The Light That Binds Us-Hwang Inho

As Rae-a, Jungbae, Young-il, Gi-hun, and Dae-ho stepped back into the dormitory after their victory in the Six-Legged Pentathlon, an eerie silence greeted them. The other players barely spared them a glance. No cheers, no nods of acknowledgment—just a quiet, unspoken resentment that lingered in the air like a storm waiting to break.
Young-il let out a dry chuckle, the corner of his mouth twitching into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Not much of a welcome party, huh?"
Rae-a crossed her arms, scanning the room. The golden piggy bank hanging above them was heavier now, stuffed with the winnings from the day's casualties. The silence wasn't just exhaustion; it was disappointment. The more players who survived, the less money there was to win. Their success had come at the cost of someone else's fortune. Her voice was quiet when she finally spoke. "They seem more like competitors every day."
Her tone wasn't accusatory, just observant. Still, she hesitated slightly as she said it. Her mind was still replaying Young-il's movements in the game, the way he had switched hands without a second thought. It wasn't the action itself that unsettled her—it was the ease, the precision, like it was second nature to him.
Young-il's gaze flickered in her direction, noting the slight stiffness in her shoulders, the way her arms remained folded a little too tightly. She was cautious—guarded in a way that didn't quite match the casual exhaustion of the others. He studied her for a moment, as if weighing his options, then took a slow step closer, towering over her slightly.
"Come with me for a second," he said, his voice low, almost testing.
She didn't move. "Why?"
"Because I know you think I'm hiding something."
Rae-a's expression didn't change, her eyes still locked forward. "Aren't you?"
A pause stretched between them. Rae-a finally turned her head slightly still fixed on him, just enough to catch the way Young-il was watching her, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, his lips quirked into a smirk.
"You know, if you keep staring at me like that, I might start thinking you like me."
Rae-a didn't blink. "I was considering whether I should start watching your left hand more closely from now on."
Young-il's smirk widened slightly, amusement flashing in his eyes. "I'm ambidextrous. Left hand's better for balance."
Rae-a finally turned to look at him fully, her tone neutral. "Is that supposed to explain everything?"
Young-il chuckled, tilting his head slightly. "You say that like I planned it just to mess with you."
Rae-a shrugged. "Wouldn't put it past you."
He laughed at that, a genuine sound that contrasted the tension in the air. "If I were scheming, I'd be a little more creative than switching hands mid-game."
Rae-a said nothing, but for the briefest moment, the corner of her lips twitched—so subtle, so fleeting, it could have been imagined. But Young-il didn't imagine things like that. His eyes sharpened slightly, catching the minute shift in her expression, the way the tension in her features loosened for just a breath. It wasn't quite a smile, but it was close enough. His smirk turned triumphant, not because he had won anything tangible, but because he had caught something rare—a crack in her otherwise unshakable exterior. And for some reason, that felt like a victory all on its own.
"Was that almost a smile?"
"No."
He grinned, nudging her arm lightly as they walked. "You sure? Looked like one."
Rae-a exhaled slowly, giving him an unimpressed glance. "You talk too much."
Young-il shrugged, unfazed. "And you're fun to mess with."
For a moment, there was silence. Not the heavy, suffocating kind that clung to the games, but something lighter. Fleeting. Then Young-il gave her a sidelong glance.
"You really were good back there, though."
Rae-a didn't respond right away, her gaze forward, unreadable. "It was just a game."
Young-il let out a soft chuckle. "Right. Just a game."
He didn't push further, letting the words hang between them. As they followed the rest of the group, Rae-a wondered why his presence wasn't as irritating as it should be. It was almost enjoyable.
Rae-a later found Hyun-ju, who was laughing with her group—007, 149, 222, and a newer member. The sight brought an unexpected sense of relief. These were people she barely knew, yet somehow, their survival felt like a small victory of its own.
"I'm glad you made it," she said quietly.
149 glanced at her, then smirked. "You sound surprised."
Rae-a shook her head. "Not surprised. Just... glad."
149 waved her off. "Well, if we get out of this, you're welcome to join us for the biggest meal of our lives. I plan on eating enough to make up for all of this shit."
Rae-a hesitated, then nodded. "I'll keep that in mind."
She wasn't sure why that small exchange settled something in her. Maybe it was because she had never really had the chance to explore connections like this before. She had spent so much of her life fighting to survive that companionship had always seemed like a liability. But here, in this nightmare, it felt... different.
As she rejoined Gi-hun and the others, she sat at the back with him, the weight of the upcoming vote pressing on her mind. "How do you think it'll go?"
Gi-hun was quiet for a moment before answering. "A lot of people will stay."
Rae-a exhaled through her nose. She had expected that answer, but hearing it confirmed her unease.
Moments later, the guards entered the room, their presence commanding silence. "Congratulations on your success in today's game."
As if on cue, the golden piggy bank above them released a cascade of cash, adding to the total sum. Rae-a's stomach twisted. It wasn't a reward—it was a reminder. The more money that dropped, the more people had died for it.
Young-il took the first step toward the voting panel. With no hesitation, he pressed X to leave the games. As he turned, his gaze met Gi-hun's and then Rae-a's. There was no surprise in his expression—only quiet certainty. Rae-a followed suit, pressing X.
But then, Hyun-ju stepped forward and pressed O to continue. Rae-a's lips parted slightly in shock. She hadn't expected that. She hadn't expected Hyun-ju to make that choice. And when the final votes were counted, it was clear—X had lost. The games would continue.
Jungbae had voted O.
"Disappointing," Rae-a muttered, more to herself than anyone else.
Young-il and Gi-hun both nodded in agreement, though neither said anything outright. Despite the weight of it all, they still sat together for dinner. The conversation drifted, turning into a lighter discussion about their dislikes.
Dae-ho wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "Cats creep me out. Something about the way they stare at you—too calculating."
Gi-hun made a face, setting his utensils down. "Sour foods. Can't stand them. I don't get how people enjoy eating something that feels like an attack on your tongue."
Jungbae scoffed. "The sound of chewing. Especially when it's loud. It drives me insane."
Young-il leaned back, his smirk deepening as he crossed his arms. "Slow walkers. More than anything." He let the words hang for a moment, as if expecting someone to challenge him. "There's nothing worse than getting stuck behind someone who moves like they have nowhere to be. It's infuriating." His gaze flickered toward Rae-a, as if waiting to gauge her reaction, to which he concluded she was amused.
"What about you?"
She hesitated. For a second, she considered brushing it off. But then she exhaled. "I don't like water."
There was a pause. The group exchanged glances, but Young-il held her gaze for a moment longer, something unreadable in his expression.
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As night fell, Gi-hun suggested they take turns sleeping. "People might turn on each other," he said.
Young-il scoffed. "You're overthinking it."
"He's not wrong," Rae-a interjected. "This is a competition. More money means fewer people."
Dae-ho, Gi-hun, Jungbae, and Young-il all insisted that she should get rest first, their reasoning rooted in some outdated notion of protecting her. Rae-a let out a sharp scoff, crossing her arms as she leaned back against the metal frame of the bunk. "I don't sleep properly anyway," she said, her tone dismissive but firm.
Young-il's gaze lingered on her for a moment longer than necessary. Something about the way she said it made him wonder. Was it a simple statement, or something more? A habit formed out of necessity? He tilted his head slightly, studying her expression, but Rae-a didn't offer any further explanation.
"I'll stay up with you," he said finally, his voice casual but unwavering.
The others, seeing no point in arguing, eventually relented.
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As the room settled into an uneasy silence, Young-il leaned back beside her, his arms crossed. He still wasn't sure if she was deflecting or if she truly didn't know how to let others take care of her. Either way, something about it didn't sit right with him.
Young-il's gaze flickered toward Rae-a, thoughtful. He let a beat of silence pass before speaking, his tone casual but laced with something more inquisitive. "You know, for someone as composed as you are, it's interesting that water unsettles you."
Rae-a's gaze lingered on the floor for a moment, her fingers curling slightly against the fabric of her sleeve. When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter, more measured. "It's not that I can't swim." A pause, as if testing the weight of her next words before letting them slip free. "I just don't have many good memories with it." Her tone was even, but something about the way she said it suggested there was more beneath the surface—something she wasn't ready to put into words just yet.
Young-il didn't press. He simply gave a slow nod, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before shifting back to the room. There was something about Rae-a that made him curious—not just because of the missing demographics in the files, but because she was different from the others. She wasn't desperate like some, nor reckless like others. She was measured, detached even, but there was a depth to her he couldn't quite place.
The quiet between them wasn't uncomfortable—it was steady, almost grounding. Rae-a found herself less irritated by his presence than she expected to be. Maybe she had judged him too quickly, assuming that his arrogance and ability to get under her skin made him untrustworthy. But in this moment, with both of them quietly scanning the room, she wasn't so sure.
The weight of the night pressed in, but in that moment, it didn't feel so suffocating.