The Hunt Begins

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The streets of Seoul were too quiet that night. Not the usual late-night silence, but the kind that crept under your skin—the kind that screamed something was wrong.

Seong Gi-hun pulled his hood tighter over his head as he stepped off the last train. The cold bit at his skin, but it wasn’t the wind making him shiver. It was the message—the one he had found burned into the edge of his hotel pillow two nights ago:

"They're watching. He’s still breathing."

He hadn’t slept since. He couldn’t. The image of In-ho’s lifeless body haunted his dreams, but that message lit a fire in him he couldn’t put out. If In-ho was alive, then this wasn’t over. And if this was a game, then Gi-hun had no intention of losing it.

He took a narrow alley behind the train station, scanning the graffiti for a symbol he had been told to look for—an open eye beneath a crown.

There it was.

Before he could reach out to touch it, a hand slammed against the back of his neck, forcing him face-first into the wall.

“Stupid move coming alone,” growled a voice, rough like gravel.

Gi-hun gritted his teeth. “You with the game? Or one of the rebels?”

The grip tightened. “There are no rebels. There are only survivors… and dead men.”

Gi-hun didn’t hesitate—he jammed his elbow backward and twisted out of the hold. His attacker staggered, giving him just enough time to pull the small blade he’d hidden in his jacket.

“I’m not scared of dying,” Gi-hun said. “I just want the truth.”

The man chuckled. “Then you’re in the wrong city.”

But something in his eyes flickered—recognition. Respect. Maybe even fear.

“You’re Player 456,” the man said slowly. “The one who broke the game.”

“I want In-ho,” Gi-hun said. “And I know you know where he is.”

The man hesitated. Then, without a word, he turned and began walking.

Gi-hun followed.

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They descended into a forgotten subway tunnel, the walls marked with the same symbol—an eye beneath a crown—over and over again.

“You were never supposed to come back,” the man said. “The VIPs… they’re furious. They think In-ho betrayed them.”

“He did,” Gi-hun replied. “To protect me.”

The man stopped before a rusted steel door. “They’ve put a price on your head. And his.”

Inside, the room was small—cramped with surveillance screens, old machines, and a single flickering bulb. On the largest screen: In-ho, alive, bruised, and… collared.

Gi-hun froze.

He looked thinner, angrier. But those eyes—they still had fire. Still had guilt. Still had him.

Before Gi-hun could speak, the screens went black.

A red light started blinking.

“Shit,” the man muttered. “They found us.”

Gunfire erupted from above. The ceiling shook. Dust rained from the cracks.

Gi-hun spun around. “There’s another exit?”

The man grabbed a duffel bag. “There’s a tunnel. But you better run like hell.”

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They sprinted through the dark maze of forgotten tunnels, the sound of boots pounding behind them. Flashlights. Commands. Dogs.

Gi-hun’s legs burned. His lungs screamed. But he couldn’t stop now. Not when he knew In-ho was alive. Not when he had finally found proof.

Suddenly—bang!

A shot rang out. The man running beside him dropped with a cry.

Gi-hun turned just long enough to see blood soaking his jacket.

“Go!” the man gasped. “He needs you more than I do!”

Gi-hun hesitated, then grabbed the man’s gun and ran harder, faster, heart slamming against his ribs like a war drum.

He reached a grated door. Pulled it open. Climbed up a rusty ladder into a dark alley.

And there, waiting for him—was a black car. Engine purring.

The back door opened. A figure stepped out. Tall. Masked.

But Gi-hun didn’t need to see his face.

He knew that stance. That walk. That presence.

In-ho.

“Get in,” In-ho said calmly, voice laced with tension.

Gi-hun didn’t move. “You faked your death.”

“Yes.”

“You let me believe you were gone.”

“I had no choice.”

Gi-hun stepped forward, anger and relief and confusion swirling inside him. “You could’ve told me. You could’ve trusted me.”

“I did this to protect you,” In-ho snapped. “But now you’ve ruined everything.”

Gi-hun’s breath caught. “You were protecting me? Or yourself?”

A pause. And then:

“Both.”

They stared at each other—two men broken by the same system, bound by the same blood-soaked game, burning with something neither could name.

And in that moment, the car behind them exploded.

Flames. Screams. Glass.

Gi-hun hit the ground, ears ringing. His vision spun. When he looked up, In-ho was gone.

Only a small slip of paper remained where he’d stood, charred at the edge.

One sentence in blood-red ink:

“Round 2 begins now.”

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Author's Note:

Sh*t just got real—Gi-hun's back in the game, but this time, it's personal.

Truths are burning, bullets are flying, and so is the tension.

Buckle up, readers… Round 2 isn’t just survival—it’s war.

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