Soon everyone had their boxes.
Inside each box lay a dalgona—a disc of brittle sugar—with the design they had chosen pressed into it.
The broadcast announced, clear and mechanical:
[Game Two: Dalgona Candy. The shape you selected is the shape you must extract from the dalgona. You have ten minutes.]
Kai listened and muttered under his breath in Chinese—words most around him wouldn't understand. "So 067 and Cho Sang-woo already knew what this round would be. Sang-woo deliberately picked the simplest shape to let his teammates die. Is he brilliant… or a bastard?"
There was cold logic behind the thought. According to the Guards, there were six games in total and this was only the second. For Cho Sang-woo to maneuver against his teammates so early smelled like calculated betrayal.
Kai didn't linger on judgment. He focused. He held his steel needle steady and began to carve the triangle pattern he had chosen, working slowly and with extreme care. Stability first; speed later.
Across the field, players who'd also chosen the triangle—Cho Sang-woo, 067, and others—neared completion. Kai's piece was almost finished. He was careful, methodical.
Then a gunshot cracked the air. The world jolted.
Someone nearby had broken their pattern. The room erupted into frantic gasps. Kai glanced at his own dalgona and saw a hairline chip along the right edge of his triangle—his hand had trembled from the blast.
Panic clenched his chest. No way. I picked the simplest shape. Am I really going to die because of a tremor?
Rules, he thought. Search the rules.
"The shape you chose is the shape of the dalgona you must extract."
It doesn't say the dalgona must be the one in your box.
A loophole. Kai's eyes scanned the players around him. Many were skilled, many were slow. His own body was thin and weak; in a straight physical fight he'd lose to most men here. But cunning—cunning was his edge.
He set his sights on Player 005, a white-haired old woman calmly finishing her triangle. The Red-Clad Guard was walking in Kai's direction. Heart hammering, Kai made a decision.
He lunged.
A metal point drove into the old woman's eye. She screamed, a sound that shredded the sudden hush. Blood flecked his hand. Players and Guards froze, stunned at the audacity.
Before anyone could react properly, Kai snatched Player 005's needle and finished the last careful strokes, extracting a perfect triangle.
A Guard raised his gun and barked, but Kai held the carved triangle up like evidence and said, loud enough for cameras to pick up, "This is mine. I finished it. The rules didn't say I couldn't take a finished shape from anyone."
The Guard hesitated, then radioed the control room. On the monitors above, the Man in the black mask—the observer sipping red wine—watched without changing expression. He answered through the earpiece with perfunctory amusement:
"No rule forbids violence this round. He exploited a loophole. Let him pass. He'll entertain the VIPs."
The broadcast then declared, cool and indifferent:
[Number 250: success. Players who have completed the task, leave the play area immediately.]
Kai walked out as others stared. Seong Gi-hun's face held stunned disbelief.
A flicker of apprehension crossed Cho Sang-woo's expression—recognition that Kai's ruthlessness matched, or even exceeded, his own cold pragmatism.
Behind him, Player 005—left without her dalgona—was shot in the head by a Guard for being unable to complete the task. The gunshot sounded clinical and final.
Kai felt a tiny stab of something—guilt? He pushed it down.
Man for himself, he thought. Survive first.
Kai rationalized: anyone would have done the same in his place if they'd spotted that loophole. Instinct to seek advantage and avoid harm was human. Who could blame him?
Several of those who chose triangle—067, Cho Sang-woo, Player 111 and others—completed their pieces and returned to the dormitories first. When 067 walked in, Kai approached quickly.
"So?" he asked. "For the next game, should we team up?"
067 looked at him with open contempt. "What you did… opened my eyes. After you walked out, others started ripping each other apart. Everyone began snatching finished pieces—who'd bother carving anymore? Teaming up with someone like you? I wouldn't trust it. You'd stab me the first chance you had."
Kai shrugged. "You already know my nature. I'm ruthless, yes—but I'm smart. I won't betray teammates unless it's absolutely necessary. You hate 101, don't you? If player fighting is allowed, won't 101 try to eliminate you? Alone, can you survive? Allies increase survival odds. I already have four teammates—add you, we're six. That's protection."
067 fell silent. She finally gave her name: "Kang Sae-byeok."
"Kai," he said, offering his hand. "I promise—unless it's life or death, I won't betray you."
Kang Sae-byeok hesitated, then took his hand.
Back at the arena, things had spiraled. Kai's example had been contagious.
Once a few players realized the loophole, the play field degenerated into fights for finished dalgonas; carving became secondary to theft and violence. Blood, shouts, and desperation spread faster than sugar dust.
The Man in the black mask watching in the control room frowned at the rising mortality. Too many deaths in the second round would undercut the whole spectacle—what would be left of six deadly games if half the contestants were already dead?
He ordered the Guards to restore order.
The Guards fired warning shots into the air.
"From this moment on, violent acts will not be tolerated. Those who use violence will be eliminated."
The players froze, then reluctantly went back to carving. But the earlier fighting had consumed time; many players no longer had the full ten minutes to finish. The consequences—just like the sugar itself—were brittle and unforgiving.