The Light That Binds Us-Hwang Inho

The dining hall was a storm of voices, clattering shoes, and scraping metal bunks as people grouped together, but Rae-a barely registered any of it. Her mind was tangled in the chaos of the vote. The tie had changed everything—it had delayed the inevitable, not stopped it. The unease in the air was thick, suffocating. People moved differently now—sharper glances, more whispered conversations, a growing divide.

Unlike every other night, Young-il didn't bring her food.

Not that she was waiting for him to.

Instead, she grabbed her own meal, a foil-wrapped portion and a bottle of water, moving through the line, her thoughts distant. The weight of the day pressed down on her shoulders, making her feel slower, heavier. It wasn't until she collided with something solid that she realized she hadn't been paying attention.

A dull thud, a sudden jolt—

"Oh. Sorry," she said absentmindedly, barely looking up.

She stepped to the side, intending to move past him, but—

A hand clamped around her wrist.

Her body went rigid.

"What was that?" His voice was sharp, angry. Too much anger for something so small.

Rae-a's eyes flicked up, locking onto the man in front of her. Player 217. She hadn't interacted with him much, but she recognized the hostility in his gaze instantly. It was a very particular kind she had seen before. His grip tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to make a point.

Her irritation flared, a slow burn beneath her skin. The audacity.

"I said sorry," she stated flatly, yanking her arm back. "Move."

He didn't.

Instead, he leaned in just slightly, his eyes narrowing, his voice dipping lower. "People like you think you can do whatever you want."

Rae-a's blood turned cold.

People like you.

Her fingers twitched, the temptation to react sparking in her veins. It was instinct—a leftover from a past life where letting things slide only invited more trouble. But before she could move, he did. A scoff, a roll of his shoulder, and then he was stepping away, muttering something under his breath as he disappeared into the shifting sea of players.

She stared after him, scowling.

Did she really need to prove herself again?

And then she realised.

It hadn't been about bumping into him. She saw it now—the tension wasn't just individual outbursts, not random flares of aggression. It was about the vote. About the tie. The air was thick with resentment, players starting to look at each other not just as competitors, but as obstacles, as enemies. The undercurrents of frustration were rising, bubbling just beneath the surface.

Everyone had felt it—the shift. The vote had fractured them, but the tie? That had turned division into war.

Rae-a exhaled sharply through her nose and turned away. The aggression, the shifting tensions—it wasn't just an isolated moment. Something was building, and if no one else saw it yet, they would soon.

Her appetite had vanished.

She returned to the group, her movements more measured now. She sat down, placing the foil beside her, fingers tapping absently against the cold metal of the stairs leading up to the bunk beds. Around her, conversations murmured on, some hushed, some sharp, all of them steeped in the same unease curling in her gut.

A presence shifted beside her.

She didn't have to look up.

Young-il.

He was close—too close. Not touching, but near enough that she could feel it, the weight of his stare pressing against her skin. His presence had always carried something unsettling, something quiet but inescapable, like the moment before a blade struck its mark.

He didn't speak at first. He was waiting. Watching.

Her pulse climbed.

"You need to eat," he said simply.

His voice was quieter than usual, but there was an edge to it—something hard, controlled.

Frustration.

Not irritation. Not boredom. Something deeper, something heavier.

Her jaw clenched.

"I'm fine."

"You're not."

The way he said it—low, steady, absolute—sent something cold down her spine.

She hated that her heart reacted at all.

Why does he care now?

The dining hall was still a low hum of movement, but beneath it, something else was stirring. The aftershock of the tie had left the room fractured, voices sharper, glances quicker, bodies poised like coiled wire.

Rae-a exhaled, steadying herself. She reached for her food, unwrapping the foil, forcing her hands to move as if nothing was wrong.

And then—

She froze.

Her stomach twisted violently.

Inside the foil, resting beside the sushi—was a fork.

Her fingers stilled.

A fork.

Why is there a fork?

Sushi didn't come with forks. Nothing they'd eaten in this place ever had utensils unless it was absolutely necessary. But this—this was deliberate.

Something was wrong.

Her grip on the metal tightened, her pulse pounding against her ribs as her mind snapped the pieces into place.

The tie.

The fork.

The money increasing if players died outside the games.

The vote happening tomorrow.

Her fingers curled tighter, her knuckles going white.

Next to her, Young-il was staring, his posture deceptively relaxed—but his eyes? They told a different story.

He had been waiting for her to figure it out.

Her heartbeat thundered, but she kept her face unreadable, her expression locked in place. The others were still eating, still moving, still unaware.

She lifted her head slightly, voice controlled but razor-sharp.

"They're going to try to kill us tonight."

The words weren't loud, but they cut through the air like a blade.

And just like that—everything changed.

Jun-hee's hands stilled over her food. Dae-ho sucked in a sharp breath. Jung-bae stiffened.

Gi-hun didn't react with shock. Not like the others. Instead, he exhaled, slow and measured. Like he had already known. Like he had been expecting this.

"It was always going to happen," he murmured grimly.

The weight of it settled like lead in Rae-a's stomach.

She already knew what was coming—she could feel it in the air, taste it in the way people had been eyeing each other all day. The glances that lingered too long, the conversations that died the moment someone stepped too close. It had been a slow, creeping thing, but now the shift was complete. The vote hadn't just divided them. It had become the brink between life and death. And their life was plastered on a little badge across their right chest, in red or in blue.

Dae-ho looked between them, his voice hushed, urgent. "What do we do?"

Gi-hun leaned forward, lowering his voice. "We hide. Under the bunks, stay low, don't fight unless we have to. The guards will step in before it gets too out of control."

Jung-bae frowned. "What if they don't?"

"They will," Gi-hun said with certainty. "They don't want the vote completely ruined. It's leverage to keep us here. If it turns into a bloodbath too soon, they lose control."

Rae-a's jaw tightened.

Young-il raised an eyebrow, his usual smirk absent. His voice was almost amused—but there was an unmistakable edge beneath it.

"So you're willing to sacrifice players on our side," he said casually. No one caught the glint in his eye.

Gi-hun's expression didn't waver.

"These games need to end," he said, his voice flat.

Something flickered in Young-il's gaze. Agreement.

Rae-a caught it.

She scoffed. "And you think that's going to save the majority?"

Gi-hun looked at her.

Her voice sharpened. "You think if you let some of them die tonight, you're guaranteeing that more people will survive later? That's an overly idealistic view."

Gi-hun's gaze narrowed.

Rae-a leaned forward, locking eyes with him.

"People shouldn't be sacrificed on a whim," she said, voice dangerously low. "There's no way to know that letting them die will actually protect us. For all you know, you could be next. Betrayed by someone that acted like they would help."

A flicker of something—something sharp.

Gi-hun didn't like that.

There was a beat of silence. Rae-a could feel Young-il's stare, heavy and unwavering. He wasn't just watching her—he was studying her, dissecting every movement, every shift in her tone.

It was unsettling.

She couldn't read the expression on his face.

And that pissed her off even more.

Young-il looked at her seriously now, his posture still relaxed, but his gaze calculating.

It is important to make sure she doesn't convince Gi-hun to back out.

His plan was banking on it.

Rae-a was unpredictable—dangerous, in her own way. Not in the way the others were, the way they relied on brute force or numbers. No, her danger was more insidious.

She had a way of getting into people's heads. Planting doubt like a splinter beneath the skin, small at first, but impossible to ignore. And doubt? That was the last thing he needed right now.

"It is important to make sure we can make it out of here," he murmured.

She turned on him instantly.

"And you don't care at all?" she snapped. "That people are going to be slaughtered tonight?"

Young-il remained stone-faced. So did Gi-hun.

A pang struck deep in her chest.

They didn't see it. They didn't see that these were lives they were talking about. That these weren't just numbers, weren't just obstacles to be maneuvered.

They didn't care.

She scoffed, pushing away from them, anger curling tight in her chest. Without another word, she stalked off, retreating to her bunk, shoulders squared, jaw tight, her pulse hammering.

Young-il's gaze followed her.

His eyes narrowed just slightly, watching the way she moved, the way tension coiled in her posture. He wasn't surprised she had walked away. He had seen it coming from the moment she opened her mouth.

Because Rae-a wasn't like them.

She didn't look at this situation and see strategy—she saw people.

She saw lives.

She still believed—truly believed—that every life had weight. That it wasn't just survival. That letting people die for the supposed "greater good" wasn't just cold calculation. It was wrong.

And that fascinated him.

He wasn't like that.

Neither was Gi-hun.

They had never been like her.

Young-il had learned, long ago, that survival wasn't dictated by ideals. It was dictated by action. Sacrifices weren't tragedies. They were inevitabilities.

He saw the world through a different lens—a cruel one. One where survival was an equation. Risk, reward. Give, take. Some die, more live.

Gi-hun understood that, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

But Rae-a didn't.

She wasn't like him. She wasn't like Gi-hun.

She was different.

She wasn't heartless. Wasn't detached. Wasn't willing to let people go just to increase her own chances.

Even now, after everything, she still held onto that part of herself.

And it made Young-il smirk.

Because that was so damn typical of her.

So utterly, frustratingly Rae-a.

His gaze lingered on her, taking in the set of her shoulders, the way she gripped the edge of the bed like she needed something to ground herself, the way the fire in her eyes refused to dim.

She was too stubborn to break.

Too determined to let this place turn her into something she wasn't.

She was selfless.

And somehow, that made his chest tighten just a little.

That made him smirk.

That's my girl.

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Rae-a stormed up to the female toilets, irritation simmering just beneath the surface. Her patience had worn dangerously thin, and now, of all times, she had to deal with this. She raised her fist and knocked firmly on the circular window, expecting an immediate response. Nothing. Her jaw clenched as she hit it again, harder this time, the sharp sound echoing through the space. Still no answer.

A slow exhale left her lips as she scoffed in frustration. Of course. It figured that now, when she actually needed something, no one was around to listen.

She shifted her weight, glancing around the room as she considered her options. The pressure in her stomach wasn't going away, and standing here waiting for someone to acknowledge her wasn't going to get her anywhere. She wasn't about to humiliate herself just because the guards didn't feel like opening the damn door.

Her eyes flickered toward the men's toilets.

It wasn't ideal, but given the alternative, the choice was easy.

With a quiet breath, she turned on her heel and made her way across the room, moving quickly and deliberately before anyone could take notice. The door creaked slightly as she pushed it open, her gaze sweeping the space. Empty. Good.

She stepped inside, moving toward the row of cubicles, wasting no time slipping into one and locking the door behind her with a soft click. The moment she sat down, her muscles relaxed just slightly, the tension easing, if only for a moment.

And then—she heard it.

A rush of movement outside, the sharp shuffle of feet against the floor. Voices, low and edged with something dark.

Her body tensed.

Then a loud bang against the cubicle right next to hers.

She went rigid.

"You need to change your vote."

Her stomach twisted at the sound of the voice.

Thanos.

She remained perfectly still, her breath shallow as she listened.

Another voice joined him. Nam-gyu.

She could hear the shuffle of movement, the panicked breathing of someone trapped. Whoever was inside that stall wasn't getting out easily.

Then, another voice—firm, unwavering.

"You two need to back off. This isn't how this works."

Recognition hit instantly. Myung-gi. Player 333.

Rae-a felt something tighten in her chest. She had spoken to him before, had even defended him once. And now, he was doing the same for someone else, stepping in before things got worse.

A slow, condescending chuckle followed.

Thanos.

"You know," he drawled, his tone oozing smug amusement, "I've seen you hanging around a girl."

Rae-a frowned, her mind already working ahead, trying to anticipate where this was going.

"She looks a little pregnant."

Her stomach turned at the casual way he said it, like it was some kind of joke.

Jun-hee.

She immediately paid attention.

Silence.

Myung-gi didn't answer.

And that silence was all she needed.

The pieces clicked into place with startling clarity. His protectiveness, his refusal to leave Jun-hee's side, the way he always put himself between her and trouble. It wasn't just coincidence.

Was he—?

A sharp inhale, followed by the shuffle of feet. The tension outside thickened, pressing against the walls, heavy and suffocating.

This wasn't just an argument anymore.

This was the start of something worse.

She swallowed hard, a sinking realization settling in.

She was in the middle of it.

And no one knew she was here.

Slowly, carefully, she shifted forward, just enough to peek through the small gap in the door.

Her breath caught in her throat.

The bathroom was packed. At least thirty men, every single one of them on edge.

Her pulse quickened, a cold weight settling in her gut.

If she stepped out now, she'd be seen immediately.

And she knew exactly what would happen.

A room full of tense, angry men, moments away from turning on each other—she would be an instant target. No question.

She wasn't stupid.

She had no weapons. No backup. No way out.

Not yet.

Her hands were steady as she reached for the lock, turning it as quietly as possible. The soft click sounded deafening in the thick silence. Then, with careful precision, she lifted her feet onto the toilet seat, pressing herself against the walls of the cubicle, making herself as small as possible.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, but she forced herself to remain still.

She didn't breathe.

Didn't move.

She could only sit hidden away, as the storm outside began to break.

Rae-a's breath stilled as she listened to the raucous noise spilling through the thin walls. The sound of bodies colliding with the metal walls, the slaps of skin against skin, and the desperate grunts of exertion painted a vivid image in her mind. A bone-crushing thud followed by a harsh gasp echoed, followed by the unmistakable sound of someone being thrown against the porcelain toilet. The walls shuddered under the impact, the stench of sweat and blood growing more oppressive with each passing second.

A scream pierced the air, raw and desperate, mingling with the deep, guttural growl of a man who had likely caught his victim in a chokehold. The muffled smack of shoes against the tiles was followed by the sickening sound of something snapping—a bone or cartilage, it didn't matter, it was broken either way.

Her body tensed involuntarily as she imagined the chaos unfolding just outside her cubicle, her fight or flight mode activated. She could hear the scrambling of shoes as players dodged and attacked, some desperately trying to escape, others lashing out at whoever was nearest. The sound of flesh meeting flesh echoed again, followed by a grunt of pain that rang through her chest. 

A guttural groan cut through the chaos, low and pained. Something was different about this sound—it wasn't just another grunt from a punch or the wheeze of someone getting the wind knocked out of them. It was deeper, rawer. A sound that sent ice creeping up her spine.

Cautiously, she shifted forward, lowering herself onto her knees to peek through the narrow gap at the bottom of the stall. Her breath hitched.

Thanos was on the floor.

Blood pooled beneath his neck, dark and spreading fast. The glint of a hole under his chin.

And next to him—

Myung-gi.

His hands trembled, coated in blood, his whole body shaking as he stared at what he had done. He was panicking, his breaths coming too fast, too shallow, too desperate.

Rae-a cursed under her breath.

There was no time to hesitate. Myung-gi wasn't thinking, wasn't moving—he was too caught in the horror of it. If he stayed out there any longer, he was as good as dead.

With one swift movement, Rae-a unlatched the door and pulled him in, shoving the door closed behind them just as the chaos reached its peak.

Myung-gi flinched violently at the sudden contact, his breath ragged as he struggled to fight against her grip. She pressed a firm hand over his mouth before he could make a sound.

"Breathe," she ordered, her voice steady despite the adrenaline roaring through her veins.

His wide, terrified eyes locked onto hers. For a moment, he fought against her hold, but recognition flickered in his gaze—Jun-hee's friend. The one who had stepped in before, the one who had defended him. Slowly, he stopped struggling.

Rae-a let go, crouching beside him. "You need to pull yourself together," she murmured, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Now is not the time to break down."

Myung-gi's chest rose and fell erratically, his entire body still trembling. His hands, sticky with blood, twitched at his sides. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, struggling to process what had just happened. In his hand a shaking blood-stained fork.

Rae-a exhaled sharply. "You did what you had to," she said, voice low but firm. "Now you need to focus. Jun-hee needs you."

That got through to him. His breath stuttered, his fingers twitching again, but his eyes steadied just slightly. She could see it—the shift in his mind, the realization that he had to survive for more than just himself.

The chaos outside didn't let up, but suddenly, a sharp, mechanical noise cut through the brawl. A single, piercing alarm.

The guards had arrived.

Instantly, the bathroom fell into silence.

Heavy boots stormed into the space, the familiar, cold authority of the guards taking control. The room, once a storm of violence, was now eerily still, players frozen in place, waiting to see who would be punished.

One of the guards moved toward their stall. Rae-a held her breath as the metal door rattled under the force of a single knock.

Slowly, she raised her hands and pushed the door open, keeping her movements calm. The guard's blank mask stared down at her before his gaze flickered to Myung-gi, still slumped against the wall, his hands stained red.

For a tense second, she thought they would shoot.

But then, the announcement came.

"Five players eliminated."

The words settled over the room like a suffocating fog.

The guards stepped back, motioning for everyone to clear out.

Rae-a glanced at Myung-gi and gave his shoulder a firm pat. "Go find Jun-hee," she said. "Now."

He hesitated for only a second before nodding, his movements slow and dazed as he stumbled out of the bathroom, disappearing into the flood of shaken players.

Rae-a exhaled, running a hand over her face before stepping into the open herself.

The moment she emerged, Dae-ho, Jung-bae, and Gi-hun rushed toward her, even Young-il their expressions a mix of confusion and disbelief.

"How the hell did you get involved in that?" Dae-ho demanded. "That was the men's bathroom!"

Jung-bae's eyes were wide with something bordering on horror. "Rae-a, you—"

"I know." She sighed, rubbing at her temple. "Don't ask."

A few steps away, another set of eyes were watching her—silent, sharp, unreadable.

Young-il.

He was standing just a little apart from the others, arms crossed over his chest, his face carefully impassive. But his eyes—

His eyes were scanning her, searching for any sign of injury. His jaw was tight, his fingers twitching slightly against his arm, like he was forcing himself to stay still.

He was pissed.

She wasn't supposed to be in there. She wasn't supposed to get caught in situations like this. And yet, somehow, she always managed to throw herself right into the worst possible circumstances.

Rae-a's gaze met his firmly. His lips pressed into a thin line before he finally looked away.

She didn't know how to feel about that.

He didn't get to act indifferent most of the time, only to suddenly care when things went sideways. It was confusing. Frustrating.

Her lip twitched slightly as she let out a breath. "Guess I'm just unlucky."