As the music began—a haunting, orchestral version of a nursery rhyme—Gi-hun realized the game had changed. It wasn't about surviving anymore; it was about dismantling the machine from the inside. But in a room where every floor panel was a trap and every player was a desperate weapon, the line between a hero and a monster began to blur.

The new games were already being prepared. This time, the "VIPs" wanted more than just desperation; they wanted a narrative. They introduced "The Traitor’s Gambit." In the first round—a twisted version of hopscotch played over a bed of pressurized glass—players weren't just playing for themselves. They were assigned "tethers." If your partner fell, your floor dissolved.

Gi-hun found himself tethered to a young man who reminded him of Sae-byeok—quiet, sharp-eyed, and carrying a grudge against the world.

"I don't have to trust you to save you," Gi-hun replied, his eyes hardened by the 45.6 billion won blood money already in his pocket.