The Light That Binds Us-Hwang Inho

Rae-a was the first to wake up. The dim, artificial lighting in the dorms revealed rows of bunks filled with restless or exhausted players. Her sharp eyes immediately found Player 001—Young-il. He sat cross-legged on his cot, staring ahead with an unreadable expression. Last night, he had introduced himself, claiming he was here to win money to save his wife, who was in the hospital. Something about him didn't sit right with Rae-a. Her instincts, honed by years of survival, urged her to keep her distance.

Still, she couldn't entirely shake the sliver of sympathy his story elicited. For a moment, she thought about the child she had cared for, the one stolen from her by the same loan sharks who had dragged her into this nightmare. If the child had lived, would Rae-a have ended up like Young-il, desperate to protect someone she loved? She pushed the thought aside. There was no room for sentiment here.

Her musings were interrupted by raised voices across the room. Thanos—a burly man with a shaved head—and Nam-gyu, Player 124, were harassing another player. They had cornered Myung-gi, sneering and pushing him around. The other players watched on in silence.

"You scammed us!" Nam-gyu spat, jabbing a finger into Myung-gi's chest. "You promised we'd get rich, and now we're stuck in this hellhole!"

"I didn't force you to invest," Myung-gi replied weakly, his voice trembling. "You made that choice yourselves."

Thanos shoved him hard, and Myung-gi stumbled. "You owe us!" he growled.

Rae-a stood, her movements calm but deliberate. As she approached the scene, her cold, sharp voice cut through the tension. "Back off."

The men turned to her, surprised by the interruption. Thanos smirked. "And what's this little girl going to do about it?"

"It's your own fault for falling for a scam," Rae-a said, her tone steady and biting. "If you were dumb enough to gamble on crypto, that's on you. Myung-gi didn't put a gun to your head."

The room went silent. Rae-a's words stung, and Nam-gyu's face turned red with humiliation. "You don't know what you're talking about," he snarled. "Stay out of this."

"Clearly, neither do you," Rae-a retorted. "That's why you're here, isn't it?"

Nam-gyu lunged at her, his fist raised. Rae-a sidestepped effortlessly, and he nearly lost his balance. Her lip twitched in disdain, but before she could react further, Young-il stepped in. He grabbed Nam-gyu's arm and twisted it behind his back with startling ease. Nam-gyu cried out in pain.

"That's no way to treat a lady," Young-il said coolly, his voice dripping with mock politeness.

Rae-a watched, momentarily caught off guard by Young-il's intervention. His movements were precise, every action calculated and deliberate. There was no hesitation, no wasted energy—only the kind of efficiency that spoke of experience, of someone who had fought battles before. It set her on edge. Her mistrust deepened as she replayed the scene in her mind. He had intervened so smoothly, as if he had anticipated every move before it happened. Who exactly was this man?

As the altercation ended and the group dispersed, Dae-ho, Jungbae, and Gi-hun turned to Young-il and Rae-a, their faces a mix of awe and admiration.

"Man, that was something else!" Dae-ho exclaimed, clapping Young-il on the shoulder. "I mean, you just—bam! And Rae-a, you didn't even flinch! Totally fearless."

Jungbae nodded, his nervous energy momentarily replaced by admiration. "Yeah, you really stood up to them. I wouldn't have had the guts."

Gi-hun chuckled. "With you two, we might actually stand a chance in these games."

Rae-a gave a tight nod but avoided basking in their praise. Her focus shifted back to Young-il, who stood calm and unreadable.

She stepped closer to him, her expression neutral. "You didn't need to get involved," she said tersely, deliberately avoiding the word "thanks." "I had it under control."

Young-il raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a faint smirk. "Girls shouldn't be targeted," he said, his tone laced with condescension. "And from where I stood, it didn't look like you had things under control."

Rae-a's eyes narrowed slightly, but she kept her composure. Inside, her mind was racing. His movements earlier had been so precise, so calculated. She hummed in response, a noncommittal sound that masked her growing mistrust. While she resolved to keep her distance from Young-il, she couldn't shake the feeling that his actions had been more than they seemed.

She realized it was better to avoid drawing attention. If anyone suspected her background in underground fighting, it could lead to questions she wasn't prepared to answer.

Later, Rae-a found Hyun-ju sitting on a bench, looking lost in thought. As Rae-a approached, Hyun-ju's face brightened. "That was incredible, Rae-a. Standing up to those guys like that?" Hyun-ju shook her head in admiration. "Most people here wouldn't risk it."

"It wasn't a risk," Rae-a replied coolly. "It was common sense. Letting them push him around would have just made things worse."

Hyun-ju tilted her head. "Still, it takes guts. Not everyone has that here." She hesitated for a moment before adding, "But be careful. People are already starting to notice you, especially after how you defended me too."

Rae-a gave a slight nod, not committing to an answer.

Hyun-ju gestured to a small group nearby. "Come on, I want you to meet some people." She introduced Rae-a to three other players: 007, 149, and 222. Rae-a quickly hit it off with 222, Jun-hee, a kind soft-spoken pregnant girl who wished to earn money to raise her child. Admirable.

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Rae-a moved through the hallway with the purposeful stride of someone who knew exactly where they were headed. The walls were cold, the concrete floor unforgiving beneath her boots, but none of it mattered. There was no room for hesitation, no space for uncertainty. The muffled voices and hurried steps of the other players faded into the background as she focused on the task ahead. Her mind was already calculating, processing the environment, analyzing the subtle shifts of the people around her.

She didn't need to know where the exits were this time. This was a game, and the stakes were clear: survive, or die trying.

The air was thick with tension. It pressed against her chest like a weight, but Rae-a welcomed it. She was no stranger to pressure. She thrived under it. Every game had its rules, and as long as you understood those rules, you could control the outcome. And control was exactly what Rae-a intended to keep. She wasn't here to make friends or to blindly trust anyone. She was here to win.

The loudspeaker crackled, breaking the silence and slicing through her thoughts. The words were sharp, direct, like a blade cutting through flesh.

"The next game is the Six-Legged Pentathlon," the voice echoed, its volume almost deafening in the quiet space. "Players must form teams of five. You have five minutes."

Rae-a's eyes flicked over her alliancw. Dae-ho was already excitedly chattering to anyone who would listen, bouncing on his heels like a child in a candy store. Jungbae was fidgeting beside him, his hands twisted nervously around his shirt. Gi-hun stood a little further back, his expression calm, almost detached. But Rae-a didn't allow herself to be distracted by their nerves.

Her mind was already working, assessing. Five minutes. She had to make a choice. She knew better than to let hesitation cloud her judgment. She walked around as she scanned the other players—those who had already gathered in teams and those who looked as though they were still weighing their options. Some were too eager, others too passive. In a game like this, neither were assets.

It was then that she saw him.

Young-il.

His eyes locked onto hers from across the room, and for a split second, Rae-a felt a flicker of something—a recognition, maybe, or just an acknowledgment of the tension that always seemed to swirl around him. She didn't flinch, didn't react, but something inside her stirred. She was well aware of the weight of his presence. He wasn't like the others. His calm exterior was unsettling, and the way he moved—effortlessly, with purpose—told her everything she needed to know. He wasn't just another player. He was someone who understood this game as well as she did, and that made him dangerous.

She turned away quickly, forcing herself to focus on finding her own team, but before she could take another step, he was beside her.

"Avoiding us?" Young-il's voice was low, too smooth to be anything but calculated.

Rae-a didn't even look at him. She kept her gaze ahead, her face a perfect mask of indifference. "Coincidence," she replied, her tone flat, no emotion betraying her words.

He didn't take offense. Instead, his lips curled into a slight smirk, the kind of smile that made Rae-a's skin prickle. "We're one short," he said, almost as if it were an inevitability. "Join us."

Rae-a's thoughts flickered for a moment. There was no hesitation. She wasn't one to ignore her instincts, but this wasn't about emotions or gut reactions. The team needed another player, and Young-il's group was as good a choice as any. For now.

She nodded curtly, the gesture almost imperceptible, and followed him to where his team had gathered. The group consisted of a mix of personalities—Dae-ho, the lanky man with a carefree attitude; Jungbae, the nervous one who couldn't seem to sit still; and Gi-hun, who still carried that odd calmness in the midst of chaos. Rae-a assessed them all in a single sweep, calculating. They would need to work together, and she could work with them—if they kept their heads.

Dae-ho immediately greeted her with too much enthusiasm, his grin wide and unrelenting. "Hey, glad you're joining! We're gonna crush this, right?"

Rae-a's response was a curt nod, her expression unchanged. "Focus on surviving," she said, her voice cool but firm. "Nothing else matters."

Dae-ho didn't seem to notice the chill in her words, still grinning like an idiot. Jungbae, on the other hand, seemed to shrink under her gaze, his hands trembling slightly as he nervously shuffled from foot to foot.

"Uh, thanks for joining," Jungbae muttered, his voice barely audible. "I—I hope we can do this."

Rae-a said nothing, only acknowledged him with a sharp glance before moving her focus to Gi-hun. He stood off to the side, observing, his expression unreadable but steady. There was something about him—something that set him apart from the others, the desire to destroy this game. Rae-a found herself relating to him. His calm demeanor in the face of all this chaos wasn't something Rae-a often encountered, yet it felt so different to Young-il's calmness. 

The announcement over the loudspeaker cut through her thoughts again, detailing the rules of the game. Each team had to participate in five different games, one per player. The games were simple, almost childishly so, but that was the cruelest part of it. The simplicity masked the danger.

"The Six-Legged Pentathlon consists of five individual games: Ddakji, Flying Stone, Gonggi, Spinning Top, and Jegi," the voice crackled, its tone mechanical and detached. "Each player must participate in one game. The team that finishes first wins. Failure results in elimination."

Rae-a wasn't fazed. She had been through worse. In fact, the simplicity of the games made them easier to navigate. It was a test of nerves, of control, of calculation. The rules were clear, and the consequences were too.

A murmur of unease rippled through the players as they took in the announcement. 

Several groups had already failed as the games progressed, a stark reminder of the brutal nature of this place. The sense of unease spread like a virus, making everyone just a little more tense, more aware of the consequences.

Young-il's voice broke through the rising tension as he turned to Jungbae, his tone casual but pointed. "You know, if you mess up in Flying Stone, it could waste a lot of time."

Jungbae's face paled further, and Rae-a's eyes narrowed at the slight. She didn't appreciate Young-il adding to Jungbae's nerves. He was already on edge, and this only made it worse. Her gaze flicked over to Young-il, who seemed unfazed, but something about the way he looked at her made her mouth tighten in annoyance.

"Failing Spinning Top would take up even more time," Rae-a responded coolly, her voice tinged with a sharpness that made Young-il pause for a moment. His eyes narrowed, the playful edge to his demeanor gone as he studied her with a flicker of something unreadable.

Before the tension could escalate further, the loudspeaker crackled again, signaling the start of the games. The sound of footsteps filled the air as teams gathered to prepare.

Hyun-ju's team had just finished, and Rae-a couldn't help but feel a momentary flicker of relief when they succeeded. She smiled for the first time, a small curve of her lips that only lasted for a moment, but Young-il noticed it.

The team gathered, each of them taking their positions.

As they were expected to link arms, Rae-a hesitated. She did not like physical contact, and the thought of linking arms with both Young-il and Jungbae made her feel uncomfortable. She was already wary of Young-il's unpredictable presence, and though she didn't show it, she wasn't sure she could trust him just yet.

Young-il caught her hesitation and gave her a look, one that lingered just a moment too long. She quickly moved past it, linking arms with the others, her body stiffening for the briefest second as she adjusted.

The game was on.

Dae-ho stepped forward first, his hands already shaking as he prepared for Ddakji. His nervous energy was contagious, and it radiated off of him as he tried to flip the tile. It took a few tries, but he succeeded, and their team let out a collective cheer. Rae-a barely registered the noise. One game down. Four to go.

Jungbae was up next with Flying Stone. His nervousness was palpable, his hands visibly trembling as he prepared to throw. Rae-a's eyes flickered toward him, and she squeezed his arm encouragingly while giving him a small smile and nod. He had to perform on his own. She couldn't carry him, but she could encourage him. When he managed to land the stone on the mark, there was a moment of relief—brief, fleeting—but it didn't last. The tension was still thick in the air.

It was Rae-a's turn now, and she stepped forward with a quiet confidence. Gonggi. A game of quick reflexes and precision. She could do this. She would do this.

She knelt, steadying herself as she focused entirely on the task at hand. The small plastic pieces clicked softly in her fingers as she picked them up with ease. Every move was deliberate, smooth. There was no hesitation, no doubt. In seconds, she completed the game, her sharp eyes scanning her opponents. They were watching her in awe, but Rae-a didn't acknowledge them. She stood, straightening her posture, and moved on.

Young-il was up next with Spinning Top. The moment he stepped forward, the team fell silent. There was something unsettling about his composure, the way he held himself. His first throw was a failure. The top spun for a moment before wobbling off course and falling to the floor. The team murmured among themselves, a quiet stir of uncertainty passing through them. But Young-il didn't flinch. He picked the top up, adjusting his grip.

The others believed they could succeed every game on the first try, but when Young-il's throw failed, everyone's attention snapped to the clock. The murmurs of unease began, but Young-il remained eerily calm, shrugging off his failure with barely a glance. They walked forward to retrieve the spinning top, and he tried again, throwing it backwards this time.

Everyone held their breath.

Rae-a gave him a look, but there was no time for words. As the top hit the ground and spun with precision, Young-il slapped himself in frustration. "What is wrong with me?" he shouted, his voice rough with irritation, before slapping himself again, harder this time.

Everyone jumped in shock, startled by his outburst, but Rae-a instinctively leaned back away from him.

As Young-il steadied himself for the second throw of the spinning top, Rae-a's gaze remained fixed, but something in the air shifted. The failure of the first throw had barely caused a ripple of doubt in her. She had already moved past it, calculating the next steps, but this time—this time, something felt different.

When he picked up the top again, it was as if the air around him had thickened. Her mind briefly stuttered, a flicker of confusion threading through her thoughts.

Then he did it.

He switched the top to his left hand.

For a split second, Rae-a's entire world seemed to freeze. Her breath hitched, and her heartbeat stuttered in her chest. Her eyes locked onto the fluid motion of his fingers curling around the top, the effortless way he adjusted his grip.

Her mind refused to accept what her eyes were seeing. Hadn't he used his right hand the first time? The realization hit her with the force of a sudden blow.

He used his right hand. He always used his right hand.

Her body tensed, and her thoughts scrambled to make sense of what was happening. Why the left hand?

It wasn't just the switch—it was the ease with which he moved, the perfect synchronization, the precision. It was too smooth, too deliberate. Too practiced.

The air felt thick with tension as Rae-a's mind raced, but she didn't allow any of it to show. She didn't let herself blink. She didn't move. She didn't even breathe for a fraction of a second.

This wasn't a mistake.

Her thoughts reeled, but she managed to keep her face impassive, her posture unchanged. Her eyes barely flickered, but her mind? Her mind was already calculating the implications, already narrowing the possibilities. 

She kept the suspicion in check, not letting it show. Everyone else was cheering, but Rae-a remained frozen, her mind still processing what she had just seen.

As Gi-hun finished the final game, his kick sending the shuttlecock soaring with effortless precision, the team erupted into cheers. The relief was palpable, the weight of the competition lifting from their shoulders. Dae-ho's excited whoops echoed through the room, and even Jungbae let out a shaky laugh, his anxiety dissipating, at least for the moment. But Rae-a stood still, her gaze steady, her mind far from the celebrations.

Her hand had been linked with Young-il's and Jungbae's throughout the entire series of games, the contact unavoidable. But now, as the last game ended and their team's victory seemed assured, the noise of victory felt distant, hollow. Her heart was still pounding, not from the rush of triumph, but from the sharp suspicion that had been plaguing her.

Rae-a's fingers tightened for just a second before she quickly withdrew her hand from both Young-il and Jungbae. The motion was swift, controlled, but the brief hesitation lingered.

No one seemed to notice the quiet tension in the air. Dae-ho was still jumping up and down, excited, and Jungbae's anxious energy had transformed into quiet relief. But Young-il... His gaze was fixed on her, eyes narrowed, a knowing look that said it all.

He knew.

Rae-a felt a shiver run down her spine, but she kept her face neutral, her emotions buried. She didn't flinch, didn't allow herself to react. But the moment was there, in the quiet space between them, unspoken and undeniable. His eyes didn't leave hers for a beat too long, and it was then that Rae-a realized just how closely he had been watching her.

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Authors note!! 

I am thinking off adding in a new game maybe before or after mingle, to really add some more tension and perhaps a softer moment with Young-il. Any thoughts?