Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Sang-woo-ya, Sae-ah,” Gi-hun wasted no time pulling both of them into a desperate hug, his arms draped over their shoulders.

Sae-byeok quickly reciprocated the embrace. However, she pulled away just as fast, her sharp gaze raking over Gi-hun. “Are you hurt? Did the motherfucker touch you? Slap you? Tell me what he did.” she demanded, her hands moving over his arms, shoulders, and face, checking for any injuries.

Sang-woo didn’t release his grip on Gi-hun’s waist. His eyes flickered elsewhere as Sae-byeok’s questions confirmed his suspicions. “So that’s him, huh?”

The three of them turned to look at the recruiter, slumped in the chair, his lifeless body propped awkwardly against the backrest. A gun hung limply from his cold hand, his fingers still loosely curled around the grip. His eyes were wide open, as if he might move at any moment.

Sae-byeok clenched her fists, “That fucking...” she hissed through gritted teeth. “He’s already dead? I didn’t even get the chance to stomp his damn face in.”

Gi-hun let out a shaky breath. “He... He played Russian Roulette with me and... lost,” he said, still sounding as if he couldn't believe it.

Sang-woo’s jaw tightened, his hand instinctively pressing against Gi-hun’s waist for reassurance. A 50/50 chance. A game with no skill, no strategy—only luck—he hated games like that with a passion. The thought of Gi-hun pulling the trigger on a loaded chamber made his stomach churn. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—imagine it.

He could sense the omega’s distress. Gi-hun was scared—his hands were still trembling.

Sae-byeok seemed to notice it too. Her sharp eyes softened as she turned her focus away from the recruiter’s body. Gently, but firmly, she reached for Gi-hun’s hands, “You’re in distress,” she said, not as a question but a statement.

Gi-hun shook his head stubbornly. “N-No, I’m fine—”

“He’s not,” Sang-woo interrupted with a sigh. He stood over the recruiter’s body and added, “Calm him down, Byeok-ah.”

Without hesitation, Sae-byeok nodded. Her grip on Gi-hun’s hands tightened, grounding him as she led him away from the grim scene. “Come on,” she murmured. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Gi-hun let himself be guided away, his steps unsteady but obedient. Sang-woo stayed behind for a moment longer, his eyes fixed on the recruiter’s body.

It’s been three years since they escaped that wretched place, successfully leaving with 45.6 billion won. After witnessing each other’s struggles, they couldn’t help but stick together. They used half of the money to support their families, while the rest was spent on Gi-hun’s request: to take down the games.

The three of them are living together now, witnessing each other change. Sae-byeok became stronger, Sang-woo became even smarter, while Gi-hun grew more serious. He still smiles and laughs when he’s with them, but his priorities are straight this time.

Sae-byeok’s brother is now living with Sang-woo’s mother. Sae-byeok and Sang-woo knew they couldn’t afford to be reckless, especially when what they were targeting was bigger than any of them. They all knew what kind of monsters ran the game. They understood the extent of their reach, the depths of their cruelty, and the lengths they would go to in order to silence or punish those who defied them. And they were planning to do just that: defy them, dismantle them, and destroy everything they had built.

Over the years, Gi-hun, as a lone Omega, imprinted on Sae-byeok. Even before imprinting her, he had always treated the Alpha as if she were his daughter. Sae-byeok wasn’t opposed to it. She cares for the Omega as much as the Omega cares for her.

Sae-byeok, now more attuned to Gi-hun’s emotions and needs, has taken on the responsibility of calming him when he becomes overwhelmed. Gi-hun’s anxiety and stress from their shared trauma can sometimes get the better of him, but Sae-byeok knows exactly how to soothe him. Only she can calm him down when the nightmares or memories become too much. Only she can do it. They enjoy each other's scents and even sleep next to each other.

Of course, Sang-woo, being the older Alpha, is responsible for taking care of the two. There have been many times when people have mistaken them for a family while eating out, but none of them deny it. They truly are a found family, even if they’re not blood-related.

He heard the faint squeak of a shoe.

Sang-woo reached into his pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and took one out. He lit it with a flick of his lighter, letting the smoke curl out slowly as he exhaled.

“You gonna stay hidden, or should I drag you out there myself?” Sang-woo asked.

It’s been days since then, and they’ve been busy gathering a team to take down the people behind Squid Game. It’s been a huge help that Hwang Jun-ho, the police officer who trespassed their hotel, is now helping them track down those responsible.

To achieve their goal, sacrifices are necessary. So, they joined the game. Again.

When Sang-woo woke up, he found himself in the same dormitory where it had all started. The long rows of metal bunk beds were just as he remembered, but they felt even colder now. This wasn’t just a room—it was a place of death. This was where people used to kill each other every night.

He surveyed the place and the new faces. He needed Hwang Jun-ho and the others to track this island and rescue everyone before it was too late.

All of the players were gathered in the middle, and the huge room echoed with their concerns and questions.

“Player 218 still, huh?” Sae-byeok came into view, with Gi-hun following behind her. “Brings back memories I don’t even want to remember,” she joked.

Sang-woo winced. “If I hadn’t done that, we wouldn’t be here.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, just playing with you, old man,” Sae-byeok smirked.

“Sang-woo-ya,” Gi-hun suddenly hugged him tightly, his face burying into Sang-woo’s neck. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he murmured, his voice soft and full of relief.

Sang-woo ran a hand over Gi-hun’s back, gently patting him. “I’m fine, hyung.”

Everything was calm for a second—well, until Sae-byeok remembered she was still there.

She cleared her throat loudly. “That’s enough. Stop hugging him so much, you old fuck,” she said, glaring at Sang-woo.

Gi-hun and Sang-woo chuckled lightly and pulled away. “He’s the one who hugged me, tell him that,” Sang-woo shot back.

Sae-byeok sniffed Gi-hun and grimaced. “What the fuck? Now your scent is all over him.”

Sang-woo raised an eyebrow, “Is there an issue here?”

“You bet your ass there is,” Sae-byeok growled. “He should only smell like me. I can’t even smell Gi-hun’s own scent, you shitty geezer.”

Ah, baby Alphas like Sae-byeok can sometimes be territorial, especially when it comes to their mothers or mother figures. Since Gi-hun had completely imprinted on the Alpha, Sang-woo didn’t even need to be confused.

“Tone it down, Sae-ah, your scent is all over the place,” Gi-hun gently scolded. “You can just scent me again later, okay? Don’t terrorize Sang-woo-ya.”

Sae-byeok rolled her eyes, but there was no mistaking it—she won. Gi-hun would absolutely be sleeping with her tonight. There was no question about it. Because there was no way she’d let Gi-hun sleep alone later.

Lucky little shit.

Player 001, the last to vote. Sang-woo’s eyes lingered on him. The man had been there during the first game—hadn’t he?

The Alpha had counted 456 players during Red Light, Green Light, including himself. It wasn’t just a habit—it was instinct, almost compulsive. Numbers were his anchor, his way of controlling the chaos around him. But 001 didn’t fit. Sang-woo had no memory of the man stumbling, hesitating, or even standing still under the gaze of the doll. Nothing. It was as if the man hadn’t existed until now.

The more Sang-woo thought about it, the more certain he became: 001 hadn’t been there. Not during the screams, the gunfire, the panic. And yet, somehow, here he was. Smiling. Voting. Like he had always been part of the group.

Sang-woo’s suspicion grew. It was in his nature to question everything. But this… this didn’t make sense. A player appearing out of nowhere? No, that was absurd. It had to be his imagination. Right?

He felt something cold nudge his arm.

“Careful. You’re thinking too much again,” Sae-byeok said, her voice low as she sipped from the little box of milk the pink guards had handed out. “Who knows what’s going on inside that fucked-up mind of yours.”

Sang-woo barely reacted, shaking his head as though brushing off her words. It wasn’t the first time she’d called him out on overthinking, and it wouldn’t be the last. “What do you think of him?” he asked abruptly.

Sae-byeok arched an eyebrow. “Who?”

“Player 001.”

Sae-byeok hummed and observed the man. “What’s up with the guy? You find something?” Her lips curled slightly, almost smirking. “I mean, I’d believe you now. Unlike last time.”

“Have you seen him play the first game?” Sang-woo questioned.

Sae-byeok paused, her milk untouched. Then she shook her head slowly. “Nope. But you know me—I don’t fucking remember faces,” she muttered, her tone tinged with doubt. “I barely remember anyone here aside from you, Gi-hun, and maybe that purple-haired lunatic over there.” She grimaced, eyeing the purple-haired player as he argued with someone across the room.

Sang-woo’s jaw tightened, his mind racing. He exhaled sharply through his nose. “Maybe I’m overthinking this…”

Sae-byeok tilted her head, watching him closely. “Or maybe you’re not,” she said quietly. “Good that you told me, though. If there’s something off, we should know. Share everything. No holding back.”

Sang-woo didn’t reply, but his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Still,” she muttered, her voice dropping to a whisper, “Wouldn’t blame you for losing it. This whole thing is fucked. Why the hell are we even back here?”

Before Sang-woo could answer, he noticed Player 001 and a group of other players gathering near Gi-hun.

Sae-byeok let out a low whistle. “Drawing attention to himself like that. Now everyone knows he’s done this before.” She drained the last of her milk, bit down on the straw in frustration, crumpled the carton, and tossed it aside.

Sang-woo didn’t respond. Instead, he sprinted toward Gi-hun, with Sae-byeok close behind.

“Sir, you know which game’s next, don’t you?” Sang-woo heard Player 001 ask.

“T-That’s right! You’ve won this whole thing before, so you must know what game two is!” Jung-bae chimed in eagerly.

“He does,” Sang-woo cut in smoothly, stepping into the circle like he owned it. “But why should he tell?”

Gi-hun shot him a disapproving look. “Sang-woo—”

“Yeah, no, he’s got a point,” Sae-byeok cut in, dropping down beside Gi-hun and slinging an arm around him, “What makes you assholes think we’d tell you what the next game is? Not a fucking chance. You’d just get greedy and use him.”

“Sae-ah, don’t—” Gi-hun began, but she silenced him with a sharp look.

“Shut up,” she snapped. “They’ll use you, and then what? These motherfuckers will bleed you dry and then leave you to rot. Half of them voted to stay anyway. Let them die if they’re so committed. Focus on the ones who wanted out. Don’t waste your energy on the rest.”

“And the probability of the game changing is high,” Sang-woo added, adjusting his glasses, “Not 100%, but still high. Especially after your little hero stunt, hyung. You’ve probably pissed them off. Wouldn’t be surprised if they decided to change it just to mess with you.”

Gi-hun stayed silent, but the crowd around him didn’t. The players’ voices rose to a dull roar as they pressed for answers, bombarding him with demands to reveal the next game.

Sang-woo let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his temples. “If they don’t change the game,” he said finally, his voice sharp and cutting through the noise, “Then it’s going to be Dalgona.”

Sae-byeok shook her head. “Ah, I hated that game,” she muttered. “Made my hands so sticky.”

“W-Wait a minute, how do the two of you also know?” Jung-bae asked, his voice trembling with confusion.

The rest of the crowd shared the same questions until Player 001 joined in again. “Then does that mean you... sir and miss, have also played before?” he asked, surprised.

Huh, surprised. But that would only fool people like Gi-hun.

Sang-woo glanced at Gi-hun before answering, seeing him already locked in an intense stare with Player 001. The nerve. 

“Yes,” Sang-woo said, “Three years ago. We played.”

This sparked a wave of murmurs within the crowd. Sang-woo had to fight the urge to scoff at their small minds, struggling to grasp the idea that someone had actually survived the brutal games and walked away with the prize money.

“But he’s the real winner,” Sae-byeok chimed in, nodding her head toward Gi-hun. “Sang-woo and I just happened to escape with him—along with the money.”

“S-So you guys actually brought home 45.6 billion won?” a random player asked, eyes wide in disbelief.

“T-That’s amazing!”

“Are there any survivors? Or j-just the three of you?”

“The money must’ve already run out if they decided to play again!”

“Remember their numbers! 456, 067, and 218! We have to listen to everything they say and stick with them if we want to win and stay alive!”

“Then we’re in your care, sir,” Player 001 smiled at Gi-hun.

Sang-woo clenched his fists. He didn’t have the urge to push someone to their death again until now.

He wanted some space to think, so he decided to excuse himself from the crowd for a moment, but Sae-byeok couldn’t seem to read the room and still followed him. They sat on their beds, facing each other.

“Have you seen that player with a 10 billion won debt?” Sae-byeok chuckled. “Seriously, who the fuck did he owe money to? The aliens?”

Sang-woo hummed distractedly.

Sae-byeok stopped chuckling. “Hey.”

“Yes?”

“You’re right. That fucking Alpha feels out of place,” Sae-byeok admitted.

Sang-woo raised his head, a flicker of surprise. “You noticed that too?”

“I grew up around thugs. You gotta stay sharp, or you don’t last long,” Sae-byeok explained, her gaze sharpening. “That guy? He never even looked at me. Not once. Just Gi-hun. And maybe you.”

“Maybe? How so?” Sang-woo’s brow furrowed. He hadn’t even seen Player 001 look at him.

“It’s not the way he stares at Gi-hun. With you, it’s like... It’s like he’s got something against you, like he’s plotting your death.”

Sang-woo scoffed. “The feeling’s fucking mutual, trust me.”

Sae-byeok chuckled, then grew serious. “Honestly, he’s harmless. What’s strange is that we’ve never seen him play the first game, and now he’s practically glued to Gi-hun’s side. Seems like we should be more careful, don’t you think?”

Sang-woo nodded slowly.

“You’re so fucking quiet today, huh. Did something happen?” Sae-byeok raised an eyebrow.

“It’s nothing.”

Sae-byeok didn’t press further. “Alright, I’m sleeping next to Gi-hun though. Just thought you should know,” she teased.

Sang-woo chuckled. But then his eyes caught something.

From a distance, Gi-hun had made some friends again. How many times did he have to tell Gi-hun not to get so attached to people? It wasn’t that Sang-woo didn’t care for Gi-hun’s friendships, but the reality was that they weren’t sure if any of those people would make it through. The games, the danger, the uncertainty—it all felt too risky to form any lasting connections.

Friendships here were fragile, temporary. In a place where everyone was just a step away from betrayal or death, the only person Gi-hun could really count on was himself, Sae-byeok, and Sang-woo.

“Player 001... He’s really determined to be Gi-hun’s friend, huh?” Sae-byeok said quietly, as if speaking her thoughts aloud.

Sang-woo didn’t answer immediately. He just stared at the group in the distance.

It was unspoken, but both of them knew they wouldn’t let that happen.

“J-Just find your own group! We were here with him first!” Player 388 yelled.

“Shut your fucking mouth, or I’ll shut it for you,” Sae-byeok threatened.

Sang-woo rubbed his temples, realizing this was getting out of hand. “Let’s just find three more, Sae-ah. Leave Gi-hun alone.” he sighed, trying to de-escalate the situation.

It looked like Jung-bae and Gi-hun’s newly found friends had decided to team up for today’s second game—the six-legged pentathlon.

Sang-woo’s chest tightened at the thought of Gi-hun not being on their team, but he couldn’t exactly force the omega. Besides, this was the perfect time for Sang-woo to find someone useful to join their group.

It wasn’t a big deal to him. He might not know Gi-hun’s new teammates, but he was confident they wouldn’t lose. He had a sharp instinct for these things. He could tell they had a strong shot.

But Sae-byeok? She had attachment issues the size of a mountain.

“Let him go. He’s with us. He’s always been with us, for fuck’s sake,” Sae-byeok continued, her voice growing more heated as she argued with the other group, her possessiveness over Gi-hun becoming more obvious by the second.

Jung-bae started sweating nervously. He could feel the eyes of other players turning in their direction. “D-Dae-ho, maybe we can just find another member. Give Gi-hun back to his—”

“No way!” Dae-ho refused. “I don’t care if they’ve been in games before. I like Mr. Seong! I want him to be our member!” the baby alpha argued like a child, which only made Sae-byeok even more pissed.

Sae-byeok leaned closer to Sang-woo and whispered, “I’m gonna do it.”

“Do what?” Sang-woo questioned, already bracing himself for whatever she was about to do.

“Tell everyone he’s my mom. Let’s see if they can still separate us.”

Sang-woo’s eyes widened in disbelief. Before he could protest, Sae-byeok was already on her way to continue their little battle. He sighed heavily. He didn’t know if these games would be the death of him or the headaches Sae-byeok gave him.

“Mom, would you really want to do this?” Sae-byeok started her acting, which almost made Sang-woo roll his eyes behind her. “You know well that Dad couldn’t focus without you by his side.”

What?

“Right, Dad?” Sae-byeok turned around and gave him a look, signaling him to play along.

Now, there was a whole crowd staring at them, slack-jawed and wide-eyed. Whispers spread quickly among the players.

“Woah, didn’t know they were a family!”

“I knew it! That’s why Player 456 reeks of Player 218 and 067 smells all this time! Made me almost think he was an Alpha.”

“Aw! How terrible to separate an Omega from his cub! How awful, I couldn’t watch!”

“Look at the husband! So handsome! Ahh, he caught my eye ever since the first game. Didn’t know he was already mated with Player 456~.”

Sang-woo cleared his throat and joined in, playing his role with just enough hesitation to sell the act. “R-Right. You know how needy our daughter can get, Jagi.”

He saw how Gi-hun turned red. He was in disbelief, speechless. He didn’t know what to say, and Sang-woo expected nothing less.

“But… your daughter and I will be alright. It’s been a while since you’ve been with Jung-bae, right?” Sang-woo continued, making Sae-byeok glare at him for ruining her plan. “We’ll talk later. Good luck,” he smiled slightly and pulled Sae-byeok away from the crowd.

“What the hell was that? How could you?” Sae-byeok said.

Sang-woo kept walking, unfazed by her anger, “Let Gi-hun be. Trust me. He’ll be alright,” he reassured her. He knew that trying to force Gi-hun to stay with them would backfire. Gi-hun needed to make his own decisions, even if those decisions were frustratingly naive.

Sae-byeok sighed, her shoulders sagging as if the weight of the situation was finally catching up to her. She ran a hand through her hair, trying to clear her mind. “Young-il’s face was something else, though,” she muttered under her breath.

Sang-woo stopped walking and turned around. “Who?”

“Player 001. I learned that is his name,” Sae-byeok revealed.

“What did his face say?” Sang-woo asked.

“Like he wanted to snatch one of those pink guards’ rifles and shoot all of the bullets into your face.”

Sang-woo said nothing.

They were too close. Way too fucking close.

Who in their right mind, after announcing to everyone that Gi-hun has a husband and daughter, would embrace an Omega like that?

Give Sang-woo a damn fucking break. Even though they were just celebrating, it was still way too close. He was too happy. Way too fucking happy for the players winning each game.

Sang-woo wasn’t even watching the game anymore. His eyes were locked onto Gi-hun and Young-il. He was too focused on them. His gaze never wavered, even when a lifeless body hit the ground in front of him. Nothing could tear his eyes away.

He flexed his neck. He couldn’t stay still. His body itched to move. He wanted to snatch Gi-hun away from that man’s embrace. The way they were standing so close, it irked him. But he couldn’t do anything about it—not yet, not here, not in front of everyone.

Suddenly, he felt a light touch on his arm, pulling him away from his dark thoughts.

“U-Um, mister,” a timid voice said, “Y-You’re the one who’s gonna play the spinning top, right?”

He turned to face the voice. Ah. Player 120.

Sang-woo forced a smile, nodding. “Yes, that’s right. And you’re going to be playing jegi, correct?” he asked.

The woman nodded quickly, nervously. “Y-Yes,” she answered, pushing a stray hair behind her ear.

“What’s your name?” Sang-woo asked.

“Hyun-ju. Cho Hyun-ju.”

“Sang-woo,” he introduced himself, offering a friendly nod.

Player 120—Hyun-ju nodded in recognition. “Everyone knows. Y-You’re what every woman and Omega talks about.”

Sang-woo raised an eyebrow at her words. “Oh?”

Hyun-ju shyly nodded, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“Does that include you?” Sang-woo asked, leaning in slightly to tease her.

Her face flushed an even deeper shade of red, and she quickly shook her head. “I-I mean…”

Sang-woo couldn’t help but chuckle. “I was just joking,” he said lightly.

Hyun-ju, still nervous, couldn’t find her voice right away. After a brief pause, she managed to speak again. “I-I’m only a beta… but I’m not fully transitioned into a woman yet…”

Sang-woo looked at her thoughtfully, “You identify as a woman,” he pointed out. “Then you are a woman.”

Hyun-ju’s large eyes widened in surprise. “T-Thank you, sir…” she said, her voice cracking slightly.

“Don’t thank me for doing something small. It’s what any decent person would do,” he said, his voice becoming more serious. “No matter what anyone else says, you’re a beautiful woman. Never forget that.”

“Mn.” Hyun-ju nodded, her eyes welling with unshed tears as she tried to hold them back.

Before Sang-woo could say anything else, Sae-byeok nudged his arm, pulling his attention back to the present. “Get ready. We’re next,” she reminded him.

“Excuse me, everyone. I may be old, but I promise I can win this game,” the old lady—Player 149—promised.

Her son nodded. “Me too. I’m good at biseokchigi. No need to get nervous!”

Sae-byeok shrugged. “I mean, I got slapped less at ddakji.”

“Y-You guys also don’t need to worry about me. I played a lot of jegi when I was young. I hardly ever lose,” Hyun-ju assured.

“Next,” a Circle guard announced as the other Circle guards finished cleaning up the other dead bodies.

Sang-woo stood up, patting the dust off his pants. “If all of us are as skilled as we say, there’s a chance we’ll finish this in under a minute and thirty seconds.”

“Will you stop calculating every fucking probability?” Sae-byeok rolled her eyes.

And of course, Sang-woo was right. They finished the game in just a minute and thirty seconds. Faster than any other group had ever managed.

It wasn’t even a surprise anymore. Their teamwork, their skill, it was just that good. The other players couldn’t help but cheer them on in awe, almost as if they had expected this level of performance all along.

But Sang-woo wasn’t looking at them. His eyes were searching for someone in the crowd. And then, in the midst of all the cheering and the noise, he locked eyes with Gi-hun.

His friends were celebrating, clapping each other on the back, even Player 001 was grinning with pride. But Gi-hun? Gi-hun wasn’t cheering. He wasn’t celebrating at all. He was just staring straight at Sang-woo.

Sang-woo immediately broke the eye contact. What was that?

Sang-woo’s hand moved on its own, wrapping an arm around Player 120—Hyun-ju—and pulling her closer. Everyone was too caught up in the victory to notice. Even Sae-byeok, who usually kept her guard up, was too distracted by the win. It wasn’t unusual for people to get a little carried away during celebrations, right? So no one would bat an eye at what he was about to do.

Given that Sang-woo was taller, he leaned down toward Player 120’s ear, his breath hot against her skin. “You were good,” he murmured.

Hyun-ju looked up at him, her eyes wide, as if everything around them had stopped. Time slowed down, and in that moment, it felt like it was just him and her, alone in the crowd. Her cheeks flushed redder than he thought possible, and she stumbled over her words.

“Y-You too, mister,” she said quietly, her voice barely audible, her face flushed with embarrassment. “You were good.”

But the moment was cut short when the Circle guards moved them away from the finish line to unlock the chains on their feet.

And then Sae-byeok slapped his back hard, pulling him back to reality.

“He’s mad,” Sae-byeok muttered, her tone blunt. “Fix this, Cho Sang-woo.”

He let out a breath, trying his best not to smile too much. Oh, how predictable Gi-hun was. It was almost cute. But not cute enough to warrant too much attention. He couldn’t resist, though. 

“Don’t worry, Sae-ah. I will,” Sang-woo said, his eyes focused on Gi-hun, who was now not talking to anyone. “I’ll fix this.”

Chapter Text

Sae-byeok was losing it. They all were.

Three teams had passed. And yet, Gi-hun’s team was nowhere in sight. If Sang-woo’s count was right, then there were only two teams left to come through. Either both would make it through, or just one.

Or maybe none.

Sang-woo let out a shaky breath, wiping his hands down his face in frustration. Across from him, Sae-byeok paced back and forth like a caged animal. The rest of their team was silent, sitting on the cold stairs nearby, huddled together near the bunk.

Sae-byeok kept cursing under her breath. “Why the fuck did they have to go last?” she growled, more to herself than anyone else. Her pacing didn’t stop. Her fingers twitched at her sides as though aching for something to hold, something to crush.

It didn’t make sense. The situation didn’t make sense. Sang-woo had been turning it over in his head since the start. Gi-hun’s team should have gone right after theirs. He was certain. That was the system. There was always a system. A pattern, an order to things. So why were they going last?

Unless... they didn’t.

No. He shoved the thought away. Thinking like that now would only cripple him. He couldn’t afford to let doubt cloud his judgment. Not here. Not now.

“I-Isn’t your mother the previous winner?” Player 149, the elderly woman, asked softly, trying to offer comfort. “I-I’m sure he’s good. A past winner wouldn’t lose so easily.”

Sae-byeok kept pacing, biting her fingernails. “Still doesn’t mean I don’t have to fucking worry,” she snapped, making the old woman flinch at the harshness.

Before the old woman’s son could say something about Sae-byeok being rude, Sang-woo intervened.

“Byeok-ah, do you want me to chop that tongue off?” he said sternly.

The old woman chuckled nervously, trying to defuse the tension. “M-Mister, i-it’s fine. Don’t be too hard on your daughter. After all, she’s just worried about her mother. It’s only natural for Alphas to—”

“Stop talking about things you don’t understand,” Sae-byeok snarled, cutting her off. “You’re not even an Omega, and your son sure as hell isn’t an Alpha. Just a pair of worthless Betas who wouldn’t last a second in this game,” She turned her glare on Sang-woo. “And you. Are you seriously not worried at all?”

Sang-woo’s face remained unreadable as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Of course, I’m worried,” he replied coolly. “But panicking won’t change anything. We just have to trust him. If he screws this up and dies without following through, that’s his failure. Not ours.”

Sae-byeok let out a bitter laugh, “You cold, selfish bastard,” she spat.

“Enough of this, Byeok-ah,” Sang-woo demanded. “Apologize to everyone right now. This kind of behavior... If Gi-hun saw you acting like this, he’d be disgusted.”

Sae-byeok stopped pacing, but she still wasn’t done. She pointed a finger at Sang-woo, “You know how shaky he gets when he’s nervous. And what the hell does he pick? Jegi. Of all the fucking games, jegi.”

“And what do you want me to do about it, huh?” Sang-woo snapped back, his composure cracking. “Run out there and save him? You think he’d want that? You think it’d help?”

Sae-byeok took a step toward him, her hands balled into fists. “At least I give a damn. At least I’m not sitting here pretending it’s all fine if he doesn’t make it back.”

Their heated words filled the room, their voices echoing off the walls, drawing the attention of everyone nearby—both Team X and Team O. Every eye was on them now.

Nosy bastards, Sang-woo thought bitterly, but he didn’t care anymore.

“Will you please shut your damn daughter up!” someone shouted.

Sang-woo looked up to see who it was. Player 100. The old fuck with a 10 billion debt hanging over his head.

The one who thought he had the right to open his filthy mouth.

“We get it, she’s an Alpha,” Player 100 sneered, “But I’m about to choke on her fucking scent! There’s no goddamn ventilation here, and she’s flooding the place with that disgusting scent of hers. You need to calm her down before I do it myself!”

Most people would’ve let it slide. Like right now, Sae-byeok didn’t even spare the old man a glance. She just kept pacing, unbothered, ignoring everyone around her.

But Sang-woo?

He couldn’t just let anyone badmouth Sae-byeok like that.

Sang-woo stood up, making Sae-byeok startle, not expecting the sudden action. “You don’t get to talk to my pup like that, you hear? Not to her, and certainly not to me.” he said calmly to the old man.

Sae-byeok blinked, her voice small, “Sang-woo...”

Player 100’s laugh rang out—cruel, mocking, “Oh, I get it now. That’s why she’s so fucking violent. She’s just taking after her violent daddy!” he sneered, the weaklings behind him laughing along, their pathetic chuckles doing nothing but feeding his ego. “You think I’m supposed to be scared of you just because you’re an Alpha?”

Sang-woo didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink. His eyes never left Player 100. He took a step forward, but Sae-byeok grabbed his arm, her grip fierce, desperate. “Don’t.” she warned, her voice tight with panic.

“Who the fuck cares how rare you Alphas are?” Player 100 spat. “You’re all so fucking entitled.. Especially your daughter—thinking she can scream and throw a tantrum just because she’s an Alpha?!”

Sang-woo easily removed Sae-byeok’s deadly grip on his arm, making her eyes widen. “H-how...?”

She may be strong, but Sang-woo was still a man. And stronger. She wasn’t strong enough to stop him. Not when he was this furious.

Sae-byeok stood frozen, her mouth hanging open, as she watched Sang-woo approach Player 100 and his group.

The old fart and his group’s laughter died instantly when they saw Sang-woo heading toward them. The men scrambled behind Player 100, cowering like the pathetic, spineless worms they were.

When Sang-woo stood face-to-face with Player 100, the old fuck couldn’t even meet his gaze—he was desperately trying to, but his eyes kept darting away, flicking up and down, unable to meet Sang-woo’s with anything but fear. The tremble in his legs was enough to satisfy Sang-woo. Coward. All bark, no bite.

Sang-woo glanced at his badge. “So, you’re one of the idiots who voted to stay, huh? Didn’t have the sense to leave?”

Player 100 grunted nervously.

“You think I survived the previous game without shedding some blood?” Sang-woo spoke bluntly. “I’ve done it to a friend without a second thought. You think I’d blink for a piece of shit like you?”

The old man fell silent.

Sang-woo’s eyes bored into him. “You’re nothing but a disposable pawn in this game. And it wouldn’t take much to get rid of you. Not for someone like me.”

Then something truly pathetic happened. The old bastard pissed himself, and then his nose started bleeding. What a fucking disgrace.

Sang-woo stepped back, disgusted. He almost opened his mouth to say something that would absolutely crush what little ego Player 100 had left, but before he could, the metallic door to the room opened.

His eyes instantly locked onto the figure sprinting toward it. Sae-byeok. Gi-hun. He was alive.

Sae-byeok threw herself into his arms without hesitation. She didn’t say a word, but the way she clung to him, her entire body trembling slightly, made it clear how much she had been holding in. Gi-hun was back. That’s all that mattered.

Gi-hun smiled softly, his hands gently running through the back of her hair. “I’m alive, Sae-ah. I’m alive,” he reassured her.

Sae-byeok pulled away from him just enough to look him in the eye, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly. “Never separate from us again. Do you understand?” Her words weren’t a request—they were a demand, and there was no room for argument.

Gi-hun’s eyes softened, “Alright. I won’t. I’m sorry I made you worry.” His gaze shifted around the room. “Where’s Sang-woo—”

Their eyes locked.

For a split second, relief washed over Gi-hun’s face, but then his eyes landed on Player 100, still crumpled on the floor next to Sang-woo. His expression shifted to one of confusion, then disbelief.

To anyone unfamiliar with the situation, the scene was incredibly misleading. It looked as though Sang-woo had just torn into the old man, bullying him into this pitiful state. The way the room had fallen into a tense silence, the old bastard still shaking and leaking bodily fluids, made it seem like Sang-woo had caused this—made it seem like he was the villain.

Gi-hun’s group looked horrified at the scene. Sang-woo, on the other hand, sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead in frustration. Once again, he was the villain in the eyes of everyone else.

Sae-byeok turned around, following Gi-hun’s gaze to see what had caught his attention. “It’s not like that...” she began, trying to explain.

But Gi-hun gave her a tight, reassuring smile, cutting her off before she could finish. “It’s okay. We’ll talk later.” His gaze then shifted back to Sang-woo.

That irritated the hell out of Sang-woo. Was Gi-hun seriously not even going to let Sae-byeok explain herself? No questions, no trust. Just that look—no concern for the situation. It pissed Sang-woo off more than he cared to admit.

As Sae-byeok walked off with Gi-hun, trying to lead him away from the mess, Sang-woo’s eyes landed on Player 001. His brow arched in suspicion.

There was no mistaking it. A smirk. A small, knowing grin curled on the old man’s lips, like he had just seen something he found amusing.

Sang-woo’s eyes narrowed. What the hell was that about?

After the voting, Team O was still going strong. They managed to make everyone play another round. Sang-woo saw the disappointed look he caught from Gi-hun when Jung-bae he joined the circle.

Now that they were eating, Sae-byeok was all over Gi-hun again. She wasn’t going to leave him alone after what had happened.

Even though Jung-bae voted to stay, he was still allowed to sit with the others and share their meal. But Sang-woo? He couldn’t even get that small mercy.

He nearly crushed the bread and milk in his hands.

“Uh, young man? Aren’t you going to eat?” The voice of the old woman he had teamed up with earlier cut through his thoughts. She was looking at him with concern. “You should eat! They barely feed us. You need all the strength you can get for tomorrow.”

Sang-woo forced a tight smile, though it barely touched his eyes. “Thank you for your concern, but I’m just not in the mood,” he replied, bowing slightly in respect.

The old woman clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Well, if you’re already in a mood, you eat, okay? A handsome Alpha man like you should eat more!”

Sang-woo’s lips twitched into a faint, strained smile. As she and her son resumed talking, their conversation growing distant, he felt someone sit next to him.

“Hey.” It was Player 120.

Sang-woo blinked in mild surprise. “Have you eaten?” he asked, trying to keep his tone casual.

Hyun-ju nodded, her eyes flickering toward his uneaten meal. “Yes. You should eat too.”

Sang-woo chuckled quietly, though there was no real amusement in it. “I’ll get to it later.”

Hyun-ju smiled gently. “That’s good.” After a brief pause, she hesitated, then spoke again. “Um, mister?”

“Hm?”

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Hyun-ju began, her voice a bit hesitant, “Why aren’t you eating with your wife and pup?”

Wife, huh?

Sang-woo chewed his bottom lip. “I know you’ve got eyes, but my wife and I aren’t exactly on good terms right now,” he explained.

Hyun-ju’s brow furrowed in concern. “Oh my, that’s bad…” she murmured. “Family should stick together, especially in a situation like this.”

Sang-woo looked down at the crumpled bread and untouched milk in his hands. He murmured, almost to himself, “Tell that to him.”

There was a moment of silence, until Hyun-ju spoke again.

“Y-Your daughter…”

“Yes?”

“She’s very… good-looking,” Hyun-ju blurted out, her words tumbling out before she quickly turned crimson. “I—I mean… it looks like it runs in the blood…”

Sang-woo raised an eyebrow. Oh? So it was Sae-byeok all along, huh?

“You like her?” he asked, not bothering to sugarcoat it.

Hyun-ju blinked in surprise, her face turning even redder as she awkwardly avoided his gaze. “I—I find her attractive…” she stammered, her hands nervously tugging at a strand of her hair.

“Sae-byeok,” Sang-woo sighed. “That girl… She never smiles unless it’s Gi-hun she’s talking to. Rebellious. Rude, too. What you saw earlier,” he added, his voice almost wistful. “But, she’s a nice kid. Very charismatic, wouldn’t you say?”

Hyun-ju nodded, her expression thoughtful as she processed his words.

“A warning,” Sang-woo began. “Byeok-ah can be very possessive.” He didn’t just mean she could be. Sae-byeok’s possessiveness was something to be feared. She is insane.

Hyun-ju flushed even more, though she still managed to respond with a shy smile. “T-That’s fine by me.”

Sang-woo chuckled softly to himself. So, Player 120 had a type. Interesting.

Speaking of..

Sae-byeok cleared her throat. Sang-woo was almost startled. He hadn’t even realized she was already standing in front of them.

“Mom said he needs you to go with him to the bathroom,” Sae-byeok stated, the emphasis on the word “Mom” making it clear she wasn’t in the mood for small talk. Sighing, so she was still in character.

Sang-woo handed Sae-byeok his bread and milk. “Then hold these for me.” As she took them, he turned to Hyun-ju. “It was nice talking to you, Hyun-ju-ah. I’ll be heading off now.” He rose from his seat, giving his pants a quick adjustment as he stood straight.

Hyun-ju, still a little flustered from their earlier conversation, bowed her head. “You too, Sang-woo-ssi. Thank you for your time.”

Sae-byeok, not missing a beat, flatly repeated, “Mom’s waiting.”

Sang-woo could feel her patience wearing thin. He almost rolled his eyes but stopped himself. “I know, I know,” he muttered. “Talk to Hyun-ju for me, alright?” 

Sae-byeok shot him a quizzical look, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”

Sang-woo’s eyes darted briefly to Hyun-ju, and he noticed her flinch at the tone. Seriously. He fought the urge to scold her. “She’s a nice girl,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “Fun to talk to.”

“Fun... to talk to,” Sae-byeok repeated his words.

Sang-woo just tapped Sae-byeok’s shoulder. “I will leave now,” was all he said before walking away, leaving the two behind.

As soon as Sang-woo stepped into the men's bathroom, it was just him and Gi-hun.

Gi-hun was at the sink, washing his hands. He didn’t even bother to look up when he heard the door open.

“Did you call for me?” Sang-woo broke the silence, stepping further inside.

Gi-hun didn’t even bother to look. “Who called whom?” he muttered, turning off the faucet with barely any care, shaking his hands to dry them.

Sang-woo couldn’t help but roll his eyes, thoughts of Sae-byeok creeping in. Unbelievable...

“Never mind,” he muttered dismissively. “How’s everything going?”

Gi-hun finally turned, arms crossed over his chest, a defiant look on his face. “Fine,” he said flatly. “Unlike you, I’m here to survive, not flirt around.”

Sang-woo snorted, genuinely taken aback. “...flirt around.”

Gi-hun looked away. “You’re enjoying your stay here too much.”

Sang-woo scoffed. “I can’t believe this is coming from you, hyung.”

Gi-hun raised a brow. “What did I do now?”

“Player 001. Really?” Sang-woo pointed out. “Do you even remember what happened the last time you trusted a player with that number?”

“He has a name,” Gi-hun defended.

“So did that old fuck before,” Sang-woo shot back.

“Don’t even compare him to that man,” Gi-hun said sharply. “He’s nothing like him. Young-il is different. A normal person with a debt, who joined the games to save his wife.”

Sang-woo’s expression hardened. “Is that really what he said? Or is that just what you want to believe?”

Gi-hun was getting frustrated now, his voice growing more defensive. “He’s a friend.”

Sang-woo took a step closer, closing the gap between them. “Didn’t I tell you before we decided to join the games again to avoid making friends?” His voice was low, almost threatening.

“You don’t control my life,” Gi-hun said stubbornly.

“I don’t,” Sang-woo admitted, stopping right in front of him, forcing Gi-hun to back against the sink. They were so close, too close. “Maybe I should start controlling it, don’t you think?” he said, his voice hushed.

Gi-hun’s eyes widened, a flicker of confusion and something else crossing his features. “What?”

“Starting by marking this.” Sang-woo raised a hand and caressed the side of Gi-hun’s neck.

“Sang-woo-ya...” Gi-hun stammered.

“You know what everyone thinks of us?” Sang-woo whispered, his breath too hot against Gi-hun’s skin. “They think you’re my wife, and Sae-byeok’s our little daughter.”

With a sudden, brutal yank, Sang-woo grabbed Gi-hun’s hair, jerking his head back and exposing his neck. Gi-hun let out a soft whimper, a pathetic sound that satisfied Sang-woo. “To clear up any confusion, maybe we can make it real.” Sang-woo whispered.

He watched Gi-hun, eyes closed, lips trembling, neck bared—pathetically submissive, just as he always was when it came to him. Ah, how Sang-woo fucking missed this. The Gi-hun who couldn’t hold it together, who begged like it was second nature.

“What?” Sang-woo observed Gi-hun’s shaky breaths. “You like it too, huh?” he yanked his hair harder, making the omega groan. “I know what you like, hyung. You like it to hurt. You want it to hurt.”

“Sang... Sang-woo-ya,” Gi-hun begged, “Someone might see—”

“And?” Sang-woo wet his lips. “Stop messing with me, hyung. Part of you wants it. Part of you actually wants us to get caught, to be seen.”

“N-No...” Gi-hun protested weakly.

“Because you’re a whore,” Sang-woo spat, “A slut.”

“I-I’m not...”

“Yes, you are,” Sang-woo cut him off. “I can already smell your slick coming off of your boypussy. You’re already wet, huh? When all I did was—” he pulled his hair harder, “—yank this hair?”

“It hurts...” Gi-hun whimpered.

Sang-woo moved his face closer to the omega’s face. “Let Player 001 lay a finger on you again, and I’ll make sure it hurts tenfold. Understand?”

But all Gi-hun could do was whimper, whine. Fucking pathetic.

Sang-woo brought his knee up, pushing it into the middle of Gi-hun’s legs, forcing a loud moan from the omega. “I asked if you heard me,” he demanded, pressing his knee harder into Gi-hun’s crotch, enjoying the sight of him trembling and whimpering, slick shamefully staining his pants.

“I-I... heard... you...” Gi-hun struggled to say.

Sang-woo finally released his grip on his hair and lowered his knee, smirking at the mess he’d made of him. “Good boy,” he taunted, ruffling Gi-hun’s disheveled hair. “I knew you’d always listen to me.”

Oh, Gi-hun. Gi-hun was still shaking. He couldn’t even stand straight, using the sink to support his weight. The sight would have been pitiful if it weren’t so satisfying. 

Sang-woo removed his jacket and handed it to the omega. “Cover it up. That’s all I can offer. It might not hide it completely, but I’m afraid everyone can smell it.”

Gi-hun’s shoulders slumped weakly. Sang-woo wanted the omega to feel embarrassed, yet he couldn’t help but feel angry that everyone nearby would be able to smell his lovely omega’s scent.

Once Gi-hun finished tying the green jacket around his waist, Sang-woo made him walk out of the bathroom first.

Sang-woo’s gums ached. He wanted to mark Gi-hun so badly, but he knew he would have to wait. Not here.

Before they reached the door to the dormitory, he grabbed Gi-hun's nape and slammed him against the wall, making him yelp.

There were triangle guards everywhere, but they didn’t seem to care.

“You’re mine, hyung,” Sang-woo said lowly. “Ever since we were children, you have always been mine. Not Jung-bae, not Young-il. Mine.”

Gi-hun blinked prettily at him, making Sang-woo want to yank his hair again until he screamed.

“Even if I fucking die,” Sang-woo continued, “You’re still mine. I’ll be watching. Don’t you dare replace me, Seong Gi-hun. I’ll keep you by my side, even if it means putting a baby in you.”

The mention of the baby made Gi-hun flinch. “What? You like it? You want Byeok-ah to have a little sibling?”

Sang-woo expected silence, but to his surprise, Gi-hun nodded.

Now it was Sang-woo’s turn to swallow hard.

“Don’t worry, hyung. I will fuck a baby in you once we’re done here,” Sang-woo promised. “I’ll give you a litter. I’ll always make you pregnant, swollen with my pups,” he whispered.

“30 seconds before lights out, please return to your respective dormitory,” a triangle guard suddenly announced.

With that, they returned to the room, laying side by side in bed. Surprisingly, Sae-byeok allowed it, choosing her own bed this time.

Sang-woo also noticed Player 001 was absent.