Gi-hun sat in the extravagant lounge, his discomfort growing with every passing moment. The others around him-the so-called VIPs-ignored him entirely, lost in their conversations and indulgences. He felt a bitter sort of relief at their indifference; at least he wouldn’t have to engage with them. But the moment of uneasy peace was short.

A voice crackled through the speakers, cutting through the din of laughter and chatter. It was the unmistakable, cold tone of the Frontman.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it is time to proceed with your selections,” the voice announced.

Gi-hun froze, his stomach sinking. Selections? For what?

Before he could piece it together, the lights dimmed, and a massive screen lit up on the far wall. Images of players flooded the display. The sight was like a punch to Gi-hun’s gut, each image a painful reminder of what he had survived and what these unaware people will experience.

His breath quickened, and his vision blurred as the room around him seemed to shrink. The other VIPs leaned forward in their seats, murmuring to one another, their excitement palpable.

Gi-hun couldn’t understand their casual demeanor. How could they look at these faces-these human beings-and discuss them as if they were horses in a race?

Then, from the shadows, Hwang In-ho appeared. Gi-hun hadn’t noticed the cameras that dotted the room, but it was clear now that In-ho had been watching him closely. The Frontman approached with quiet authority, his expression hidden behind the mask but his posture unyielding.

“Gi-hun,” In-ho said softly but firmly, his words cutting through the haze of Gi-hun’s panic. “You need to focus.”

Gi-hun turned to him, his voice trembling with fury. “Focus on what? This...this is sick! These are people, not-”

In-ho silenced him with a single sharp gesture. “You don’t have the luxury to fall apart here. You’ll make your selections like everyone else. No one will care if you can’t stomach it.”

Gi-hun shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t…”

“You will,” In-ho interrupted coldly. “Pick five players from the 456. Now.”

Gi-hun stared at the screen, his mind spinning. The pressure was suffocating, and he knew he couldn’t afford to draw any more attention to himself. Without thinking, he blurted out five numbers:

“065, 110, 239, 430… and 456.”

His old number. It slipped out almost instinctively, a small act of defiance against the cruel system.

In-ho, for a moment, turned to the guard whom Gi-hun didn't even notice, who was holding some tablets and doing something on them,then Frontman nodded curtly. “Done.”

Without another word, he disappeared back into the crowd. Gi-hun sat frozen, his mind reeling. The room returned to its lively chatter, but Gi-hun’s world had gone silent.

Moments later, a sleek tablet was placed in front of him by one of the masked guards. The screen displayed profiles of the five players he had chosen. Gi-hun hesitated before tapping the first name.

☆☆☆☆☆

Ji Mun-Hee ♀️ (Player 065) A photo of a young woman with blonde hair appeared. She had an air of confidence, but her eyes betrayed a quiet sadness. The description made Gi-hun’s heart ache: a former model and influencer, ruined by a manipulative partner who left her drowning in debt.

◇◇◇

Deung Jiwoo ♂️ (Player 239) Next, a young man in his early twenties. A delivery driver who had worked tirelessly to support his family, only to be crushed by medical debt. (His kind smile in the photo hurted Gi-hun so much, it reminded him of his game for the first time when he was the one with a smile like that)

◇◇◇

Dan Seung ♂️ (Player 110) A slightly older man, his face lined with worry. A once-promising scholar who had been trapped by financial ruin. His profile mentioned a stint in the military, hinting at a hidden strength beneath his quiet demeanor.

◇◇◇

Son Shin-Il ♂️ (Player 430) A man in his late twenties with a calm, almost serene expression. His debts were modest, his reasons for joining the game driven more by desperation than greed.

◇◇◇

Yuk Da ♀️ (Player 456) Finally, a young woman with a determined gaze. Her profile spoke of a family farm in crisis and a desperate gamble to save her loved ones.

◇◇◇

As Gi-hun read each profile, a heavy weight settled in his chest. These weren’t just players-they were people, each with a story, each with a reason for being here. The thought of what awaited them was unbearable.

His hands trembled as he set the tablet down. The noise of the lounge seemed distant, muted. He wanted to scream, to tear the place apart, but he was paralyzed by the enormity of his helplessness.

When In-ho returned, he found Gi-hun still seated, his expression hollow.

“Now you understand,” In-ho said quietly. “This isn’t about winning or losing. It’s about choices. Yours. Theirs. Everyone’s.”

Gi-hun looked up at him, his voice raw. “And what about you? What choice did you make?”

In-ho paused, his mask betraying nothing. “The same one you did,” he said finally, his tone unreadable.

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Gi-hun alone with his thoughts.

Gi-hun stared at the tablet, the profiles still glowing on the screen. He wanted to believe there was a way to change things, to save these people. But as the laughter of the other VIPs echoed around him, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was already too late.

☆☆☆☆☆

Of course, the idea that these VIPs were once players who won the game is completely made up, as I said, but for me it's quite interesting thread