The Last Game: Survive or Die

The rain hadn't stopped in three days. The city was grey, heavy with hopelessness. Jihoon sat on the damp steps outside his apartment, the eviction notice crumpled in his hand. Debt collectors had taken everything except the clothes on his back and a hunger that gnawed deeper than his stomach—it burned into his soul.

That's when the stranger appeared.

A man in a tailored suit with a calm smile and a red envelope.

"Want to play a game?" he asked.

Desperate and curious, Jihoon accepted. The next day, he woke up in a strange room with 455 other people, all wearing green tracksuits. None of them knew where they were, only that they had volunteered after receiving similar invitations.

A loud voice echoed through the room.

“Welcome, players. You have been chosen to compete in a series of children’s games. Win, and you move on. Lose, and you’re eliminated.”

Simple enough—until the first game began.

Red Light, Green Light.

Jihoon ran like his life depended on it—because it did. He saw the truth when the first player moved on red and was shot in the head. Screams erupted, but hesitation meant death. By the end of the game, hundreds lay dead.

Terror became real.

The survivors were allowed to vote: leave the game or stay. A majority voted to leave, and Jihoon found himself back in the world—still broke, still hopeless. But the taste of that prize money lingered. He wasn’t alone. Within days, most of them returned. The prize was too big. 45.6 billion won.

More games followed.

Honeycomb Carving. Tug of War. Marbles.

Each more brutal, each a test of trust, betrayal, and luck. Jihoon formed alliances. He met Sae-byeok, a North Korean defector with sharp eyes and a quiet strength. There was Ali, kind and naïve, and Sang-woo, Jihoon’s childhood friend turned calculating strategist.

But trust meant little in a game where everyone else was competition.

By the fifth game, only a handful remained.

Jihoon saw his friends fall. Ali betrayed by Sang-woo. Sae-byeok fatally wounded. Jihoon was left with Sang-woo in the final round—the Squid Game, a game from their childhood now soaked in blood.

Rain fell again as they stood in the sand, facing each other. Jihoon’s heart was heavy, his hands shaking.

“I didn’t come here to become a monster,” he whispered.

Sang-woo, cornered and bleeding, pressed the knife into Jihoon’s hands. “Then let this end with me.”

He killed himself.

Jihoon collapsed, sobbing in the rain.

He won. But at what cost?

Weeks passed. The prize money sat untouched in his bank account. He couldn’t spend it. Not after what he’d seen, what he’d done.

Then he got a card.

The same red symbol.

It led him to a rooftop, where the old man—Player 001—sat smiling in a hospital bed.

“I started the game,” he confessed. “Rich men get bored. We wanted to feel alive again. So, we played with the lives of the desperate.”

Jihoon was silent, rage and disbelief bubbling inside.

“You had a choice,” the old man added. “We all do.”

The man died that night.

Jihoon walked into the night with fire in his heart. He dyed his hair red, a symbol of rebirth. He wouldn’t be their puppet anymore.

And he wouldn’t let the game go on.

The Last Game was over.

But Jihoon was ready for the next fight—against those who watched from the shadows.

Because survival wasn’t enough anymore.

Now, it was time for justice.

Jihoon saw his friends fall. Ali betrayed by Sang-woo. Sae-byeok fatally wounded. Jihoon was left with Sang-woo in the final round—the Squid Game, a game from their childhood now soaked in blood.

Rain fell again as they stood in the sand, facing each other. Jihoon’s heart was heavy, his hands shaking.

“I didn’t come here to become a monster,” he whispered.

Sang-woo, cornered and bleeding, pressed the knife into Jihoon’s hands. “Then let this end with me.”

He killed himself.

Jihoon collapsed, sobbing in the rain.

He won. But at what cost?

Weeks passed. The prize money sat untouched in his bank account. He couldn’t spend it. Not after what he’d seen, what he’d done.

Then he got a card.

The same red symbol.

It led him to a rooftop, where the old man—Player 001—sat smiling in a hospital bed.

“I started the game,” he confessed. “Rich men get bored. We wanted to feel alive again. So, we played with the lives of the desperate.”

Jihoon was silent, rage and disbelief bubbling inside.

“You had a choice,” the old man added. “We all do.”

The man died that night.

Jihoon walked into the night with fire in his heart. He dyed his hair red, a symbol of rebirth. He wouldn’t be their puppet anymore.

And he wouldn’t let the game go on.

The Last Game was over.

But Jihoon was ready for the next fight—against those who watched from the shadows.

Because survival wasn’t enough anymore.

Now, it was time for justice.