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Echoes Of Silence Part 5.5

synapse: y/n had chosen to stay with her chosen team—red. she’d have to do what she can to survive and then find the dae-ho to protect him from someone who wants him dead.

pairing: kang dae-ho x deaf!reader

contains: blood, graphic deaths

a/n: @katscloudy @f3r4lfr0gg3r this is a pick your ending but if you chose this— here’s more chapters for this one

part six part seven

. . .

Y/N closed her eyes as the doors slammed shut behind the final member of the blue team. The finality echoed in her chest like a drumbeat.

No turning back now.

Red Team it is.

Kill who you have to. Find Dae-ho. That was the plan.

She glanced at the digital timer ticking down from two minutes above the arena entrance, the red glow washing over her face. Two minutes to steel herself. Two minutes before the hunt began.

Then her gaze flickered sideways—landing on Gi-hun. He wasn’t watching the clock. He was watching the hallway Dae-ho disappeared into. His jaw was set, his eyes blazing like a man possessed.

Y/N’s heart clenched. She had to get to Dae-ho before Gi-hun did.

She dropped her box to the floor with a hollow clang, gripping the cold handle of the knife inside. Her hand wrapped around it tightly, pulse pounding in her ears. Breathe in. Breathe out. She could do this.

But then someone shifted in front of her. She opened her eyes.

Player 124. Nam-gyu.

Of course.

He turned toward her with that same infuriating grin, his expression too casual for the nightmare they were about to step into. “Hey, deaf girl,” he greeted like an old buddy at a bar, not a killer gearing up for the next hunt. “We’re playing for the same team now.”

She gave him a stiff, silent nod.

He stepped closer, hands finding her shoulders. She didn’t flinch, but her muscles tensed like coiled wire. “Word of advice, deafy,” he said with mock sincerity. “Don’t just kill one. Kill every blue player you see. The more blood we spill, the fatter the prize pot gets.”

She gave a small nod again, but not because she agreed. She wasn’t here for money. Not anymore.

She was here for him.

Nam-gyu leaned in just a bit, his breath sour with arrogance. “I’m rooting for you, deafy. I hope you don’t die.” Then he smirked, tone dropping, crueler now. “But if your little long-haired translator does? Well… there’s always someone better.”

Her grip on the knife tightened.

Without a word, she lifted her hand and pointed squarely to the center of his chest, gaze sharp.

His grin widened as if she’d just flirted with him. “I always did like quiet girls,” he murmured, biting his bottom lip in some twisted show of charm.

She didn’t dignify it with a response.

Instead, she looked up as the timer above them blinked its final seconds.

3… 2… 1…

A long mechanical beep. The doors creaked open.

Nam-gyu let out a whoop of laughter, throwing his arms up. “Let’s get it!” he shouted in English, striding ahead like this was a damn party.

Y/N followed quietly, knife in hand, eyes darting everywhere.

Her silence wasn’t weakness. It was war.

And she was going to find Dae-ho.

Before Gi-hun did. Before Nam-gyu decided to follow through on his veiled threats. Before the arena swallowed them whole.

Let the game begin.

The doors slammed shut behind the Red Team with a metallic finality, and above them, the thirty-minute timer began its cruel descent.

Y/N moved without hesitation, her boots echoing down the sterile hallway. She kept low, her blade gripped tight in one hand, her eyes sharp as razors. One by one, she tested every door she passed—locked. Every handle turned, every effort fruitless.

The building was a maze designed to disorient. But she had something no map could offer—instinct.

She paused and crouched low, placing her palm flat on the cold floor.

There.

The soft tremor of hurried footsteps.

To her right.

She sprang into motion, feet pounding silently on the concrete as she sprinted down the corridor. A blur of movement caught her eye—blue. A jersey disappearing behind a door.

She didn’t hesitate.

Y/N lunged forward just as the door slammed shut. She shoved it with her shoulder, but the person inside pushed back hard. Her boots slid on the floor as she strained against it, grunting quietly, but then—she stopped.

Silence followed.

Whoever was behind the door paused too, believing perhaps she’d given up.

That was their mistake.

With a guttural exhale, Y/N hurled her weight into the door. It burst open, slamming with bone-crunching force into the face of the blue-jerseyed man on the other side. A sickening crack echoed off the walls as he crumpled to the ground, clutching his bloodied nose.

She looked down, heart hammering.

Player 100.

The bastard who had rallied others to keep the game going. The man who’d shouted about cattle ranches while others died around him.

For a fleeting second, pity sparked. Then it died.

“Please,” he whimpered, blood dripping through his fingers. “Spare me…”

She met his eyes. Cold.

And slowly shook her head.

The blade rose.

But he wasn’t done fighting.

With a sudden shout, he kicked her square in the stomach, sending her flying back against the door. The wind left her lungs with a gasp. By the time she looked up, he was scrambling—up the stairs, desperate, pawing at a locked exit.

Wrong key. Wrong door.

He knew it, and still he tried.

Y/N rose, knife still in hand. Her ribs ached, but she stalked forward.

Player 100 spun to face her, face twisted in rage and fear. “Stupid deaf bitch! You’re gonna die—!”

She lunged. He ducked, but not fast enough. The blade tore through his forearm. His scream echoed through the corridor.

He shoved her off with frantic strength, his bloodied arm sliding off the blade with a wet squelch. He hit the floor hard, crawling. Desperate.

Y/N didn’t flinch. She drove her knife into the back of his leg, pinning him in place as he howled in agony.

She yanked him toward her like a ragdoll, gripping the handle, her face emotionless.

He flipped over, pleading again—eyes wild, lips trembling.

Too late.

The knife plunged into his chest with brutal finality.

Blood sprayed her face. She didn’t blink. Not once.

She didn’t breathe until he stilled.

Only then did she pull the knife free. It slid out slick and slow, and she rose to her feet in silence, wiping the blood from her face with the sleeve of her shirt.

Another breath. Another heartbeat.

And she moved on.

“Player 100, eliminated. Player 067, pass.”

The robotic announcement echoed off the walls, flat and devoid of humanity. But Y/N didn’t hear it.

What she did see was the silhouette leaning against the now-open exit door at the top of the stairs.

She raised her knife on instinct, breath hitching—until she recognized him.

Nam-gyu.

He clapped slowly, a grin curling across his face. “Damn. That might’ve been the hottest thing I’ve ever seen a woman do. I am so turned on.”

Y/N didn’t acknowledge him. She barely spared a glance at the man beside him—Player 333, Myung-gi. Quieter, twitchy, clearly uncomfortable but tagging along nonetheless.

She lowered her blade and descended the steps, blood still splattered across her shirt, her eyes burning with only one goal:

Find Dae-ho.

Nam-gyu’s gaze followed her like a wolf eyeing prey. “I really thought she was just a mute, annoying bitch,” he laughed. “But man, I’d kill to get her in bed now.” He looked down at the knife in his hand, amused. “I bet she’d be crazy in—”

“She’s not important right now,” Myung-gi interrupted sharply, his voice low, warning. “Focus.”

Nam-gyu rolled his eyes but followed as they moved off.

Meanwhile, Y/N kept moving through the twisting hallways, her breath steady, her grip on the blade unshaking. She didn’t even look at the trembling Blue Team members she passed. One huddled behind a half-open door. Another peeked out from behind a corner.

They weren’t her target.

They weren’t him.

All she cared about now… was finding Dae-ho.

She pressed her palm to the floor again, grounding herself. And there it was—a subtle drag, like a body being pulled or someone crawling. Close. Recent. Her pulse quickened.

She rose swiftly, every muscle tense as she followed the faint sensation, knife raised in case it wasn’t who she hoped it would be.

She rounded the corner sharply—and froze.

Jun-hee. Hyun-ju. Mrs. Jang.

Her eyes softened and immediately lowered the knife. Relief, but only a flicker.

Jun-hee leaned heavily on Mrs. Jang, her face pale and pinched with pain. She was limping badly. Y/N’s eyes shot to Hyun-ju, her brows pulling together in silent question.

“She fell,” Hyun-ju said softly, already unlocking a nearby door. “We’re hiding here for now.” Jun-hee and Mrs. Jang disappeared into the room, Hyun-ju pausing to glance back at Y/N. “Stay safe, alright?”

Y/N gave a short nod, watching them vanish behind the door before turning away—her grip on the knife tightening once more.

She kept moving. Different hallway. Different doors. Different faces.

But never his.

She started to spiral. What if he was gone? What if he—

No. She clenched her jaw. She wasn’t going to think like that.

And then—blood.

A thin smear across the floor. Still wet. Still red.

Her stomach twisted.

Without hesitation, she broke into a sprint, boots pounding against the floor as she followed the trail, heart in her throat, praying—

Please let it be you. Let me find you before someone else does.

She pushed forward, eyes trained on the smears of blood that now streaked toward a door at the end of the hall. It pooled just slightly beneath the handle—fresh and still glistening. Her heart slammed against her ribs as she twisted the knob and threw it open.

Stairs.

The blood continued upward.

She didn’t hesitate. Her shoes pounded against the steps, one hand on the railing, the other gripping the knife like a lifeline. The blood curved around the upper landing, leading her down another corridor.

She rounded the corner, breath catching in her throat, prepared for the worst—when she slammed into another body.

A sharp yelp. Her knife flew up instinctively—

But then stopped. Her fingers loosened their grip.

Dae-ho.

His face crumpled with visible relief as he pulled her into a desperate hug, shaking slightly. He clung to her like he’d found the only solid thing in a collapsing world.

Then he pulled back, his voice hoarse, trembling. “Gi-hun’s after me… my leg’s messed up. I don’t know how much farther I can go…”

She nodded quickly, her hands already moving as she signed, ‘Let’s try, okay? Let’s get you to a room. Sit down, breathe.’

She looped his arm over her shoulder, her own arm snaking around his waist, careful not to jostle the wound. Together, they hobbled down the corridor, her knife still clenched tightly in her hand.

She tried the nearest door. It swung open—and her breath caught in her throat.

A ledge. A drop. Nothing below but a black void. One misstep and they’d fall to their deaths.

She didn’t have time to close the door.

A presence behind them.

She tensed.

Gi-hun.

They turned, and Dae-ho pushed himself upright, trying to shield her. “Don’t come any closer,” he warned, voice low and fierce despite the pain.

But Y/N moved faster, stepping in front of him, arms wide, knife ready. Her entire body screamed protective. Gi-hun’s eyes burned with rage as he tried to get around her.

“Move,” he growled.

She shook her head firmly.

He didn’t care. He shoved her hard against the wall, her head snapping back from the force.

And then he lunged at Dae-ho.

The two men collided. Dae-ho managed to knock the blade from Gi-hun’s hand and shoved him against the wall. But Gi-hun was relentless. He punched Dae-ho hard—too hard. Dae-ho crumpled to the ground.

Gi-hun raised a fist to finish it—until he felt the cold kiss of steel against his throat.

He froze.

Y/N stood there, arm rigid, knife pressed into the soft skin of his neck, her gaze like fire.

She didn’t flinch.

She dragged him backward by the collar, forcing him to stand—and without a word, flipped the knife in her hand and slammed the hilt into the back of his skull.

He collapsed like a dropped puppet, unconscious.

She didn’t wait to see if he’d wake.

She dropped to Dae-ho’s side. ‘Are you okay?’ she signed, her hands shaking.

He nodded, face pale but alive.

Relief surged through her. That was enough.

She threw his arm over her shoulders again and guided him away. They didn’t have much time. Two minutes at most.

The next door opened easily. She helped him inside, gently lowering him to the floor.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “My leg…”

She studied him, worry in her eyes. ‘I could stop the bleeding—but it’ll make us vulnerable.’

He shook his head, panting. “No. You’re right. We can’t risk it yet… not if he wakes up…”

But she wasn’t worried about Gi-hun anymore.

She was looking at the door.

Her eyes lit with an idea. She reached into her jacket pocket, pulling out something small and dull—a metal fork, stolen from the gimbap meal.

In silence, she bent the handle back and forth until it snapped. Then she bent the prongs just slightly and walked to the door. Carefully, she cracked it open just enough to slide the fork into the latch. She wedged the broken handle into the prongs, jamming the lock shut.

A makeshift barricade.

She backed away from the door, hands trembling, heart racing as she checked the makeshift lock one more time. It wasn’t perfect—but it would hold. At least long enough.

When she turned around, Dae-ho was staring at her with wide, tired eyes. He was breathing heavily, sweat clinging to his brow, and his leg was stretched out awkwardly, the fabric of his pants dark with blood.

Still, his lips curved into the faintest, dazed smile. “You’re…you’re amazing…”

She knelt beside him, her hands already moving in fluent, rapid signs: ‘Don’t talk. Don’t move. Save your strength.’

He exhaled with a small laugh, like he couldn’t believe she was real. “You came for me…”

She paused, then signed slower. ‘Of course I did. I told you I would. I’ll always come for you.’

His eyes flickered with emotion, mouth parting slightly, but no words came—just a sharp hiss of pain as he shifted too much.

She reached up, gently cupping his face to calm him. His eyes met hers.

‘I need to look at the wound,’ she signed. ‘I’ll be fast.’

He nodded, leaning back against the wall as she gently pulled up the fabric on his leg. The sight made her stomach drop. A deep gash, nasty and raw, likely from falling or being cut while fleeing. It wasn’t life-threatening—yet. But it needed to be cleaned and wrapped.

She pulled off her jacket tied around her waist, tore a clean section of it with her teeth, and carefully pressed it to the wound. Dae-ho gritted his teeth, gripping the edge of the wall to stay quiet.

‘Just a little longer,’ she signed, looking up.

He didn’t say anything. Just nodded again, his hand reaching out—finding hers.

She held it, thumb brushing across his knuckles. Then she looked up at the timer through the small sliver of a high window. Thirty-eight seconds left.

They were going to make it.

They were still breathing.

And she wasn’t letting him go. Not now. Not ever.

The door rattled—once, twice—sharp and sudden, the sound echoing in the silence of the room. She jumped, instinctively reaching for her knife, heart hammering.

Someone was trying to get in.

But the makeshift fork lock held.

The door trembled beneath the weight of the attempt, but didn’t give. Seconds stretched like hours.

And then… it stopped.

A tense breath later, that cold, mechanical voice filled the air. “The game has ended.”

Dae-ho exhaled shakily, a low sound of relief in his throat. His head turned slowly toward her, eyes wide with disbelief but full of warmth. He signed, ‘It’s over. We made it.’

She gave a small nod, sinking down beside him with a heavy breath. Her body felt like it had been through war. She leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder, both of them still catching up to the fact that they were alive.

His hand found hers, fingers curling around her palm with a gentle squeeze. “You saved me,” he whispered, “but he’ll try again. He’ll try to kill me next chance he gets.”

She lifted her head, meeting his eyes, and signed with fire behind her hands: ‘Not if I can help it.’

He stared at her for a moment—really looked at her. And then his hands rose, cradling her face, trembling slightly not from fear now, but something else. He leaned in and kissed her.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was soft, sincere—his lips pressed to hers in a moment that felt like it existed outside the Games, outside the violence. Just them. Just this.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers, eyes closed.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve someone like you,” he murmured, voice raw with gratitude and something deeper.

She smiled softly, barely signing her reply, ‘Then make sure you live like you do.’

. . .

They made it back to the dormitory in silence, the weight of survival still pressing down on their shoulders. Blood had dried on clothes, hearts still thudded with adrenaline, but the fight—for now—was over.

Y/N only parted from Dae-ho once, quietly moving across the room to check on Jun-hee, who sat against the wall cradling her newborn. A miracle born during hell.

Dae-ho watched her go, eyes never straying far from her figure. His jaw clenched when they flicked over to Gi-hun. The rage was still there, cold and steady. The man might’ve been chained to a bed, but Dae-ho didn’t need reminding—he hadn’t forgotten. Not what he did. Not what he tried.

But that didn’t matter now. Y/N had come back. And she was safe.

Then came the vote.

The pot had risen, each person’s share now ₩1.724 billion. A staggering amount. But the most ruthless players—the ones that would’ve killed for it—were already gone.

And when the final vote was cast… shock rolled through the dormitory like thunder.

17 for X. 8 for O. One abstention.

“Of the 25 voters,” the guard spoke. “16 voted for X, eight votes for O and one abstention. In accordance with your democratic vote, the majority has voted to end the games. And so, the games are now terminated.”

A beat of silence. Then a breath. Then joy.

Dae-ho turned to her, his face bright with disbelief. “This is it,” he said. “We can go home. We made it.”

She smiled, eyes glassy as her arms wrapped around him. It wasn’t just a celebration—it was a release. A release from the nightmare, from death, from fear.

Others laughed, hugged, cried. Some from Team O cursed and shouted, but no one could ruin this.

When they pulled apart, Dae-ho reached into his pocket, holding out the worn piece of paper she’d given him—the goodbye note. “Can I read this? Even though we’re…”

Before he could finish, she gently took it from his hand and tore it into pieces. The shredded paper fell between them like snow.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ she signed with a small smile.

He nodded, slipping a hand into his other pocket. From it, he pulled the old note she’d given him nights ago—her number and address. It had survived everything. So had they.

“I’m gonna find you again,” he said, voice soft but firm. “I promise.”

She leaned in and gave him a small kiss, tender and filled with unspoken relief.

Then she turned, walking to her bunk to gather the only two things she owned now: her notebook and her dog-eared sign language book. But her steps slowed when she passed Gi-hun.

Still handcuffed. Still silent.

Still staring at nothing.

Her jaw tensed, but she walked to him anyway, notebook already open in her hands. She squatted down in front of him, her eyes calm but sharp. She held the notebook up for him to read.

‘Don’t blame Dae-ho. It’s not his fault. It never was. He got scared. People were going to die anyway, whether the magazines got there or not. It was a risky plan and everyone knew that.’

Gi-hun read it, but said nothing. His gaze dropped again, hollowed by grief.

She hesitated… then wrote something else. She gently placed the new note on his lap, then turned and walked away without another look.

The final note read:

‘I’m sorry about your friend. I’m sorry about everyone you lost. But people die. That’s life. It’s unfair. And sometimes… you just have to live with the hand you were dealt.’

☾ Hi, I'm Rosie!

You might know me as nonamerosie on Wattpad, AO3 & TikTok ♡ I’m completely new here, but I’m excited to have somewhere to share everything that exists beyond the chapters.

Currently writing:

🌘 Unarmoured | Reiner Braun x Reader

Slow burn college au about grief, first love, found family, and figuring out how to love again when you never really stopped loving the first person.

🕯️ Echoes of Silence | Marco Bodt x Reader

Slow burn college au about trauma, healing, finding your way back to yourself, and letting someone see you when you’ve spent so long trying not to be seen.

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