The Light That Binds Us-Hwang Inho

The word "eliminated" rang in her ears like a death knell. It sent an icy chill racing down her spine, the meaning behind it settling over her like a weight she couldn't shake off. She wasn't ready for this.
Young-il remained as stoic as ever, his silence all the more unnerving. But beside her, Rae-a heard it—the change in Gi-hun's breathing, the slight shift in Dae-ho's weight as the realization hit. They all understood what this game meant now. They weren't in this together anymore. They were alone.
This wasn't a team game. It wasn't about cooperation or strategy. This was a solo game, one where physical prowess would determine who moved forward—and who didn't.
Rae-a wasn't worried about herself. Her body was built for combat; she knew she could handle herself in a fight. But her thoughts shifted immediately to her friends. To Jun-hee, who had been struggling to keep up even before the blindfolds had been placed. Jun-hee, who was carrying a child and had no business being in this game, let alone in a brutal physical contest. Rae-a's stomach twisted at the thought of her friend being thrown into this. There was no way Jun-hee could survive a wrestling match. Not in her condition.
The dread built as Rae-a realized she had lost the control she once held—the ability to protect her friends. All of the previous games had been team-oriented, relying on the strength of their unity to get through. But now, they were at the mercy of their own physical capabilities. There was no more room for compassion, no more room for protecting the weaker players. Rae-a's heart clenched as she imagined Jun-hee being dragged into the ring, helpless, vulnerable.
And with that thought, the cold reality of the game set in. This wasn't just about survival anymore. It was about sacrifice. The strong would survive. The weak would be eliminated.
And Rae-a could do nothing to change that.
As Rae-a's mind raced through the implications of the game, Young-il's thoughts were anything but calm. His eyes remained fixed ahead, shrouded in darkness, but his attention was partially on Rae-a and she shift in her persona. He could feel her tension, the way she subtly adjusted her stance as though preparing for something far worse than what had been announced.
He knew what she was thinking. It wasn't about herself. It never had been. It was always about the others. Particularly whoever needed it most in the moment. Rae-a wasn't one to show fear, but he could feel the weight of it on her shoulders. The dread of knowing her ability to protect her friends was slipping away, and that helplessness was something that had to eat at her.
Young-il didn't know what he expected from Rae-a, but he couldn't help but be curious. How would she do it? How would she, the one who had always stayed one step ahead of the rest of them, keep her friends alive in this hellhole when the odds were stacked against them? The game had changed again, and this time, there was no room for compassion. Only survival.
He shifted his weight, his lips twitching at the thought. Rae-a was clever, resourceful. If anyone could navigate the complexities of this game and find a way to keep her friends alive, it would be her. But the question lingered in his mind: Could she? Would she sacrifice herself to protect them? No, he wouldn't let her.
Young-il didn't know why he cared—he'd been the one to push them into this, after all. But somehow, watching her now, seeing the unspoken burden she carried, made something stir inside him. He wasn't sure if it was admiration or something else entirely, but the curiosity burned in him all the same.
The game was about to begin. And for the first time, he found himself wondering if Rae-a could keep them alive.
No one moved. No one spoke.
But Rae-a could feel it—the tension thick in the air, the collective realization that their fate had just shifted. It settled over the players like a suffocating shroud, and the silent dread was palpable. The oppressive atmosphere crushed her chest, and for a moment, she thought it might suffocate them all.
And then—
A gunshot.
A body crumpled to the floor with a sickening thud, and a strangled gasp echoed through the room.
Then—silence.
The words that followed from a guard's cold, mechanical voice were sharp, unyielding.
"You are eliminated for attempting to remove your blindfold."
Rae-a's lip curled in distaste. How would they have known the rules if they weren't stated at the beginning? She had seen the panic rising in the others, the desperate fumbling as the blindfolds pressed down on their faces. But this? This was senseless. If the rules weren't made clear from the start, how were they supposed to follow them?
A bitter taste lingered in her mouth as she tightened her grip on her stance. It wasn't right. But nothing in this place ever was.
Jun-hee flinched violently at the sound of the gunshot, her body stiffening in reflex. She instinctively reached for Rae-a's arm, but before Rae-a could move to comfort her, a pair of guards shoved her away, preventing any further movement. Rae-a could hear Jun-hee's muffled sobs as she was roughly forced back into line, terrified.
Another player's sharp, guttural sob broke the stillness, followed by the unmistakable sound of a blow—probably a guard's strike—squelching the noise and forcing the group into silence once more.
The air around them was thick with fear now, heavier than ever.
Without warning, the players were shoved down, forced to sit on the sand. The harsh scuffling of bodies filled the air as they settled into the dirt. Rae-a didn't need to look to know where everyone was. She could feel the heat of Jun-hee in front of her—could hear her soft breathing, the nervous shuffle of her feet. To her left, Young-il was seated, close enough that she could feel the subtle warmth of his presence beside her.
She kept her posture rigid, her senses sharp as she tried to piece together the next move. The sand beneath her felt gritty, uncomfortable. It wasn't just the weight of the moment—it was the harsh reality settling in.
The game had begun.
The words were sharp, ringing through the air like a death knell, and Rae-a's heart skipped in her chest. She could feel the dread closing in, suffocating, but she focused—forced herself to stay alert.
A name was called.
"222. Jun-hee."
Rae-a's body went rigid. Jun-hee's name—her friend, the one who shouldn't be here, who had no place in this madness—was the first to be called. The anger boiled inside her, fierce and uncontrollable. Why her? Why Jun-hee? Rae-a could feel the heat of fury rising in her throat, suffocating her.
Jun-hee wasn't built for this. She was fragile, pregnant—this wasn't her fight. Rae-a had been protecting her this whole time, trying her best and keeping her safe from the brutality of these games. And now, she was being dragged into the heart of it first?
It wasn't fair. Rae-a's teeth clenched, and she fought against the instinct to rush in, to tear the guards away and shield her friend, but she knew better. Not yet. She couldn't risk herself. Not while Jun-hee was still standing.
Though she could still do something.
Her fingers shot out, grasping onto Jun-hee's sleeve with all her strength, the fabric pulling taut as she desperately tried to keep her in place. She felt Jun-hee stumble slightly from the shift in weight, the tug of Rae-a's hand pulling her off balance.
Before Jun-hee could react, two guards grabbed her by the arms, yanking her forward with rough precision. The air around them seemed to freeze.
But Rae-a wouldn't let go.
"Jun-hee—" Rae-a's voice cracked, a mix of desperation and raw emotion.
And then—
A sharp jab to her ribs.
Rae-a's body jerked at the sudden impact, her breath cutting off for a moment. She barely stifled the urge to punch the guard, her fingers tightening around Jun-hee's sleeve. She wanted to shove him off, to make him feel the fury she felt, but she knew better. She had to be patient, calm. She had to keep her cool, for both of them.
Another name was called. A woman, Rae-a remembered. Small. Weak. One she knew wouldn't last long in this kind of game.
Rae-a's thoughts raced—fury for Jun-hee mixed with a cold, calculating urgency and relief at the fact it was not a man. This woman's chances were slim, but maybe she could still help. She had a chance to turn things around, to manipulate the odds in their favor. She could still control something, even if it was just for a fleeting moment.
"Listen, use her weight against her. Dig your heel into the sand, pivot when she—"
Before Rae-a could finish her advice, the unmistakable cold pressure of a barrel pressed against her spine. It was ice-cold and unyielding, sending a sharp jolt of panic through her.
"Do not interfere with the games."
The words were cold, cruel, and final. Rae-a's stomach twisted in frustration, but she stayed still, her chest tightening as she held herself back. Her mind screamed for her to do something, anything, to help— but she knew the cost. If she pushed back now, if she resisted, the consequences would be immediate and irreversible.
Her breath caught in her throat as she forced herself to comply, her body rigid with the weight of her restraint. She couldn't let them see her break, couldn't let them see how much she wanted to scream. It wasn't just about her anymore. It was about Jun-hee. About keeping them both alive.
The words were spoken flatly, void of emotion, but the weight of the gun against her back made it clear—one more word and she wouldn't live to regret it.
Young-il stood beside her, his posture unyielding. His ears tracked every movement, every subtle shift, as Rae-a's resolve wavered for just a moment. There was a flash of something in his chest—a quiet frustration that she still hadn't learned to keep herself in check.
She always did this, didn't she? She pushed back, no matter the danger. It was infuriating, really. And yet, he couldn't seem to ignore the fact that, despite all her interference, there was something about her determination that made her hard to forget. It wasn't just the rules she was defying—she was defying him, and it gnawed at him. She thought she could still protect her friends, that she could control the situation. And that idea, that belief in herself, it bothered him.
Rae-a slowly raised her hands in surrender, forcing herself to step back.
The guard didn't move. He kept the gun pressed firmly against Rae-a's back, the cold steel an undeniable reminder of just how little control she had over her fate in this moment. Her muscles tensed, her entire body coiled tight, not out of fear, but out of something darker.
Frustration.
Rage.
Her breath hitched when, without warning, the weight of the gun disappeared.
The guard, still silent, took a step back, the harsh tension slowly dissipating. Rae-a didn't move at first, still holding her breath.
Then, like a weight being lifted, Young-il's presence at her side became more pronounced. She didn't dare look at him, but she felt the shift in his posture, the subtle way his shoulders relaxed just a fraction.
He was quiet, still, but Rae-a felt his attention now more than ever. Something about it made her skin prickle, a dissonance that she couldn't put into words.
She exhaled sharply, forcing herself to step back into place. The sand beneath her boots felt firmer somehow.
She had crossed a line.
But the woman had heard her. She had to have. And if there was even a chance she could survive... Rae-a couldn't bring herself to regret speaking out.
The silence stretched between the players as they waited for the outcome of Jun-hee's match. The air felt too heavy. Every nerve in Rae-a's body felt like it was on edge, and she barely registered the sharp, distant sound of a gunshot before her heart stuttered in her chest.
The shot rang out—sharp, echoing in the silence.
They waited.
Her body felt heavy, a suffocating weight settling over her.
But then—nothing.
No closure. Just... nothing.
Rae-a stood frozen, her mind reeling. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides as panic started to creep in. Why hadn't they told them who the winner was? Why hadn't they declared anything about Jun-hee or her opponent? It didn't make sense. It was like they were deliberately twisting the rules now.
She couldn't stay silent.
"Which player made it through?" she shouted, her voice raw with frustration. The words rang out louder than intended, a sharp demand in the heavy silence.
The response was... silence. Absolute silence. No one said a word. The game had continued, and no one was going to answer her.
"This is bullshit!" Rae-a's voice cracked as she pushed past her mental restraint. "Why the hell would you change your system now? It doesn't change how the games play out! This makes no sense!"
Her chest tightened as her heart raced, and before she could say another word, the sharp click of boots signaled the arrival of a guard—this one square, his movements rigid, authoritative.
"Silence." The command was cold, final. The tone left no room for negotiation.
"You will not speak again. Understood?" His voice was cold, demanding compliance.
Rae-a stiffened, but the weight of his words settled over her like a blanket. She could feel the anger coiling in her chest, the words still there, but no longer leaving her mouth.
With a final, cutting glance, the guard stood motionless, waiting for Rae-a to comply. Her body tightened with the need to argue, to continue protesting, but she knew better.
She clenched her jaw, swallowing the fury that bubbled within her. There was no point. Not now. Not here.
And so, silence fell once again over the group.
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The arena was shrouded in complete darkness. The only things that remained were the sounds—the sounds of fists landing against flesh, of grunts and cries of pain, the scuffling of feet in the shifting sand, and the occasional gunshot that rang out like a death knell. Every so often, the air would be pierced by a desperate scream, but even that was swallowed up by the oppressive blackness.
No one could see the games, not a single movement, not the tactics employed or the way each fight unfolded. All they had to cling to were the sounds, each one a signal of life or death, but no one could know for sure.
The rules were clear: no one could watch. The players fought in the darkness, and the rest of them were left in agonizing suspense, unable to grasp the full scope of the chaos. The only thing they knew for certain was that they wouldn't be told who had won until they stepped into the next round—if they even made it there.
The games had passed in a blur of noise, and Rae-a's mind had tried to hold on to the small fragments of information she could, but she was left with more questions than answers. The players fought, screamed, struggled, and fell into silence, and then the intercom would call out another number. Another name. Another fight to the death. But who survived? Who got through? She couldn't tell.
Her stomach churned with each new name called, each new game that passed. Her group had been scattered, pulled away one by one, and now... she had no idea who was still alive. No idea if anyone else from her group was still standing. She could only hold on to the frustration that burned through her. The anger that no one had the right to make her wait like this, not knowing what was happening to the others, to her friends.
She couldn't even know if Jun-hee had made it through her round. Or Dae-ho. Or Gi-hun. Jungbae? Hyun-ju?
The only thing that kept her from breaking completely was the solid presence beside her.
Young-il.
She could feel his presence, his quiet confidence in the air around them. When the moment felt like it was closing in on her, he squeezed her hand, the gesture subtle but significant. His fingers pressed into hers with a warmth that sent a jolt of comfort through her, a reminder that not everything had been lost.
"Player 089."
Her breath hitched in her throat.
"Good luck, sweetheart," he said, his voice soft but laced with a teasing edge.
She couldn't help the twitch of her lips, even in the midst of everything. But there was something else in his tone, something faintly worried that he didn't openly show. He had no idea who her opponent would be, but she could hear the edge of faith in his voice. He believed she could handle it, believed in her experience. But there was something else, something quieter underneath.
A hand gripped her arm, dragging her up. The sudden force made her heart lurch, but she steadied herself. She wasn't sure where she was being led—only that the sand beneath her boots was shifting, gritty and dry, scraping against her skin as she moved. The air grew heavier, the smell of sand thick and suffocating, as though it was choking the very air out of her lungs.
Her mind raced.
Stay focused. Stay calm.
The moments of her past games, the lessons learned, the physical conditioning, the mental preparation... it all surged forward. She had fought her entire life, not just for herself, but for those she cared about. This wasn't going to be any different. She would survive. She had to.
Remember what you know. Her own internal mantra echoed through her mind like a lifeline.
She had the skills, the discipline, the strategy. She just needed to hold onto it, to stay steady amidst the chaos.
The sand crunched beneath her boots as she walked, her eyes adjusting to the strange, blind atmosphere. She forced herself to take deep breaths, pushing the anxiety from her chest. Each step felt like it was taking her closer to a new battle—one she couldn't avoid. The others had gone before her, and she didn't know whether they were alive or not, but it didn't matter now. This was her fight. And she wasn't going to let it be her last.
She took a breath, forcing herself to stay steady.
Remember what you know.
The moment Rae-a stepped into the circle, something shifted in the air. It was subtle at first—a quiet pressure. She couldn't see, but she felt it. The space in front of her seemed to shrink, the air thickening with the weight of the presence across from her.
Her body went rigid.
Shit.
She tried to adjust, tried to prepare herself, but before she could even process where her opponent was—
The whistle blew.
The sound barely registered before she was hit.
The impact was like a freight train colliding into her chest. She didn't have time to brace herself, her body just folding under the force. The sand beneath her felt like concrete as her back slammed into it, the breath violently ripped from her lungs.
She gasped, but the air in her lungs wouldn't come.
She was not winning this fairly.
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Young-il remained still, his every sense focused on the match unfolding before him, despite the blinding darkness. He didn't need to see to know what was happening. The sound of Rae-a's body crashing to the sand had been unmistakable—the dull thud, followed by the sharp intake of breath, the straining noises of her trying to scramble to her feet.
It hit him like a punch to the gut.
He could hear the desperation in her breathing, the frantic gasps, the grind of her boots in the sand as she tried to find leverage, tried to regain control. But the noises that followed—the soft, mocking thud of her body hitting the sand again, the groans of someone who was fighting, but failing—told him everything. She was being tossed around like nothing.
She's going to lose.
He could hear it. Her movements slowing. The weight of her opponent was too much. He imagined her face—fury, frustration, maybe fear, but he knew better than anyone, Rae-a didn't show fear. She'd fight until the end. But it didn't matter if she fought if the game was rigged, if the strength of her opponent was more than she could handle.
And losing meant dying.
Never did young-il think that she wasn't going to be the one to make it.
The thought sent a spike of panic through his chest, and his hands clenched involuntarily, his knuckles white against the fabric of his jacket. He was supposed to keep his distance. He wasn't supposed to care. This wasn't the way the game worked. He was supposed to sit back, watch, let it unfold.
But hearing her struggle like this, the heavy panting, the shift of sand beneath her as she was thrown around—it triggered something in him that he couldn't ignore.
Desperation clawed at him.
He couldn't let her die. Not like this.
Every fiber of his being screamed for him to act, to do something, but the rules of the game were clear. He couldn't interfere, couldn't be the hero. It went against everything he had fought for, this system. He was supposed to be detached, unaffected, playing the game just like everyone else.
But then Rae-a's panicked breath echoed through the arena, her body hitting the ground again with a sickening thud, and all that resolve shattered.
No.
His heart hammered in his chest as he fought for control, tried to shut down the wave of protectiveness rising within him. But there was no denying it now.
He had to intervene.
His blindfold was still securely in place, but the desperation clawing at him made him slip it just low enough to catch a glimpse of the match. His eyes locked onto Rae-a's form, her body struggling beneath the weight of her opponent, her arms futilely attempting to pry herself free.
He didn't have time.
With a barely perceptible flick of his fingers, his gaze locked onto a nearby guard, who had been watching the match with casual detachment. Just a slight, silent movement. A signal only he would understand.
The guard froze, a chill running down his spine at the intensity of Young-il's gaze. The subtle but deadly shift in his posture was all the warning the man needed. The silent command was clear—move.
Without hesitation, the guard took out a remote and pressed the button.
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"You really think you can win this? Last night, I bet you didn't even kill those players. You're weak. Frail."
Every word was a barb, digging into her mind as much as his physical blows landed on her body. Each slam, each twist of his hands, every crushing grip told her that she was losing.
She had been trained for this, prepared for every fight—every kind of fight. Her whole life had been about surviving, about beating opponents stronger than her. But now, in this sandpit, her confidence faltered. The control she once thought was hers slipped through her fingers.
Doubt whispered in her mind.
What if he's right? What if she couldn't do this?
No... The thought was quickly drowned by a surge of frustration, of anger at herself for even allowing it to linger.
She had to be better than this. She had to win. Not just for herself, but for everyone who depended on her. For the others in her group, for Young-il—who, despite his teasing, had kept her grounded through this hell. She hadn't quite figured out what she felt for him, but right now, his unwavering presence in her mind kept her going. She couldn't fail.
The desperation to regain control surged. Her body was weary, bruised, and still, her mind scrambled to find an opening. She knew her body better than anyone—she could beat him. She had to.
She just needed a single moment.
But the seconds stretched out like eternity. Her opponent's smug face filled her vision. His hands tightened, squeezing her wrist.
She couldn't afford to be trapped. She couldn't give up now.
A shift beneath her foot caught her attention—barely perceptible, but enough to snap her focus back into the fight. The sand beneath her heel gave way, just a fraction of an inch. The opponent's weight faltered, just enough to throw off his balance.
It was all she needed.
Instincts honed by years of training kicked in. Her grip shifted, her body flowed with the movement, a flawless transition. Without a single moment of hesitation, she twisted his body forward, using every ounce of strength she had left, and slammed him into the ground.
The sand hissed as his body hit, the sharp impact reverberating through the arena. Rae-a was on him in an instant, her grip tight, her weight now the one pressing him into the ground.
Her opponent struggled beneath her, writhing, kicking, biting, trying to break free. His desperation was clear—he couldn't let her keep the high ground, couldn't let her maintain the advantage. But Rae-a's resolve was stronger than the pain or the exhaustion that clawed at her.
He kicked at her ribs. She ignored it. He bit into her arm. She dug in deeper.
Not today.
Her body was shaking with the effort, but she didn't let go. She wouldn't. Not until she saw him deflate, until he was finally too tired to keep fighting back.
She could hear the sounds of her own breath, ragged and strained, but beneath that noise, something else echoed in her ears—the sound of her opponent weakening.
Yes. Yes, she had it.
And then—finally—the whistle blew.
The arena fell silent.
The blindfolded players stood frozen, trying to make sense of the chaos that had just unfolded. The air was thick with anticipation. The sand, disturbed by the violence of the match, lay still for the moment.
And Young-il—who had been watching the entire time—couldn't help the grin that tugged at his lips. He leaned back just slightly, just enough to hide the pride that swelled inside him.
Despite everything, despite his usual cold detachment, he felt something raw, something uncontainable when he watched Rae-a take control and bring her opponent down.
She had done it.
He couldn't help but feel glad—proud, even—that she had proved him right. She was more than capable of surviving this.
But there was something else too, something unspoken in the tension of that moment.
Young-il's gaze flickered to the nearby panel—the one he'd given the order to lower. A reminder that his pride didn't come without its cost. It was his subtle signal, his move to ensure she survived. A calculated risk.
He had told himself it was for her own good, but the truth gnawed at him: he had interfered. And despite the pride he felt in her victory, there was a slight bitterness in his gut—because if she knew, if she understood the game he had played, would it change things between them?
His pride for her victory sat uneasily in his chest. She couldn't have won without me, he reminded himself.
Young-il wasn't entirely sure if it was the game he was more concerned about, or the woman who had just beaten the odds—and whether, deep down, he would keep playing the role of the detached observer, the betrayer, or if he was beginning to care about the outcome of her fight beyond the games.
He didn't want to think about it too much, not now. But deep down, he was more aware of it than he had been before.
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A gunshot.
The force of it made Rae-a flinch, and she felt the sudden jerk of her opponent in her arms, the sharp release of pressure as the body went limp, the life snuffed out in an instant.
Her opponent was gone.
Rae-a stood there, chest rising and falling in harsh, rapid breaths, her body still reeling from the intense, close fight. Her skin felt hot and sticky with sweat, but something else simmered inside her. Something deeper. Something unsettling.
She felt the ground beneath her shift, the sand pressing into her feet. Her gaze moved downward, her fingers instinctively reaching for the floor, trying to confirm the strange sensation that had lingered before her victory. The floorboard near her was subtly different. It was lower than the others, its edges beveled in a way that made it stand out against the rest of the sand-strewn arena. As she traced the shape of it, she realized that it wasn't an accident.
The floor had been designed to give her an advantage.
A panel, dropped lower than the rest of the sandy ground.
No—this wasn't luck. Not at all. Someone had interfered.
Rae-a's chest tightened, and a strange chill washed over her. Her mind raced as she tried to connect the dots. Her thoughts immediately went to the Masked Man, to the Frontman—the one who had promised not to intervene but had just done exactly that. Why?
A warning? A test? A threat of some sort, to show her that her life could be spared, but only if she followed certain invisible rules? Or was it something more? Something even more sinister?
She couldn't shake the unease that gripped her.
She lingered over the panel for a split second longer than necessary, her fingers brushing the floor again, just to make sure it wasn't a figment of her imagination.
As the guard's hand closed around her arm, pulling her back into the lineup, Rae-a couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Of being measured. Of being evaluated. It was as if the weight of unseen eyes was bearing down on her, sharp and focused. She felt like a puzzle piece being turned over, examined, and then carefully placed somewhere out of sight.
Young-il, from where he stood, could sense the shift in her. He could see the way her shoulders tensed, the way her fingers lingered just a moment too long. She was thinking. She was suspicious.
A small part of him wanted her to let it go. To chalk it up to coincidence, to believe that it had been luck, or fate, or anything other than what it really was. But another part of him—the part he couldn't quite suppress—was curious.
He wanted to see what she would do next. Would she confront him? The Frontman? Would she confront the truth that he had intervened, even though he had told himself he wouldn't? What would he even say?
Young-il exhaled slowly, adjusting his blindfold back into place. The faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though it didn't reach his eyes. He should feel relief. He should feel triumphant. But instead, all he felt was the quiet, creeping emotion that always followed moments like these.
He had interfered. He knew that. And even though it had saved her, kept her alive, he couldn't shake the uncomfortable sensation that came with breaking his own rules.
Rae-a was too sharp. He didn't want her to figure it out, didn't want her to realize that he had been the one to make the call, that he had interfered in the game to save her life. If she pieced it together, if she knew the truth, she would never forgive him. She would see him as the main manipulator in this twisted game, and that was the last thing he wanted. He couldn't let her know—he couldn't risk it. He had crossed a line, and the weight of that decision was heavier than anything he had anticipated.