind (20 episodes, 2008) (canon?)

She Loves to Cook, and She Loves to Eat (10 15-minute episodes and counting, 2022~) (canon)

Sono Toki, Heart wa Nusumareta (5 episodes, 1992) (canon)

Chaser Game W (10? 30-minute episodes, 2024) (canon)

Doctor X (7 seasons and counting, 2012~) (subtext)

Bonus: SKY Castle (20 episodes, 2018) (subtext)

Summaries under the cut!

1. Miss Sherlock / ミス・シャーロック (8 episodes, 2018) (subtext) – MyDramaList | AsianWiki

The elevator pitch for this show is simple: it’s Sherlock Holmes, but where Holmes and Watson – here named “Sherlock” and Tachibana Wato, and played by Takeuchi Yuko and Kanjiya Shihori, respectively – are both female, and the cases are all set in modern Tokyo. As with other adaptations, mystery-solving and the budding relationship between the two leads takes centre stage, but Miss Sherlock manages to carve out an identity all its own.

There’s a calm beauty to its visuals, which favour sunlight and urban greenery, and the show’s focus on former doctor Wato as she tries out new jobs and goes to therapy means that there’s a surprisingly high number of slice-of-life scenes. It’s also subtly more female-focused than the source material; Sherlock’s gossipy but good-natured landlady Ms. Hatano (Ito Ran) is as much a member of the household as Sherlock and Wato, and the cases often revolve around female characters. But more than anything, it’s just really fun to watch Sherlock and Wato’s relationship bloom as they snip and snipe and are utterly unable to stay out of each other’s space (literally – the body language and blocking is *chef’s kiss*). Their relationship is the heart of the show – watch this one until the end, you won’t regret it!

(CW: psychological abuse, manipulation, and genre-typical murder, violence, and gore)

2. Night Light / 불야성 (20 episodes, 2016) (subtext) - MyDramaList | AsianWiki

(Note: spoilers for the mid-season twist, but it’s impossible to allude to a good portion of the F/F subtext without doing so, and I think knowing the twist ahead of time doesn’t make it any less enjoyable.)

Night Light is a rather odd show. It’s simple enough on the face of it, a story about successful but ruthless CEO Seo Yi-kyung (an icy Lee Yo-won) who tries to mold the younger Lee Se-jin (a puppy-eyed Uee) in her own ambitious image, only for her protege to develop the conscience she never had and move to stop her dastardly plans… but upon watching it’s a totally different creature, thanks to the alchemic reactions of some delightfully contradictory acting choices (Uee’s performance convinces viewers less of Se-jin’s supposed latent desire for power and money, and more of a deep love and devotion for the CEO) and the unintentionally (?) inneundo-laden script (“If I like something once, I never forget it– whether it’s a dress… or a person,” declares the CEO less than ten minutes into the first episode while gazing intently at Se-jin).

Honestly, it’s a wonder this series ever got made, but you certainly won’t see me complaining! The first part is full of boss/subordinate goodness; Se-jin is unable to resist the CEO’s magnetic pull despite her hot-and-cold behaviour, while the CEO cannot bring herself to push Se-jin away completely. And then, when Se-jin makes her mind up to stop the CEO, it morphs into a corporate take on a (subtextual) lovers-on-opposite-sides situation, where it is precisely Se-jin’s feelings for the CEO that motivate her to stop her. In short, it’s a workplace GL fan’s dream.

Note: If you do watch it, skip the corporate politicking cutscenes with the old men, you’ll thank me later. Also, there’s a prominent male character who is the CEO’s ex and who works closely with Se-jin in the second half, but don’t worry, all the M/F romance is in the past (and doesn’t get much screentime)– he and Se-jin aren’t interested in each other at all.

3. Tokusatsu Gagaga / トクサツガガガ (7 episodes, 2019) (subtext) - MyDramaList | AsianWiki

Nakamura Kano (Koshiba Fuka) lives and breathes tokusatsu shows (think Power Rangers, if you’re not familiar), but keeps it a secret from her work colleagues to avoid being shunned or laughed at. And yet she yearns for connection, so when she sees a woman on the subway bearing a keychain from her favourite show (Yoshida Hisami, played by Kurashina Kana), she is determined to find her again.

Although ostensibly about being a tokusatsu fan as an adult, this show is rife with queer subtext, and not in the usual way. It deals with the difficulties of staying in the closet (regarding being an adult tokusatsu fan), the desire to connect with other queer people adult tokusatsu fans and how one might do so through hints and signals, parental disapproval arising from gendered and social expectations (that tokusatsu shows are for boys, and magical girl shows for girls), intersectionality and finding comradeship with other minorities people who are excluded due to their interests, and even generational gaps wherein younger queers fans may underestimate the obstacles that still exist. Although all that might sound a bit stressful, it isn’t actually! Difficult incidents are handled with sympathy and a dash of wry humour, and the show never loses sight of the fact that it – above all else – is a story about finding queer community in the face of a heteronormative hostile world, told with warmth and the nuance of lived experience.

4. Painter of the Wind / 바람의 화원 (20 episodes, 2008) (canon?) - MyDramaList | AsianWiki

Adapting the novel of the same name by Lee Jung-myung, Painter of the Wind takes as its protagonist a gender-bent version of real-life Joseon-era painter Shin Yun-bok (Moon Geun-young), whose paintings are used to weave a tale of artistry, political intrigue, and romance, and more than anything else to offer modern-day viewers a glimpse of everyday life in 18th-century Korea.

While it may sound like Dickinson’s boring cousin, apart from having a common preoccupation with reframing historical works, another similarity the two shows share is that Painter of the Wind is also very gay. Starting from the first episode, Yun-bok meets and becomes fascinated by the courtesan Jung-hyang (Moon Chae-won), who despite her initial aloofness is drawn to Yun-bok’s intellect and sensitive demeanour. It’s a real meeting of the minds, their witty repartee in early episodes reminiscent of Twelfth Night’s Viola and Olivia, and their relationship isn’t siloed off from the main plot either: Yun-bok’s infatuation quickly starts causing issues with her academic career, and the two eventually have to contend with Jung-hyang’s precarious position as a courtesan as well.

Unfortunately, all this is undermined in the back half of the show, which tries to gaslight viewers into thinking that Yun-bok’s feelings for Jung-hyang were purely platonic all along and that she totally has romantic feelings for her much older male mentor— but hey, at least it’s an open ending. Despite everything, though, I can’t think of another serious historical TV show which features such a prominent F/F narrative for its main character, even nearly two decades later. (Let me know if you have any others! And no, Gentleman Jack doesn’t count, it’s not exactly traditional in style!)

(CW: period-typical sexism)

5. She Loves to Cook, and She Loves to Eat / 作りたい女と食べたい女 (10 15-minute episodes and counting, 2022~) (canon) - MyDramaList

Based on Yuzaki Sakaomi’s manga of the same name, this simple but sweet show follows home-cooking extraordinaire Nomoto Yuki (Higa Manami), who yearns to cook large-scale dishes but doesn’t eat enough to justify making them. Luckily for her, her neighbour Kasuga Totoko (Nishino Emi) has a massive appetite!

It’s always lovely to see more grounded stories about working women, especially when they’re as cute as this one. Though it touches upon some slightly more serious issues, such as with regard to gendered expectations surrounding food and cooking, it’s primarily a feel-good slice-of-life show about two women getting to know each other by cooking and eating delicious food together.

Side note: if you’ve started it and think the show doesn’t look cosy enough, stick it out for a few more episodes, the production values improve after the first part! Also, the series was renewed for a second season with double the episode count (for a total of 20 episodes) which will start airing on January 29th this year, so this is the perfect time to jump in!

6. Sono Toki, Heart wa Nusumareta / その時、ハートは盗まれた (5 episodes, 1992) (canon) - MyDramaList

Sono Heart, as it’s nicknamed, starts off as a typical heteronormative high school romance: bumbling protagonist Shiina Hiroko (Isshiki Sae) is desperate to get closer to her crush Katase Masato (Kimura Takuya), star of the school basketball team and all-round nice dude. However, a spanner in the works comes slouching along in the form of female classmate Aso Saki (Uchida Yuki, in her debut role), a mischievous, short-haired personification of trouble who Katase turns out to have feelings for. One day, Hiroko gets into a fight with Saki, and they end up having to stay together after school as punishment. But that afternoon gives them the opportunity to bond over a heart-to-heart conversation, and things seem to improve… until, just before leaving, Saki kisses Hiroko. And then everything changes.

Or rather, everything changes eventually. What’s great about this show is that it doesn’t take shortcuts: Hiroko doesn’t instantly fall in love with Saki. Instead, what you get is a surprisingly layered portrait of a high school girl whose coming to terms with queerness is merely a natural extension of reckoning with her burgeoning sexuality. And, because Saki is self-destructive in her depression and makes a game of belittling, worrying, and infuriating anyone who cares about her, it’s really a story about what it means to love another person rather than a romantic ideal. A word of warning, though: Katase is actually quite a large character, as he and Hiroko end up becoming friends. Also, the ending is very abrupt and inconclusive, though rest assured that it doesn’t try to roll back Hiroko’s feelings, or pair either girl off with a guy.

(CW: self-harm, attempted suicide, bullying, homophobia, underage drinking)

7. Chaser Game W: Power Harassment Boss Is My Ex-Girlfriend / チェイサーゲームW: パワハラ上司は私の元カノ (10? 30-minute episodes, 2024) (canon) - MyDramaList | AsianWiki

Probably jumping the gun here as only two episodes have aired as of writing, but I feel honour-bound to recommend this as it’d probably appeal to a lot of people, if only they knew about it! Chaser Game W is a standalone spin-off of Chaser Game, itself an adaptation of a manga of the same name by Matsuyama Hiroshi and Matsushima Yukitarou, but you don’t need to know anything going in.

Protagonist Harumoto Itsuki (former Keyakizaka46 captain Sugai Yuuka) has been assigned a new job: her company has been asked by a Chinese conglomerate to develop a game adaptation of a GL manhua, and she’s been tapped as the project leader. However, what appears to be an exciting prospect soon becomes a terrifying one, as the person sent by the client to supervise turns out to be her ex-girlfriend from university (Lin Dongyu, played by Japanese actress Nakamura Yurika), who is now married to a Chinese man (played by a Japanese actor) and has a child, but remains hell-bent on exacting revenge on Itsuki for their bad breakup. This is a romantic (melo)drama rather than a psychological thriller, though, so you won’t be watching Itsuki getting terrorised the entire time. While she is understandably upset by her ex’s current behaviour, Itsuki can’t forget about their happy days together, and Dongyu herself veers between being a sneering bully and craving Itsuki’s affection.

Do note that the show isn’t without its flaws: it’s very Japanese about the Chinese thing, which is to say it’s filled with comments which range from somewhat offensive to borderline racist, and the script will probably give you a headache if you know even the slightest thing about game development. Your mileage might vary on the ex too, as she can be really quite nasty to Itsuki and her teammates. But if you can overlook those issues, this is a rare prize indeed: a TV drama focusing on a canonical F/F pair, who are specifically exes, and in a workplace setting.

(CW: bullying)

8. Doctor X / ドクターX (7 seasons and counting, 2012~) (subtext) - MyDramaList | AsianWiki

To be very honest, I was in two minds about including Doctor X on this list. It is, with a few notable exceptions, misogynistic and reductive in its depictions of women (especially in the first two seasons), gives too much screentime to objectively awful and subjectively annoying men, doesn’t respect the work done by medical personnel apart from surgeons, and on the technical front is formulaic, repetitive, and often lazy in its writing and presentation. Unfortunately, the dynamic between the genius surgeon protagonist Daimon Michiko (Yonekura Ryoko) and her anaesthesiologist wife partner friend Jounouchi Hiromi (Uchida Yuki) is almost unparalleled in its excellence.

The premise of the series is basic indeed: Daimon Michiko is a freelance surgeon with a healthy disrespect of rules and authority and, unluckily for her detractors, a cast-iron guarantee that she will succeed in any surgery, no matter how difficult. She’s initially portrayed as a lone wolf who’s dismissive of the entire hospital system and anyone who’s part of it— but her interest is piqued by the anaesthesiologist Jounouchi, who is skilled beyond her peers and chafes against the idiocy of her colleagues. For all its flaws, the first season – which is more serious and edgy in tone compared to the others, and isn’t an ensemble cast like the post-S3 seasons – is a fantastic depiction of two people being perfectly matched in skill, intellect, and outlook, and how they come together despite one being standoffish (Jounouchi) and the other not being used to reaching out to or even respecting other people (Daimon).

The seasons after that sadly ditch the emphasis on Jounouchi being Daimon’s professional equal, but in exchange offer up another rare and unexpected gift: two women in their late thirties / early forties who are partners both at work and in private. Jounouchi is Daimon’s designated anaesthesiologist, assisting with nearly every surgery, and she spends so much time at Daimon’s agency-office-slash-house you’d think she’d moved in. Also, after a point they just start being wonderfully dorky and comfortable with each other, while still being consummate professionals in the operating theatre. Although the show is very much focused on Daimon Michiko as its sole protagonist, Jounouchi is undoubtedly the character most significant to her – even more than Daimon’s father figure, the head of the freelance agency – and this is highlighted in the story from time to time. They are very, very good. I just wish the series was better.

Note: If you’re curious, I would recommend watching the very first episode in full– by the end you should know if you’re invested enough to continue, otherwise drop it and live in the happy knowledge that you dodged a bullet. If you aren’t so lucky, I’d advise skipping the surgery segments when they start to bore, and in general to skip liberally. Also, season 4 is not worth watching as a whole, except for the last two episodes, which absolutely should not be missed. Sigh. I can’t speak to seasons 6 and 7, due to having paused mid-S6.

Side note: If you’ve watched Doctor X already and liked it (or at least like Daimon and Jounouchi), but haven’t tried Miss Sherlock yet, definitely give that a go because there seems to be a big overlap in the fandoms. Maybe it’s because they both feature a genius protagonist, have the two largest female characters being work partners, and domestic vibes…?

(CW: sexism, genre-typical gore)

Bonus: SKY Castle / SKY 캐슬 (20 episodes, 2018) (subtext) - MyDramaList | AsianWiki

(Note: slight spoilers for the early episodes, but it’s necessary in order to give a more accurate recommendation regarding the F/F subtext, especially as the show is not primarily focused on any one relationship.)

This one’s a bonus because unlike the others on this list, there’s no close relationship between two female characters which could be interpreted in a romantic light. That’s not too surprising as the show is all about the women of a several super-wealthy families trying to get their children into the top Korean universities (equivalent to the Ivy League) whilst supporting their husbands in the rat race: a decidedly heteronormative premise, albeit one that’s executed in an award-winning manner.

So why am I listing it? Well, it’s because somehow, in this series about heteronormative and highly gendered nuclear families, it features possibly the most erotically-charged dynamic I have seen, even taking season 1 of Killing Eve into account. (Though it takes some time to get there, so if you try it out, please watch at least the first four episodes before making a decision!)

That honour goes to the problematic gem that is the relationship between the main character Han Seo-jin (Yum Jung-ah), who is willing to do whatever it takes to get her daughter into Seoul’s top medical school, and star tutor Kim Joo-young (Kim Seo-hyung), who is known for her 100% success rate. It starts off with a mild push-and-pull, when Han Seo-jin wants Coach Kim to take on her daughter, but is wary of the shady rumours surrounding her; the tutor stands firm, and Han eventually has to swallow her pride and accept the risks. Where it really comes into its own, though, is when Coach Kim starts to pose a legitimate threat to everything Han cares for: her daughter, her marriage (or rather, what her husband can give her), her position in the world. It becomes increasingly clear that Han should just walk away, and indeed she tries to do so many a time, only to bend in the end because the coach is key to fulfilling her dearest wish– and so to Han, for all she rages and resents and fears, Coach Kim is nothing less than temptation itself. This is the beating core of the show, and even as the plotting disintegrates and falls into melodrama in the second half, their scenes together still crackle with delicious tension every time. Watch it.

(CW: suicide, psychological abuse, child abuse, bullying, murder)

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imjustatorturedpoet · 4 months ago

Text

Meet me in the Hallway

chapter eleven: Murder pays here.

Pairing: Hwang In-ho x Reader

also available on ao3

word count: 7,7k

You were drowning in him.

You barely had time to catch your breath before his mouth was on your neck—hot, open-mouthed kisses, teeth scraping just enough to make you arch into him. You felt him suck on your sensitive skin. That would surely leave a dark mark on you tomorrow.

"What’s wrong, sweetheart?" Young-il’s voice was all taunt and sin, thick with amusement as his lips dragged lower, his breath searing against your skin.

"Cat got your tongue? That’s new."

You tried to speak—tried to push out something, anything, but his hands were skimming down your sides, his knee slotting between your legs, pressing right where you needed him most.

Your breath hitched, fingers tangling in his hair—fuck, he felt good beneath your hands. Young-il laughed, low and delighted, like this was fun for him.

"Don’t get shy on me now."

His fingers traced slow, deliberate circles, hovering right over the entrance to your core but refusing to give in.

"Look at you. Desperate, dripping, fucking ruined for me. And I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

Your lips parted—a gasp, a whimper, something that made his smirk curve against your throat. He grips your hips with both hands, his touch firm, deliberate. His tongue traces slow, teasing circles around your navel before he drags his teeth over your skin.

Then, he moves, mouth trailing from one hipbone to the other, taking his time, savouring every inch. The heat in your stomach twisted tighter, unbearable, and when his fingers finally dipped lower, barely brushing over—

“Hey, sweetie. Wake up."

The dream shattered. Your eyes snapped open, lungs burning, pulse still racing from the ghost of his hands, his mouth, his body—

Oh, fuck.

Reality slammed back into place—the dormitory, the bunks, the murmur of other players.

Young-il.

You were still curled against him, your head resting on his chest, his steady breath ruffling your hair. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The memories rushed in—how you were so tired, how he let you lay against him, how his warmth pulled you under before you could overthink it. And now? Now, you were half on top of him, legs tangled too intimately, your body still humming from the dream.

Slowly—so painfully slowly—you peeled yourself away, forcing yourself upright. Young-il barely reacted. He just blinked at you, his expression normal. Like he didn’t know.

“You good?” His voice was rough. Unbothered.

You swallowed hard, willing your body to calm the fuck down. “Yeah. Fine.”

He stretched, rolling his shoulders, completely unfazed. "Gi-hun asked me to wake you up. He wants to talk. Something about a plan for tonight."

Right. The game. Lights out.

You forced yourself to focus, to ignore the heat still curling low in your stomach, the ghost of his breath against your skin. You moved to stand up—almost free—when—

“Oh, by the way."

Young-il’s voice was casual, almost an afterthought. He sat up, rolling his neck. Then—he looked at you. Dead in the eye.

“You talk in your sleep. Ever noticed?”

Shit.

Your throat tightened, heat creeping up your neck—traitorous and unstoppable. Young-il’s expression didn’t shift—not at first. He just watched you, face unreadable, like he was waiting to see how you’d react. And then the smirk. Slow. Unhinged.

Your pulse spiked.

He murmured, voice dripping with amusement, "Didn’t wanna wake you up at first. You looked like you were having such a good time."

Your entire body went stiff. “You heard—"

And then, before you could even finish your sentence—

He moaned.

A slow, drawn-out, shamelessly exaggerated moan, pitched just enough to sound eerily similar to what you might have sounded like in your sleep.

You froze. Every nerve in your body misfired at once.

It wasn’t just the sound. It was the way he did it. He sighed through it, shifting his weight like he was getting comfortable, like he was recreating the entire moment. His eyelashes fluttered, his lips parted just slightly, and—oh my god, he was actually doing this.

You just stared, horrified, as he let it drag out for a second too long before blinking at you, face completely neutral, as if nothing had happened.

“Sound familiar?” he mused.

Oh. He was evil.

“Are you fucking ser—" Your voice broke. You cleared your throat, scrambling for something, anything, that would erase the smugness from his face, but it was impossible.

He was already grinning, shifting slightly like he was settling in to enjoy the show, completely at ease, like this was the highlight of his night.

“Don’t look so flustered,” he drawled, stretching lazily, his spine popping like he was shaking off sleep. "I mean, I know, it was pretty convincing. Not quite as sweet as the real thing, though. I’d rate it, hmm…"

He tapped his chin in mock thought, dragging it out.

"Eight out of ten?" He tilted his head. "No, seven. Points off for lack of desperation. You sounded way more needy in your sleep."

You wanted to die. Right here. Right now. But you wanted- no, needed him more.

He watched the slow, inevitable breakdown happening behind your eyes, clearly relishing it. And then, as if he hadn’t just destroyed your will to live, he clapped his hands together lightly.

"Well, anyway. Gi-hun’s waiting."

You exhaled, desperate to pull yourself together, desperate to move on, desperate to pretend this had never happened. You forced your legs to move, to stand up and step past him and put as much distance between you as possible, but just as you brushed past—

A quiet chuckle.

Then, voice low and far too entertained, “You sounded so pretty. A shame I wasn’t actually there to hear it properly.”

Your brain short-circuited. Your entire body ignited in flames.

And Young-il? Young-il just walked away, completely at ease, like he hadn’t just ruined your existence.

I hate him. I hate him. God help me, I want him.

He walked ahead without a care, his usual lazy, confident stride eating up the space between you and the others. You should have followed immediately. You should have focused on what mattered—the plan, the vote, the danger that was coming when the lights went out.

But all you could think about was his voice, that teasing lilt still curling in your ears.

"You sounded so pretty. A shame I wasn’t actually there to hear it properly."

And he? He had the audacity to act like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just obliterated your sense of self-preservation with a single line.

Your hands clenched. He was insufferable. A menace. A walking disaster in human form. And still—you followed. Silently.

The dormitory buzzed with hushed murmurs, the weight of tomorrow’s vote settling over the remaining players like a thick fog. Some sat in small groups, whispering among themselves. Others still hunched over their food, eating methodically, as if conserving their energy. No one spared you a second glance as you trailed behind Young-il, weaving through the scattered bunks and empty spaces where people had once slept.

It wasn’t long before the familiar spot came into view—a small corner at the base of the staircase, where Gi-hun and the others were gathered. The moment Young-il reached them, he didn’t even hesitate—he just sat down, stretching out like he had all the time in the world.

You, on the other hand, hovered at the edge of the group for a fraction too long.

Jung-bae noticed first. “You alright?”

You blinked, forcing your body to relax, to shove the lingering embarrassment, heat, and absolute need to strangle Young-il deep, deep down.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, moving to sit beside Gi-hun, avoiding Young-il’s gaze entirely.

He noticed. Of course he did. You could feel his eyes flick toward you—just for a second, just long enough for amusement to spark at the edges of his smirk—before he turned his attention elsewhere, as if he’d already forgotten.

Bastard.

Gi-hun exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Alright, listen up-“

“The following players have been eliminated. Player 230, 268, 299 331, and 401. End of the list.”

The ceiling rattled. The unmistakable sound of cash spilling into the massive glass piggy bank echoed through the room, loud, final.

Five more gone. The number burned itself into your brain. Five more bodies. Five more people who had been breathing, talking, existing just minutes ago.

380,000,000 won per person.

No one moved. No one spoke. Every set of eyes in the dormitory stayed locked on that damn piggy bank.

Waiting for an explanation. What else could lead to eliminations other than the games?

Oh. Killing each other. But you would’ve noticed that. Anyone would’ve noticed if people were going at each other’s throats in the dormitory. There would’ve been noise—screaming, struggling, something. Five people don’t just disappear without a sound.

Unless it wasn’t in the dormitory?

Your fingers twitched against your arm. Oh god.

If they were planning an attack tonight, then now they knew for sure—killing each other raised the prize money.

Good fucking god.

A cold wave of dread washed over you, settling deep in your stomach. Before, it had just been paranoia, just a theory—a worst-case scenario lurking in the back of your mind. But now? Now it was fact. Now everyone knew.

Five people dead meant five fewer competitors, five fewer obstacles, five fewer hands reaching for the prize. And with every drop of blood spilled, the piggy bank above swelled.

The people running this place had dangled a knife in front of desperate people and then given them the perfect reason to use it. And tonight, those people were going to be more desperate than ever.

Your breath came a little too fast, your pulse a little too loud.

The O players had been planning to attack anyway. But now? Now they wouldn’t hesitate.

You dragged your gaze across the dormitory, scanning the faces around you, searching for the same realisation, for the same horror sinking into your bones. Some people looked shocked, disturbed, unsettled—but others?

Others weren’t looking at the money with fear.

They were looking at it with calculation. Like Player 100.

You had to stop the bloodshed before it spiralled into something unstoppable. Because if people gave in to the temptation—if even one person let themselves see murder as a shortcut—then it wouldn’t stop at five bodies.

It wouldn’t stop at ten.

It wouldn’t stop at all.

You exhaled slowly, forcing the panic down, pressing it into something cold, something sharp, something useful.

Think.

The O players were already planning to strike tonight, and now they had every reason to go through with it. That meant you needed a plan, a defence, a way to keep as many people breathing by morning as possible.

But how?

Your gaze flickered toward Gi-hun. He looked tense but focused, like he was already running through scenarios in his head. Good. At least you weren’t the only one thinking.

Then you glanced at Young-il. He wasn’t tense. He wasn’t even watching the piggy bank. No, he was watching you.

His head tilted slightly, his expression unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something knowing, something assessing. You inhaled slowly. Of course he’d noticed your reaction. Of course he’d picked up on the way your entire body had gone rigid, the way your mind had started sprinting the second the announcement was made. He knew exactly what you were thinking.

Jung-bae’s voice cut through the tense silence, his brows furrowed. "What’s going on?"

Gi-hun didn’t answer. He just looked at him, a brief glance, but it was enough—he had no idea either. Then, the doors groaned open. Both sides flooded in. O players from one side, X players from the other.

Blood. It was everywhere.

Dripping down foreheads, staining clothes, smeared over hands and necks and bruised knuckles. Some of it had dried, darkening the fabric, while fresh streaks still glistened under the dim lights.

Was it theirs? Was it someone else's?

Then, chaos.

A familiar face broke through the crowd—one you recognised instantly. The guy you had fought on the first day. He wasn’t walking—he was running, shoving past bodies, frantic, his voice cracking as he shouted, "Listen, team O! We—We—When we were in the bathroom, those fucking X bastards tried to kill all of us! They killed some of us, including my friend—"

Before you could react, before you could even process the accusation, a strong arm curled around your waist. Young-il. He had moved without hesitation, standing, pulling you close, his grip firm, steady—protective. Your pulse jumped.

But you had no time to dwell on it, because the second that accusation left his mouth, the room erupted.

"Bullshit," Player 047 spat, stepping forward with his jaw clenched, eyes blazing. "You’re the ones who started it. Damn it. They threatened one of the people on our side! They attacked us to win the second vote!"

Another player backed him up immediately. "That’s right!"

Player 192 scoffed, shaking his head, fury dripping from his words. "You killed one of us first. You were trying to win the vote by killing us!"

"Fuck you," another X player snapped. "You killed some of us too! Did you think we would just let you kill the rest of us?"

The air was suffocating. Shouting. Accusations. A storm of voices crashing into each other, spitting blame, fuelling the fire.

It had happened. The thing you feared the most. The killing had started. The first blood had been drawn, and now, no one was willing to take the fall.

Your chest tightened. It didn’t matter who threw the first punch. It only mattered who lost more. Who would have an advantage tomorrow during the vote? But that wasn’t the only thought that crossed your mind.

This was what they wanted.

The ones running this game. The ones watching from their hidden screens, their high towers, their comfortable seats. They wanted blood. And now, they had it.

The tension snapped like a whip when Player 100’s voice cut through the chaos, his tone sharp, demanding.

"So? Which side lost more people?"

The shouting didn’t stop, but it shifted, twisted into something meaner, more desperate.

Player 203 joined in, nodding, face tight with anger. "Yeah, that’s right! Let’s count ourselves! Come on down!"

A ripple of movement. Player 047 turned, heading toward your side, his expression hard as he started gathering the X players. Dae-ho’s voice boomed across the room, raw with urgency.

"We need everyone down here! Come on!"

Soon, every X player sat down on the stairs. You were next to Young-il, his hand settling on your thigh, the warmth of it grounding you. A steady, quiet reassurance.

Player 047 did a quick count. “48.” His voice was sharp, clipped. He exhaled hard before sinking down onto the steps. “Two people died on our side.”

From somewhere behind Player 246, a woman spoke up. “Two out of five. That means they lost three people.”

Player 380, sitting on the far right, perked up. “Then we have a better shot at winning the vote tomorrow.”

You wanted to believe that. You really did. Winning the vote. Getting out of here. Making it to tomorrow with your life intact. And maybe seeing Young-il in the outside world. It sounded so easy when she said it like that, like it was a guarantee, like all you had to do was sit tight and wait for the morning. But you knew better.

The O players weren’t going to just sit back and accept a loss. They weren’t going to wake up tomorrow, walk to the voting station, and calmly accept their fate. That wasn’t how this worked. That wasn’t how desperation worked.

They knew that killing increased the prize money. If they were already planning an attack before, what were they going to do now? Now that they had proof, now that they had seen the numbers drop and the money rain from the ceiling, now that they had felt firsthand the way bloodshed made the piggy bank heavier? It didn’t matter that the X players had the numbers now. It didn’t matter that, on paper, you had the advantage. You had been here long enough to know that logic didn’t mean shit in a place like this.

The O players didn’t need to convince anyone to change their vote. They didn’t need to outnumber you in the dormitory. They just needed to kill enough of you before morning. Then, when the second vote came, they’d win by default.

Jung-bae straightened, his posture shifting like something had just clicked in his mind. “Hey, it’s 48 against 47. As long as we don’t change our minds, we’ll win by one vote.”

A ripple of murmurs spread through the group, whispers of cautious optimism.

“Yes, we’ll finally get out.”

“We have the numbers now.”

“Just one more night.”

But to your left, Young-il still looked stone-faced, unreadable. And to your right, Gi-hun’s expression remained grim, eyes scanning the room like he was already bracing for something worse. Honestly, you felt the same.

It wasn’t that simple. The O players were desperate. They had nothing to lose. They would try again. Not in the bathrooms this time. Right here. While you slept.

The PA system crackled to life overhead. “Attention, please. Lights out in 30 minutes. All players, return to your beds and prepare for bedtime.”

The announcement settled like a weight over the room.

Player 047 stood again, his voice firm. “Listen. You cannot change your minds.” He swept his gaze over the group, eyes flashing with urgency. “We have to win the second vote and get out of here tomorrow. All right?”

A chorus of nods, murmured agreements. But despite the reassurances, Young-il and Gi-hun still weren’t convinced. Neither were you.

Jung-bae clapped his hands together lightly, trying to lift the tension. “All right. Let’s go to sleep now, shall we?”

The O players eventually moved, walking toward their bunks, but not before throwing a few lingering glances your way. And not just with frustration or disappointment. No, this was something different.

Their expressions were dark, almost calculating.

Player 100 and Player 044, in particular, had their eyes locked onto you. Not your group. Not Young-il. Not Gi-hun. You.

Their movements were slow, deliberate—like they wanted you to know they weren’t done yet. You met their stare. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t waver. You just glared. A message, clear and direct—I see you, too.

The X players didn’t give them a second glance and moved towards their beds. But you didn’t move. Neither did Gi-hun or Young-il.

The three of you stayed put, standing on the stairs, watching as the others shuffled off. The dormitory filled with the quiet rustling of players settling in, shifting blankets, the occasional murmur of hushed conversation. But under it all, the tension remained thick, stretching tight across the room like an invisible wire ready to snap.

You swallowed hard, glancing toward Young-il. He was still. Too still. His gaze was locked onto the O players, tracking their every movement, but his expression gave nothing away. You exhaled through your nose, your heartbeat heavy in your ears.

The 30-minute countdown continued ticking in the background. You had half an hour to figure out how to make it to morning.

Your fingers curled around Young-il’s hand first, instinct guiding you more than anything else. His grip was solid, warm, immediate, like he’d been waiting for you to do it. He didn’t question it. He just squeezed your hand in return, his thumb brushing over your knuckles once before going still. Then, your other hand shot out, grabbing Gi-hun’s upper arm. He barely had time to react before you tugged at him.

“Come on,” you muttered, your voice low, urgent.

Gi-hun didn’t argue. He let you pull him along, falling into step without hesitation, his expression still tight with thought.

You moved as one, weaving through the players who were still settling in, stepping around the ones whispering about the vote. The quiet hum of conversation blurred into the background as you honed in on your target—your group. Dae-ho, Jun-hee, Jung-bae, Player 246, the mother and son, and a few others who had chosen to side with you in this mess.

As you approached, Jun-hee looked up, immediately noticing the way your shoulders were squared, the way you were still gripping Young-il and Gi-hun like you refused to let go.

She frowned. “Are we discussing the plan now?”

You exhaled sharply, forcing yourself to keep moving. “Yes, come on, we don’t have much time.”

Dae-ho sat up straighter, glancing between you and Young-il, reading the unspoken tension. His brows furrowed. “Now?”

“Now.”

Jung-bae muttered something under his breath but didn’t protest. One by one, your group shuffled toward the spot behind the stairs, moving quickly but cautiously. Every step felt heavier than the last. Your pulse drummed beneath your skin, steady but sharp, like your body was already bracing for something.

You sat down, instinctively settling beside Young-il on the cold floor. His presence was a steady weight beside you— calm, composed. You barely glanced at him, eyes scanning the others as they settled into place.

Dae-ho crouched low, peering through the gaps between the bed frames, his expression hardening. His fingers curled into the metal bar, knuckles whitening as he watched the O players across the room.

“Those bastards are acting suspicious,” he muttered, voice low but tense. “It looks like they’re up to something.”

No shit. You didn’t need to look to know that. The O players had been radiating bad intentions all night, their glances too sharp, their movements too calculated.

You opened your mouth to speak, but Jung-bae cut in first. “Whatever those idiots do, once we win the vote tomorrow, it’ll all be over.”

You wanted to believe that. You really did. But you knew better. “That’s what we need to talk about,” you said.

Gi-hun’s voice was grim. “Once the lights go out, people on the other side will kill us.”

The son’s voice was hesitant. “Really?”

You exhaled through your nose, jaw tightening. “They wanted to attack anyway, to force us to change our minds so they can win the vote. We knew that. But now? Now those greedy bastards know murder adds to the jackpot. If they get just two of us, they win the damn vote.”

A hush fell over the group. Player 007 shifted uncomfortably, his fingers twitching against his knees. “So what do we do?” His voice was tight, edged with fear.

Then Young-il leaned forward. “Let’s attack them first.”

Your breath caught. Not because the words were shocking, but because they were exactly what you had already been thinking.

Your gaze flickered toward him, but he wasn’t looking at you—he was watching Gi-hun, his expression unreadable, his posture relaxed despite the weight of his words. He said it so casually, so simply, like he had already made up his mind. Like it was the obvious solution. And maybe it was.

Player 100 and Player 044 had wanted you dead for longer than just tonight. That much was clear. And there was no way in hell you were going to sit around and let them take their shot first.

But Gi-hun’s glare burned into Young-il like a warning. He didn’t say anything, but his jaw was clenched, his eyes sharp with unspoken accusation. Was he seriously suggesting murder?

Young-il barely reacted. He only tilted his head slightly, as if considering the weight of Gi-hun’s silence before speaking again.

“They’re probably thinking we’ll just wait for the second vote,” he said evenly. “We can use it to our advantage. We’ll attack them first once the lights go out.”

Player 047 nodded immediately, already agreeing. “That’s right. It’d be better to attack them first. We have more women and elderly on our side. If we get attacked, we’ll be at a disadvantage. Attacking them first would give us a better chance at winning.”

Player 145 exhaled, his jaw set. “I agree.”

It was shifting now. The group was leaning toward violence. A preemptive strike. And honestly? You weren’t sure if that scared you or relieved you.

But Gi-hun didn’t hesitate, “We can’t do that.”

His voice was steady. Firm.

You turned your head slightly, watching the way his fingers curled into fists, the way his shoulders tensed like he was preparing to hold back the entire group if he had to.

A fracture was forming in your group, thin but dangerous. And if it cracked? If it broke? The night wasn’t just going to be a bloodbath. It was going to be war.

"We can. And we have to.”, you keep your voice steady, even as the weight of what you're saying settles over the group.

Gi-hun is already shaking his head, lips parting to argue, but you don’t let him. Not yet.

"You think waiting will save us? You think hoping for the best will keep us alive until morning?" You scoff, glancing around at the others. "They were already planning to attack us, Gi-hun. You think they're gonna stop now?."

Your fingers tighten around your knees.

"We sit back, we do nothing, and we lose. Because they won’t hesitate. They won’t stop at one or two. They’ll keep going until there are none of us left."

Gi-hun exhales sharply, his hands curling into fists, but still, he says nothing.

"We have more numbers, more people to protect. More people who can't fight back the way they can." Your voice wavers slightly, but you don’t stop. "What do you think will happen if we just wait? If we sit here and let them make the first move? People will die. People who don’t deserve it."

A few nods. Some hesitant, some firm.

Player 047 shifts, glancing at the others before looking back at you, ”She’s right."

You let out a slow breath, steadying yourself, then turn back to Gi-hun. "We have to hit first, or we won’t get a chance to hit at all."

Gi-hun doesn’t respond right away. His gaze lingers on your face, searching, weighing, like he’s trying to find something—hesitation, doubt, a crack in your conviction. But there’s none. And maybe that’s what finally makes him exhale, running a hand down his face.

“That still doesn’t justify murder, (Y/N),” he mutters, voice low, tired. “That’s exactly what they want us to do.”

Jung-bae leans forward, brows furrowing. “Who’s ‘they’?”

You don’t even need to think about it. You already know.

Gi-hun shifts his attention to Jung-bae, his expression unreadable. “The ones who created this game. The ones watching us play.” He pauses, just for a second, then says it plainly. “If we’re going to fight someone, it should be them.”

Dae-ho’s gaze flicks between you and Gi-hun, something wary settling in his features. “And where are they?”

Gi-hun doesn’t answer. Not right away. He just looks up.

The movement is slow, deliberate. One by one, the others follow his gaze, as if expecting to find something, someone, above them. Everyone except Young-il. Not at first, at least. He stays still, unmoved, like he already knows where they are.

Then, after a beat too long, he finally lifts his head.

How odd.

“On the upper levels are the rooms they control the games from. The man in the black mask is their leader.”

Young-il stiffens beside you. It’s subtle—so subtle that if you weren’t sitting this close, if you didn’t know him so well, you might not have even noticed. But you do. You feel the shift in his posture, the slight tension in his muscles.

Gi-hun’s eyes flick to Young-il, watching. Calculating.

“Once we capture him, we’ll be able to win,” Gi-hun adds.

Your gaze doesn’t leave Young-il. Not for a second. His reaction is small. Almost nonexistent. But you catch it—the tiniest twitch in his eye, there and gone in an instant. A split second of something unguarded, something unspoken.

And yet, it says everything.

It’s the look of someone who’s heard this before. The look of someone who’s already thought about it, already dismissed it, because it was stupid. Like he’s saying, How cute. You and your silly ideas.

But then, as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone. His expression smooths out, unreadable, effortlessly slipping back into that familiar calm, that steady confidence that makes it impossible to tell what he’s really thinking. You inhale slowly, keeping your face neutral.

Something isn’t adding up.

He should have at least reacted to the idea that there’s a big bad man behind all of this, someone controlling the games and watching you, someone you could go after.

Instead, he stiffened. Instead, his face twitched. Instead… he already knew.

The question is—why?

You knew he was a previous winner. That much hadn't been a secret to you. But something like this? Something as crucial as who was pulling the strings, where they were hiding?

Wouldn’t he have told you?

A strange thought curls at the edges of your mind, something uneasy, something wrong.

Young-il knew?

Before Gi-hun even said it, before the words had fully settled in the air, he knew. His body reacted before his brain could stop it—the tension, the stiffness, the way his eye had twitched for just a split second. A tell. A sign.

Like he had heard this before. Like he had already thought about it, already dismissed it, already decided it wasn’t worth entertaining. Like he knew more than he was letting on.

No. That’s ridiculous.

Young-il wouldn’t lie to you. He wouldn’t. He had never lied to you. Or—well—when he did, he always told you the truth afterward.

The thought is almost insulting in its absurdity, in its sheer impossibility. Because this is Young-il. The same Young-il who always told you exactly what he thought. The same Young-il who teased you relentlessly, who smirked when you were flustered but never when you were truly upset. The same Young-il who held your hand when you were shaking and tucked you close when you needed warmth. The same Young-il who kissed you like a starving man.

He was an asshole, yes. A menace, absolutely. But he wasn’t a liar. And he wasn’t cruel. Not to you.

He had protected you. Time and time again, when he could have left you to fend for yourself, when he could have looked out for his own survival first. Instead, he had stayed by your side, had pulled you out of the fire, had chosen you.

Would someone like that really hide something from you?

No. Of course not.

You inhale, steadying yourself.

Whatever you saw—whatever little twitch, whatever hint of something—it didn’t mean anything.

He probably just thought Gi-hun’s plan was stupid. That was all. He wasn’t the type to chase after hopeless dreams, wasn’t the type to waste energy on fantasies of overthrowing an enemy he had never seen. And that made sense, didn’t it?

Young-il had won. He had survived. If anyone knew how hopeless it was to fight the people in charge, it was him. That’s why he had reacted the way he did. That’s all it was.

You let the tension ease from your shoulders, pushing the doubt away, locking it deep where it can’t reach you. Where it shouldn’t reach you.

Because there is no universe where Young-il would ever betray you. No universe where he would lie. Young-il didn’t lie. Not to you.

He was yours, in a fucked up way. And you trusted him.

Young-il’s voice cut through your thoughts, grounding you back in reality. “How are you going to fight them? They have guns.”

You blinked.

Not we. You. Gi-hun was alone on this one.

The way he said it—you—felt like a decision had already been made. Like he was drawing a line between himself and whatever came next. Like he wasn’t planning on being a part of it.

Your fingers twitched against your knee.

Gi-hun didn’t even hesitate. “We’ll fight them with guns too.”

For a second, you thought you misheard him. Because surely, surely he wasn’t serious. But then you saw his face—calm, steady, like he had just suggested something as simple as taking a walk. Your jaw almost dropped.

No?! No way.

Jung-bae shifted beside him, his voice quieter, like he was afraid to even acknowledge the insanity of what had just been said. “But we don’t have any.”

Gi-hun didn’t blink. “We’ll take their guns.”

Oh my god. He was actually serious.

A disbelieving scoff left your lips before you could stop it. “From the soldiers?” You stared at him, incredulous. “Are you stupid?”

The words left your mouth before you could stop them, sharp and immediate, but you didn’t care. You needed to say it. Because what the hell kind of plan was that? Steal guns from the soldiers? The ones who were trained to kill you? The ones who had been keeping you all in check since day one, watching from the shadows, waiting for an excuse to put a bullet in someone’s skull?

Your lips parted, but you had to take a second, just a second, to process the absolute insanity of what Gi-hun had just said.

He was serious. He was actually serious.

“Oh, my god.” You let out a short, humourless laugh, shaking your head. “Are you listening to yourself right now?”

Gi-hun’s jaw tightened, but you weren’t finished.

“(Y/N), don’t you think you’re being a bit harsh?”, Young-il’s voice was calm, easy, like he was trying to rein you in before you tore Gi-hun apart completely. But you didn’t care.

You turned to him, barely sparing him a glance, and immediately held up a hand. “Shh. Stay out of this.”

Young-il blinked.

You shushed him.

He blinked again, momentarily stunned. For the first time since you’d met him, he actually looked caught off guard. His lips parted slightly, like he was debating whether or not to be offended, but you were already turning back to Gi-hun, ignoring the way Young-il let out a soft, amused breath beside you.

“Like I was saying.” You refocused, fixing Gi-hun with a hard stare.

“You think we can just—what? Walk up to them? Politely ask them to hand over their weapons? Maybe say please while we’re at it?” You scoffed.

He opened his mouth, but you kept going, voice rising with each word.

“Have you seen those guys? Because they don’t hesitate. They don’t stop to ask questions. They don’t even think before pulling the trigger.” Your hands curled into fists at your sides, frustration boiling over. “We don’t even know how many of them there are. How many weapons they have. Where they keep them. And you’re sitting here telling us that our best shot at survival is to take them on head-to-head?”

A bitter laugh scraped its way up your throat. “That’s not a plan, Gi-hun. That’s suicide.”

A heavy silence followed.

Your pulse was still pounding, frustration still curling in your chest, but from the corner of your eye, you caught the faintest twitch of Young-il’s lips, like he was trying—failing—to suppress a smirk.

He was enjoying this. The smug, insufferable bastard.

You shot him a quick glare, but he just gave a slow, barely noticeable shrug, as if to say, What? You’re the one who shushed me.

Gi-hun didn’t look away. He didn’t flinch. But he didn’t argue, either. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew it was a terrible plan. But it was all he had.

Your stomach churned, dread curling deep in your chest.

What the hell was Gi-hun thinking? Had the stress finally cracked something in him? Had the endless cycle of fear and death made him believe in something this stupid?

Young-il exhaled sharply, his voice steady, firm. “Look, Gi-hun. I know (Y/N) didn’t exactly sugarcoat it, but she’s right. Even if we manage to take a few guns, we’ll still be outnumbered.”

He wasn’t wrong. The guards had the advantage—more weapons, more bodies, and the goddamn high ground. Even if you pulled off the impossible and got your hands on a few guns, what then? You weren’t soldiers. You weren’t trained. You were just a group of desperate people trying to survive one more night.

Gi-hun's jaw clenched. He looked between the two of you, something dark in his expression, something caught between frustration and exhaustion. Then, he spoke.

“Then what?” His voice was sharp, fraying at the edges. “Are you going to kill each other all night and hope you survive? Is that what you want, (Y/N)? Young-il?”

You inhaled, but the words caught in your throat.

“Is that what you want?”

Want? Like there was a choice. Like there had ever been a choice.

Like the second the lights went out, the O players wouldn’t be coming for blood. Like they wouldn’t use the only advantage they had left—the only thing that had worked for them so far.

You glanced at Young-il, but his expression remained unreadable. He didn’t answer right away. Didn’t rush to justify or defend himself. He just looked at Gi-hun, at the frustration brewing beneath his skin.

Your grip on your arms tightened. “Want?” Your voice came quieter this time, rougher. “I want to sleep without worrying about waking up with a fork in my throat.”

Gi-hun’s gaze snapped back to you.

“I want to make it to morning. I want to make it to the bloody vote.” Your fingers curled tighter, your nails digging into your skin. “And if they come for us first, you think I should just let it happen?”

“And if we fight back first? Then what?” His voice was quieter this time, edged with something almost like resignation. “We kill them. They kill us. We all die anyway.” He exhaled. “You think that’s winning?”

That was the difference between you and him.

He still wanted this to be a fight you could win without spilling more blood. Still wanted to believe that strategy, that sheer will, could get you all through the night. But you had already accepted the truth.

This place wasn’t about being nice. It was about greed and accepting it. And when the lights went out, you weren’t going to be the one on the ground.

Young-il exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face before finally speaking. “Fine,” he muttered, his tone deliberately even. “We do it your way. What's your plan?”

You turned to him, startled. He was giving in? Just like that?

Gi-hun’s shoulders loosened, just barely. He nodded once, like he was bracing himself for the night ahead. “Once the fight begins tonight, we’ll have our chance. Once the lights go out, get under the bottom beds quietly. You must not get caught by those planning to attack us tonight. We have to hide until the fight ends. Don’t get caught up in the fight.”

Hide like cowards.

You barely stopped yourself from scoffing. Did he even listen to you? Your mouth opened before you could think better of it. “Gi-hun—”

But Young-il cut in first.

“Come on.”

His voice was casual, but there was something firm beneath it, something deliberate. He barely spared Gi-hun a glance, his attention locked on you instead. He knew what you were about to say, knew that whatever argument was about to spill from your lips wouldn’t end well if it happened here, in front of everyone.

Not now.

His fingers brushed your wrist—light, coaxing—before he tilted his head slightly, a silent Let’s go.

You swallowed, biting down your frustration, but followed anyway. For now. You hesitated, glancing at Gi-hun one last time. His expression was wary but relieved, like he had won something. Like this was over. But it wasn’t. Not even close.

You let Young-il guide you away, weaving through the scattered bunks, past the hushed murmurs of other players. He didn’t stop until you were at the farthest, most isolated corner of the room, a blind spot where no one could overhear you.

Finally, he turned, expression flat. You crossed your arms.

"You don’t actually believe in this bullshit, do you?"

His jaw tensed. "Of course not."

"Then why the hell did you agree with him back there?"

"Gi-hun’s an idiot, but he’s not entirely wrong."

You scoffed. "Oh, really? Which part? The part where we hide under the beds like terrified children while the O players wipe out half our numbers? Or the part where we magically steal guns from trained soldiers and somehow don’t get shot in the process?"

Young-il sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, but didn’t argue. Because he knew. He knew as well as you did that neither option was a real solution. Still, you weren’t done.

"We sit back, we let them make the first move, and we lose. We lose the vote, we lose people, we lose everything. You think I can just sit there and watch that happen?"

His expression darkened slightly. "No. I know you can’t."

Your throat tightened at his quiet certainty, but you forced yourself to push past it.

"Then stop trying to make me."

Young-il exhaled sharply, his gaze flickering over your face, studying you—assessing, measuring how far you were willing to push this.

Then, finally, he spoke. "I’m not trying to make you. I’m trying to keep you alive."

Your breath hitched. Just slightly.

But before you could speak, before you could throw another argument at him, he stepped closer.

"Listen to me." His voice was quieter now, lower. "If you continue to fight now, you’re going to split the group. And if we break apart before the O players even make their move, then we’re already dead."

You swallowed, his words settling like lead in your stomach.

"So what?" Your voice was quieter now, but not any less firm. "I just sit there and act like I’m okay with this?"

Young-il tilted his head slightly, gaze unwavering. "Yes."

A muscle in your jaw twitched.

You didn’t want to do this. You didn’t want to pretend, to act like you were okay with playing along. Every instinct in your body screamed against it. You had fought for too long, clawed your way through too much to just sit back now.

But Young-il wasn’t backing down. And worse? You knew he was right.

If you continued to push too hard, if you continue to fight this now, in front of everyone, you wouldn’t just be fighting Gi-hun—you’d be fighting your own people. And that? That was just as dangerous as the O players themselves.

You exhaled, pressing your fingers against your temples, your body thrumming with frustration.

"This is bullshit," you muttered.

Young-il’s lips twitched, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he reached out—just barely—fingertips brushing over your wrist.

"I know."

Silence settled between you. Tense. Unyielding.

Your eyes locked onto his.

"I’m fighting."

Young-il held your gaze for a long moment. Then, finally, he sighed—long and slow—like he had expected nothing less.

"I figured."

Your fingers curled into fists. "Then why even bother convincing me?"

His smirk was faint, but it was there. "Because if you pretend, it buys us time."

Time. That’s what this was really about. If you acted like you were on board, if you played the game just a little longer, then you wouldn’t just keep the group together. You’d control the moment the fight started. You let that thought settle, let the strategy of it sink into your bones.

Then, without thinking, without planning, without stopping yourself,

“Kiss me.”

Young-il blinked. Once. Twice. Then, slowly—too slowly—his lips curled into something unreadable.

“Excuse me?”

You rolled your eyes. “Did I stutter?”

His smirk twitched. “Oh, I heard you. Just didn’t expect you to say it out loud for once.”

You crossed your arms. “And why’s that?”

Young-il let out a soft chuckle, low and dangerous. “Sweetheart, I always hear ‘kiss me’ when you’re talking.” His head tilted slightly. “It’s just always subtext.”

Your brain short-circuited. Oh, fuck him.

The arrogance. The audacity. The sheer, unrelenting smugness of this man. He was toying with you, playing with you like a cat batting at a mouse that wasn’t quite dead yet. You could feel the heat rising to your face, not from embarrassment, but from sheer, seething frustration.

You opened your mouth—ready to snap, ready to rip that self-satisfied grin off his face and tell him exactly what you thought of him and his unbearable, endlessly infuriating—

He shushed you. Just—fucking shushed you.

One finger against his lips, a lazy, patronising little motion, like you were a child throwing a tantrum.

You froze. Was this revenge? No, because revenge would have required him to take something seriously, and Young-il? Young-il was looking at you like he was having the time of his goddamn life. His lips quirked higher, eyes practically glowing with amusement. "See? Annoying, isn’t it?"

Your pulse spiked. You couldn’t even speak. Not because you had nothing to say—oh, you had plenty—but because if you did, you’d be acknowledging that he got to you, that he was winning, that he had completely derailed your entire train of thought with nothing more than a single, simple gesture. Your jaw tightened. You were going to kill him.

His hand dropped, smug as ever. Satisfied.

And then, before you could respond, he yanked you in and kissed you like he had been waiting for this exact moment.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was sharp and intentional, a statement, a release of everything you hadn’t said out loud.

His fingers curled against your waist, pulling you closer to him. You pulled back first, heart hammering, breath unsteady.

"I’ll follow the plan," you whispered, your lips barely leaving his. “But the second you’re in danger? I’m doing it my way.”

Young-il’s gaze flickered over your face, something unreadable lurking in his expression. Then, softly, he murmured—

"Deal."

He stepped back. His hand lingered at your waist for a fraction too long before dropping to his side.

"Come on," he said, voice quieter now. "Let’s get back. Before Jun-hee and Dae-ho make another bet.“

You stifled a laugh, nodded, and followed.

When you returned to the group, Gi-hun looked up immediately, his brows drawn in quiet suspicion. You met his gaze, then inhaled slowly.

"I don’t agree with it," you said honestly. "But I trust you. Very much. So I’ll stick to the plan."

Gi-hun’s shoulders loosened. "That’s all I ask."

You nodded.

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