02 - A Piece Of Me | Just Another Player. (hwang In-ho X Reader)
02 - a piece of me | just another player. (hwang in-ho x reader)
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——
The room was cold. Not from temperature, but from design — sterile and steel-lined, walls pressed tight in perfect symmetry, not a single window to the world outside. You sat among dozens of other guards, each clad in the identical matte uniform, each face hidden behind a black visor with a single geometric shape. You were in a sea of circles - a hierarchy forged not in character, but in obedience.
You felt your breath fog slightly beneath the mask. Even now, after years of wearing it, there were moments it felt like a muzzle.
Then, the door at the far end hissed open, revealing the creator, host, and God of this hell.
Oh Il-nam.
His hair was thinner now, his skin clung tighter to the ridges of his skull, but his eyes — sharp, glinting like polished glass — scanned the room with that same quiet cruelty you remembered from the archives. He walked with a slight limp, supported by a black cane, his mask tucked beneath his arm like a crown he didn’t need to wear to remind you who he was. He was dressed in deep crimson — formal, commanding, and flawless. The color of blood dried into velvet.
He stood before the room of guards and overseers, calm and calculating, as if he were welcoming guests to a dinner party rather than orchestrating death. He spoke softly, but the room bent toward his words like blades of grass in the wind.
“Welcome to the 33rd Season of the Games,” Il-nam began, his voice low and controlled. “Do you know what that number means?”
Silence answered him.
“It means that the world hasn’t changed. The hunger still lives. That desperation is still the most powerful currency.”
He paced slowly before the first row, hearing his cane tap against the ground with every step.
“The rules remain the same. The games — Red Light, Green Light. Dalgona. Lights Out,” he paused at that, smiling faintly. “Yes, it’s officially part of the cycle now. Chaos has structure. Isn’t that beautiful?”
You remained still, but your stomach twisted. You remembered the screaming, the way the night didn’t hide the dying. You remembered the man bleeding out on the floor, who now sat behind black glass in a tower above, a Front Man forged from your mistake.
“Tug of War. Marbles. And most importantly, the Squid Game,” Il-nam continued. “You will uphold the structure. You will maintain the illusion of order. But most of all—“ he stopped now, facing the crowd directly— “you will not disobey.”
Murmurs didn’t follow — they weren’t allowed. But the tension thickened. Lights Out was once an unofficial chaos was now part of the rulebook. You felt it all rushing back, blood pooling across tiles, and a hand reaching up in the dark. His voice was breathless, shaking, whispering the words, “Why…?”
“Any form of aid to players, any deviation from assigned protocol, any mask that dares to feel… will be punished.”
You flinched, barely, but you knew the sting was meant for you.
“Some of you have already failed us before,” he said, eyes grazing across the room, almost like he could see behind the masks. “You’re here again because we believe in second chances… not forgiveness.”
The word struck like a lash. You didn’t move, but inside, the fire of the truth burned anew.
The punishment wasn’t execution, at least, not for you. It was service, a reassignment, and a demotion. A demotion that dragged you into night shifts, into silent bedrooms and glided masks, into the leering eyes of VIPs where no screams escaped and no names were spoken. And every morning, you returned to pink.
“Uniforms and role assignments are waiting in Hall B. You will report immediately. Any delay is noted.”
The square guards began barking orders immediately. Role assignments, room numbers, escort teams, firearm calibration checks — all familiar routines returned like a tidal wave. The masked figures rose, each moving with choreographed efficiency toward their fate.
Season 33 had begun, and you would do anything just to survive.
——
The metal platform groaned beneath your boots as you stood at the edge of the training hall, rows of pink-masked recruits stiffening under your gaze.
A row of red carpet unfurled like a fresh wound down the center of the pristine room — the designated “escort path.” Gold-painted chairs lined the simulated VIP lounge behind you, perfectly arranged for the demonstration. Surveillance cameras blinked red in the corners. Nothing here was ever unobserved.
“Position one,” you called sharply.
The recruits moved. The pink guard stepped forward to act as the "escort" was young, shorter than the rest, their voice still trembling. Their grip fumbled over the faux decanter meant to mimic luxury service.
They bowed to the mock VIP actor like a civilian would — too deeply, too slowly. You inhaled sharply through your mask. They tried again, offering a drink with both hands, their gloves shaking slightly.
“Wrong,” you snapped, voice cutting clean through the stale air.
The recruit flinched as you strode forward, the click of your boots like gunshots in the quiet room. In one swift motion, you snatched the decanter from their hands and slammed it down on the tray beside the lounge chair.
“You are not a servant,” you said coldly. “You are a symbol. A presence. A product of obedience, not emotion. The moment you show uncertainty, they will know. And they will take advantage.”
Your words hung heavy in the space between you and the trembling recruit. The rest of the class stood rigid, afraid to move, afraid to breathe.
“Again,” you barked. “With your spine straight. Offer the drink like a machine, not a child.”
The recruit obeyed. This time, it was slower and more deliberate. You stood behind them, adjusting the tilt of their chin with the sharp edge of your gloved hand. Their mask tilted toward yours, questioning and fearful.
They reminded you of someone, more of yourself. When you were promoted to square, clean and hopeful, your eyes too bright beneath the black. Before your rank was stripped and your identity erased in silence, not because of failure, but because of mercy.
“Acceptable,” you said finally, though your voice was devoid of warmth.
Training resumed in silence. Hours blurred past drills — posture, presentation, calculated silence. The elite escort role required perfection. Anything less was an insult to the illusion these monsters paid to see.
Eventually, the session ended.
One by one, the pink guards filed out. The doors hissed open, and the cold concrete swallowed them. But one lingered. A square guard, standing by the door with his arms folded, watching you with quiet interest behind the black mask that once mirrored your own.
“They say you were once a square,” he said casually, his voice low and edged with something darker. “What did you do?”
You didn’t answer. He stepped closer. The distance between you was all surveillance and silence.
“Rumors say you saved someone. That you disobeyed for a dying player,” he added. “But they never say why you’re still alive.”
You turned your head, slow and measured. “I follow orders,” you replied flatly. “That’s all that matters.”
“Funny,” he said. “You train them like you’re trying to make them forget what it’s like to be human.”
You stared at him. “Because being human in here,” you said, “is the fastest way to die.”
You walked away, back into the corridors of steel and smoke, where ghosts wore masks and punishment was survival’s reward. The dim corridor buzzed faintly, the sound of fluorescent lights above flickering like a dying breath. You made your way down the path lined with identical metal doors, the living quarters for the pink guards.
Yours was the last door in the row. Room 427. You keyed in the code. The lock hissed open. Inside was stillness with barren walls, a single bed with starched sheets, and a metal table bolted to the floor. There was no mirror and belongings. Just silence, always silence.
You sat on the edge of the bed, peeling off your gloves like a second skin. Your pink suit was unzipped just enough to breathe. The metal walls echoed with distant footsteps, squares barking orders at newly recruited guards, the crackle of radios, the buzz of the elevator ferrying supplies to the upper floors. But here in your unit’s quarters, it was still.
There was no escort duty tonight. For once, your number wasn’t on the list. That relief was almost as painful as the duties themselves. You stared at your gloves on the bedside table, fingers curled stiff from wear. Blood had once soaked through them. Screams once filled your ears. But now? You were used to it.
That was the point, wasn’t it?
Before the games, you had a name. A life outside the games. You used to dance in the rain.
You lived in colors, not red, black and pink, but golden light from streetlamps, the warm blue of your favorite café, the soft lavender of your tiny rented apartment. You weren’t rich, but you were free. A literature student by day, part-time waitress by night. You wanted to write stories one day. Novels. Maybe even poetry. You dreamed of publishing your own book someday.
Your laughter used to come easily. Your smile wasn’t a mask. You believed in people. Yet in the end, you were the one who stayed.
In a neighborhood where everyone else was desperate to leave, you stayed behind. You watched your friends grow distant and your family grow smaller. It was only one funeral, then came another. Then another. Until the only voices left were the ones in your head.
You weren’t running from anything — there was just nowhere left to go. No final fight nor betrayal. Just… time, taking people from you, one by one. You stopped talking out loud because there was no one to hear you anyway.
So when the pink envelope arrived that was sealed tight, marked only by shapes, it felt like an accident. A glitch in the mail. A strange dream.
But you opened it.
And that’s how it started.
You didn’t become a player. You didn’t owe anything. But you were noticed — someone they could use. Someone who would not be missed. At first, you thought you’d break. But there was no one left to worry about you. No one left to remind you who you were.
Now, you rarely think about your name. It doesn’t come easily anymore.
And maybe that was the point.
——
The order comes like a slap to your already numb consciousness. A square guard, his uniform sharp and flawless, strides over to you in the dark hallway. His voice is cool, matter-of-fact, as if he’s never had to question a thing in his life.
"Fix the Front Man's quarters. Make sure every detail is perfect," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.
You simply nod, the sound of the mask moving as you lower your head in silent acknowledgment. You’ve been in this position long enough to know how things go. The Front Man’s quarters, as cold and sterile as everything else in the compound, require absolute precision. The slightest mistake, the smallest imperfection, could result in more than just a reprimand. You’ve seen what happens when others fail in front of the Front Man. There’s nothing kind or forgiving about his gaze.
The square guard watches you for a moment longer, as if ensuring you’ll comply, before turning away, leaving you to your task.
You stood in front of the door, taking in the quiet, lifeless hallway. Everything is perfectly still. No noise. No interruptions. The only sound you hear is the distant hum of ventilation systems and the pulse of your own heartbeat beneath the thick mask. You inhale deeply and push the door open.
Inside, the quarters were as pristine as always. It was cold, empty, and unyielding - not a single trace of humanity remains. The room was meticulously organized, the bed made to military standards, the furnishings aligned with an unnatural symmetry, a single chair in the corner, its back to the wall. Every surface gleams, as if the place is nothing but a shell, waiting for its occupant to step inside.
You walk in slowly, your eyes scanning over every inch, every corner. Your mind runs through the mental checklist: lighting, temperature, scent. Every detail is scrutinized until you’re certain it meets the Front Man’s standards. Your gloved hands trace over the desk, wiping away the faintest trace of dust. It’s almost too perfect. There’s nothing left to fix. The space is an extension of the man who occupies it — cold, flawless, untouchable.
You began to adjust the small things. The alignment of books on a shelf, the angle of the chair, the slight shift in the position of a painting on the wall. Every adjustment feels like an offering. Your body is numb to the motion, your mind detached and mechanical.
A sudden movement at the door catches your attention, and you freeze.
A shadow. A figure standing in the doorway, silent and imposing. You don’t need to look up to know it’s the square guard again. His eyes are cold, but there’s something else, a faint smile at the edge of his lips as he watches you.
“Is everything in order?” he asks, his voice like a dull blade scraping against metal.
You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Your eyes remain downcast, focusing on the smallest of details. The least of your concerns is his gaze, but you feel the weight of it pressing down on you nonetheless.
The square guard takes a step forward, glancing around the room. His eyes land on the smallest imperfection, a slight smudge on the glass of a picture frame. Without a word, he reaches out, wiping it away with a swipe of his gloved hand. His movements are sharp, deliberate.
“You’ve done well,” he says, his voice softening ever so slightly. But you know better. He’s not complimenting you. He’s simply acknowledging your obedience. The look in his eyes doesn’t change — still cold, still distant.
“Finish up,” he commands. “And make sure the Front Man doesn’t find anything out of place.”
The square guard leaves, his footsteps echoing down the hallway, leaving you alone with your thoughts once more. As you turn to leave, your fingers brush against the edge of the desk, and something about the cold metal reminds you of the past. Of who you used to be. Of the girl who had dreams and laughter in her heart.
You barely register the sounds of the Front Man’s approaching footsteps — but you know they're coming. You can feel him before you see him, a presence that lingers in the room even as the door creaks open.
The Front Man walks inside with his usual poise, the cold mask covering his face, unreadable. His eyes scan the room like a predator sizing up its prey, each movement deliberate, precise, as if assessing not just the space but the person who prepared it. His footsteps echo softly against the polished floors, louder than they have any right to be.
You stand at attention in the corner, still and quiet, as he takes his time walking around the room. You don’t dare speak unless he orders you to.
His gaze flickers to the desk first. He takes a long pause, inspecting the alignment of the books, the sheen on the surface. His fingers brush lightly over the chair, just enough to feel the exact temperature of the room, the subtle pressure of the cushion. He moves with the kind of deliberate grace that you’ve come to associate with someone who knows their power, their dominance, their control over every detail.
For a split second, you hold your breath, wondering what he’s looking for. Is there something amiss? A trace of imperfection you might have missed in your hasty preparation?
But then his gaze shifts to the picture frame. It’s the smallest detail, the most trivial of things. His eyes narrow, his fingers tracing the edge of the frame with unsettling precision. There is a slight tremor in his hand. Just a hint. But it’s enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.
He simply looks at the picture frame for a few more seconds, as if contemplating something too deep to put into words. His gaze flickers toward the small smudge you couldn’t catch, and for the briefest of moments, you think he might actually speak. But no. His gaze sharpens, and he pulls his hand away.
Finally, he stands still. For a moment, you wonder if the air between you is thick with his thoughts, heavy and pressing. But then, he slowly exhales, a sound barely noticeable beneath the mask. He turns toward you, and the intensity of his gaze makes your chest tighten, your breath stuttering.
"Good job," he said, his tone as cold as ever. "Everything is in order."
Your heart clenched at the lack of emotion in his words. It was a compliment, but it didn’t feel like one. There was no warmth in his praise, no sign that he saw you as anything more than another tool—an instrument to be used and discarded when no longer needed.
"Thank you," you murmured, even though the words felt hollow on your tongue.
He turned his head slightly, his masked face remaining unreadable. "You may leave now."
With a stiff bow, you turned to leave, your footsteps echoing in the silence of the room. As you stepped out into the cold, sterile halls of the compound, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being forgotten.
You were nothing to him, and perhaps that was exactly what you deserved. After all, you weren’t a guard anymore, not truly. You were just a nameless face in the sea of masked figures, condemned to serve in the shadows for the rest of your days.
And yet, despite the cold dismissal, a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder: would he ever look at you again? Would he ever realize that you were the one who had saved him when he had bled out during the chaos of lights out?
But the more you thought about it, the more you realized it didn’t matter. He was the Front Man. You were just a guard—nothing more. The distance between you was as vast as the abyss, and no amount of longing would ever change that.
——
A/N: HAS ANYONE WATCHED THE SQUID GAME TEASER? They just dropped the teaser for Season 3! I am SEATED (and also possibly traumatized) 😳 I think I'm going to be insufferable until June 27 because imagine the teaser making us feel like THAT, then what about the trailer 😨 What are your theories for the next season? I would love to hear about them!
Don't forget to leave a comment in this chapter to be tagged on to the next chapter. :)
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CHAPTER 10 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)
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----
The kiss still lingered on your lips - you could still taste In-ho. Every step back toward the dormitory felt heavy, as if your body was caught in the weight of something you couldn’t quite name. Was it the kiss? Was it the fact that you actually murdered someone? Was it your conscience eating you up?
Your fingers twitched at your sides, remembering the way In-ho’s touch had burned into your skin, the way he had pulled you in like he was afraid to let go. And then, your thoughts drifted as to when you snapped that player’s neck, as if you were an expert on it. You wanted to justify it by stating that he deserved it, remembering his O patch. It was his decision, after all, to stay in the games. In this game, you were bound to kill anyone to win the prize.
Except you weren’t in this place to win the prize. You were just curious. How can your curiosity lead to something darker?
It should’ve been a victory. You survived the game. You made it through. And yet, there was something suffocating about the silence on the way to the dormitory, with In-ho behind you.
The tension from the Mingle game still clung to the air, thick and unshaken by the passing of time. Even as the remaining players shuffled back into the towering dormitory, the echoes of what had happened inside that cold, merciless arena followed you like shadows that refused to be left behind.
In-ho’s presence behind you was silent but palpable. You wanted to stop and look at him, to read the storm behind his eyes, to see if the kiss had shaken him the same way it had shaken you.
But you couldn’t.
Instead, you focused on the rhythmic sound of footsteps, the quiet murmurs of those who had barely escaped death. Gi-hun’s back was in front of you as he made his way down the labyrinth of stairs. He turned his head to you and In-ho slightly as he spoke. “When we get back, let’s count the number of people remaining.”
“Why?” In-ho asked, his eyes focusing on Gi-hun.
“If we count the numbers of Os and Xs, we’ll be able to see who’s likely to win the next vote.”
You softly chuckle, your mind telling you elsewhere to somehow ease the tension. “We’ll have to hope more people from the other side died.”
You could see Gi-hun almost stop to his tracks but continued, though his head turned to you, staring at you confusingly. There was cockiness, almost mocking, in your voice in the way you said it. You averted your gaze from him. There was no way you would admit your faith in humanity has died, even taking someone’s life in this game from your own hands.
You got blood on your hands, and there was no way you would tell that to Gi-hun who wanted to save everyone.
You felt In-ho’s hand on your shoulder, pressing it lightly with his thumb as if to comfort you, just like he did in the old times. Gi-hun shot you two a look again, much to his confusion. As you remembered, Gi-hun was aware that In-ho’s wife was still alive.
Right. Gi-hun still knew that. But what didn’t make sense to you was why In-ho lied to him. You planned to ask him later as he was already beginning to be warm towards you, or some sort. You had questions from the start, from when you first met him again, and what his role was in these games. Your gut feeling tells you that he’s a part of it, but you couldn’t piece it together yet.
You focused on the cold of the dormitory seeping into your skin, your heartbeat hadn’t quite settled since the moment you pressed your lips against In-ho. It was immoral to be more worked up on the kiss than taking someone’s life in your own hands, yet you couldn’t figure out whether you were just distracted from that, or you were just becoming a dark, terrible person.
“Don’t be so sad,” you heard the Shaman woman say as you walk near Hyun-ju’s group. “You will be joining her in the underworld soon.”
You snapped your head up at the Shaman, her eyes circling on Hyun-ju who seemed to be devastated. You barely had a second to process it, seeing Hyun-ju’s face drawn tight, her hands clenched into trembling fists. Her breaths were uneven, sharp, as if she has been trying to keep them steady.
Hyun-ju stared at the Shaman, glaring at her as she flashed her a cocky smile. Your eyes darted over Hyun-ju’s group, seeing Geum-ja, Yong-sik, and Player 246.
Only Young-mi wasn’t there.
It didn’t hit you immediately. You wanted to deny it. Yet their faces were enough of an answer for you to know the truth.
You felt as if you were floating, waiting for your mind to make sense of the fact that Young-mi was gone. But when they did, they landed like a blade to the gut. Your breath caught, and for a second, all you could do was stare at Hyun-ju, then at Geum-ja, then at Yong-sik, then at Player 246, much to your surprise. You hoped that you had somehow gotten it wrong.
“I’ve put a curse on you all,” the Shaman said, her eyes gazing over everyone, including you. “I’ve been praying to the gods of heaven and earth with all my heart to let me see all of you die in this place, one by one.”
“You’ll never get out of here alive,” you said, gritting your teeth as you leaned towards the Shaman. “One more word from you, and you’ll never see another day in this place. You will die a miserable, painful death— enough for you to see whoever God is up there.”
The Shaman was clearly taken aback, seeing her clear her throat as she shot you a look first before walking away. You heard her mumble a curse, but you didn’t care anymore. At this point, with humanity being ripped away from you, you were sure that one wrong move from her will trigger you to knock her off in an instant.
You turned to Hyun-ju, Geum-ja, Yong-sik, and Player 246, who seemed to stare at you in shock. You quickly softened your expression, realizing you were showing this other side of you so plain. Young-mi was supposed to be here with you and the others, yet in this selfish place, she was gone just like that.
“Young-mi is dead,” Hyun-ju’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, her eyes darken and sunken with something raw. “She was killed. They found her after the game ended.”
The room suddenly felt too bright, too suffocating. The world around you pressed in, the air thinning as your fingers curled into tight fists at your sides.
You had seen Young-mi last before the game, her usual sharp wit and and biting sarcasm still intact. You heard her voice. You stood alongside her, knowing and believe that you would both walk out of this. And now, she was gone.
Your pulse pounded against your ears, a sickening rhythm that made your knees feel weak. A thousand thoughts crashed into you at once, along with guilt. Was she betrayed? Did she fight back? Was she also killed the same way you killed another player?
But none of them mattered now. All the questions, the possibilities, everything. Because you had been out there, kissing In-ho, holding onto him, getting lost in the game, lost in him — while she was dying.
Your stomach churned violently, feeling dizzy from all that was happening so fast. You wanted to scream. You could hear your inner voices. It was your conscience eating you up.
A hand, warm and firm, brushed against yours, almost like an anchor. It was In-ho’s. You wanted to melt into his touch, to surrender. But this time, you didn’t take it.
You stepped back, walking towards Gi-hun’s group, seeing them plotting something else. You walked past them and went towards your bed, not minding their stares as they wondered what was wrong. Concern was evident on their faces, but you weren’t in the mood to talk. Not especially with all that happened.
You swallowed the bile rising in your throat and forced yourself to breathe as you laid down, but it did nothing to stop the realization curling into your chest like a slow, venomous burn.
The game was still winning, and you were letting it.
“Gi-hun,” you heard Jung-bae call out. “There are fifty-five people who voted in favor of continuing.”
“Are you sure?” Gi-hun asked.
“I counted them twice.”
“What about you?” Dae-ho asked, his fingers pointing at Jung-bae’s patch. “What about you? Did you include yourself?”
Jung-bae looked at his patch, the realization hitting his eyes. “It’s fifty-six.”
You heard Dae-ho sigh. “We have forty-four people on our side, so we’re outnumbered by twelve.”
“Shoot, that means we’re likely to lose again,” Jung-bae whimpered slightly, staring at the players with O patches.
“It may seem like a big difference,” In-ho said as you felt him motioning beside you, but you kept your eyes closed, your arms covering your eyes. “But if six of them change their minds, it’ll be 50/50, all tied. If seven of them change their minds, we could win.”
“But those who pressed X might change their minds too,” Dae-ho replied with worry.
“They probably won’t change their minds easily,” In-ho replied, more of a statement and not a hint of question in his answer.
“Why not?”
“They wanted to quit even when the prize was smaller. Now, they can leave with even more money. They wouldn’t want to risk their lives playing another game.”
“Impossible,” you spoke up, much to the group’s surprise. “They can still change their minds. The more that they see themselves surviving and the more the prize money goes up, the more the temptation to play more will get to them. It’s the greed talking.”
In-ho stared at you, a quiet recognition flickering in his eyes. You could almost see the twitch in his lips as if to smile. As if you made a very great point.
“I’m going to press X this time,” Jung-bae said, a hopeful glint present in his eyes.
You scoffed. “You should’ve pressed X when you had the chance.”
Jung-bae raised his eyebrow on you, clearly taken aback. Gi-hun and Dae-ho did the same, while Jun-hee was staring at you as if to study you. There was wonder in their eyes, a bit of shock as you spoke. You were being too pragmatic— cocky, even. You were too sure.
Yet Jung-bae only looked away. Somehow, you still had a point. He knew that. If he really wanted to quit, he could’ve voted for X from the very start and not change his decisions right away. Your patience in this game was growing thinner with each second.
“Why don’t we try to convince them?” Gi-hun asked, his voice hopeful for another acknowledgement from the others, hopeful for an agreement.
“No, that’s too risky,” In-ho replied. “Most of them will want to continue the games. If we make a move, they won’t just sit back and watch.”
“So you think we should just stand here and pray they change their minds?” Gi-hun asked in disbelief.
You shot up from your bed, your eyebrows furrowing as you looked at Gi-hun. “Don’t try to be the hero, Gi-hun. It’s their choice to be here, to continue the games. It’s what the game is trying to tell us.”
“I’m no hero,” Gi-hun retorted, his voice low, the desperation in his voice evident as he gritted his teeth. “But what if we lose again? We march down, hand in hand, to play another game?”
“I understand how you feel,” In-ho said, his hand motioning at you to not speak. “I also wish I could leave right now. We do. But this is the moment to stay calm.”
“Stay calm?” Gi-hun said in disbelief. “We’ve already taken a vote twice. If we can’t convince them, we’ll have to bring them over to our side by force.”
“If we provoke them now, we may end up in a big fight before we even get to vote,” In-ho replied. “Is that what you want, Gi-hun?”
Gi-hun stayed silent, though his eyes were focused on you and In-ho. He was sensing something between the two of you - the sudden understanding seemed to catch him off guard. As far as he knew, In-ho was still married. To you, he was a widower. That was the truth. But Gi-hun was more disturbed with your sudden shift. The one who held on hope for humanity was gone, and was replaced by this cold, dark person.
The alarm buzzed, just in time to ease the tension on your group. By the door, the triangle-masked guards gathered as the square-masked guard stepped in, his presence signaling a sense of command. “Congratulations to all of you for making it through the third game. Now, here are the results of the third game.”
The TV displayed a total prize money accumulated to 35.6 billion won, divided by 356 million won for each player. You stepped out and positioned yourself next to In-ho, giving him a pat on his shoulder as your eyes glued to the monitor.
“With that kind of money, some of them will change their minds,” Jung-bae muttered.
“It’s either the money is enough for them or they’ll want to play another to win more,” you said, your eyes still fixed on the TV.
“The vote will once again be conducted in reverse order of your player numbers,” the square-masked guard said. “Player 456, please cast your vote.” Gi-hun stepped out from the crowd as the guard spoke again. “To ensure fair and democratic voting, we will not tolerate any disruptions from this point onward. Please bear that in mind.”
With no hesitation, Gi-hun pushed the X button, retaining his vote as the X number increased to 1.
You were almost unattentive to your surroundings, not minding the scoreboard of the X and O votes. Though you couldn’t deny the weight of choices before yours. X or O - a simple vote, but it might as well have been a knife at your throat.
You shouldn’t be hesitating at all. You weren’t like the others. You weren’t drowning in debt, clawing for salvation in a place that offered nothing but destruction. You had entered the game out of curiosity - a whim, reckless craving to see what was happening behind the curtain all because of that recruiter. But now, you stood here, waiting for your player number to be called for you to vote that would define the person you were becoming.
You felt the villain in you creeping beneath your skin with every game. The cold calculation, the growing numbness. The way your hands had moved without hesitation when it came down to survival. And yet, a part of you still wanted to believe that there was something left to salvage. Maybe in the next games, you would see humanity change. Or not at all.
“You look like you’re thinking too much,” In-ho’s voice was low and smooth that melted your thoughts, snapping you back to the present.
You turned to him, meeting his gaze. This time, his eyes were soft as he looked at you, then to your lips, then to your eyes again. His mouth curved into something dangerously close to a smirk as he leaned in, close enough that you could feel his breath ghost over your skin.
“What does it matter to you?” You asked.
He gave out a slow exhale, barely a sigh. Then, his fingers brushed against yours, deliberate but fleeting. A touch that barely lingered, yet left something behind. “Because you don’t belong here.”
You felt your breath hitched as you held your gaze on him, searching his face for an answer. But he gave you nothing. Just that unreadable and calm one. Too calm. “What?” You asked, your voice quieter this time.
His head tilted slightly, watching you with an unsettling kind of certainty. “You’re not in debt. You lived a good life in America only to come back here in Seoul after your father died. You wanted to play ddakji just for the sake of seeing if you were still good at it. Money was never a problem to you, Y/N,” In-ho stated, as if he had always known the truth. “You didn’t think you walked into this place unnoticed, did you?”
The implication made your stomach turn.
He knew. He had known from the start.
But why?
Your lips parted, but no words came. And in that silence, he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your temple. “What’s someone like you, who was so full of life, doing in a place like this ready to kill people?” Your pulse pounded against your ribs as he continued. “I was once like you. But in this place, it changes you. The truth will always come get you in the end.”
“The truth?” You managed to ask, though your voice a bit cracking.
“About me.”
Your stomach twisted. “And what exactly would that be?”
For a moment, he just watched you, searching for something in your eyes. Then, he leaned in, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “I won.” Your breath caught, but before you could speak, he continued. “And I have a role in all of this now.”
It wasn’t a confession. Not completely. He didn’t say what role nor what it exactly meant. But you weren’t stupid.
But you should’ve known it from the very start.
The Young-il name was already a give away, as if he was ready. The coincidence of being the Player 001 and being named Young-il didn’t make sense. It was far from being a coincidence. He carried himself too much, the way his words were always a little too measured, a little too careful, as if they were being placed exactly where they needed to be. The name, the persona — it was all a mask. A carefully crafted lie.
“After we vote, I’ll tell you everything.”
You felt your body shot up, the curiosity plastering all over your body. What did he know that you didn’t know from all this? What role could he have in all these? If you know about everything, will it endanger your life even more?
“Who are you?” You stared at him, your throat dry as you felt your heart hammering against your ribs.
For the first time, something flickered in his eyes. Something familiar. Something painful. He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. His stare fixed on you indicated something darker and deeper. Something that told you — he had been waiting for this.
“Player 002.”
You snapped away from In-ho, turning your attention to the vote. You walked towards the voting box, the buttons gleaming under the cold, artificial light, its surface smudged from countless trembling fingers before yours.
O or X.
You could end this. You could walk away. But deep down, you already knew what your fingers were going to do. A sharp beep echoed in the silence as you pressed X, a cheer from the X crowd erupting.
You turned back to In-ho, who was waiting at the end of the crowd as he stared at you intently. His lips barely curved — not a smirk, but something else. Something unreadable.
——
The voting ended with a tie, which meant that the voting will resume again tomorrow. Yet you felt uneasy. Anytime, you knew that the O team would attack anytime soon. Just for the sake of winning the money more and more.
It was going to be a special game. You tried to piece it together as you progressed through the games. The system was trying to make you kill each other, giving you less and less food as it progressed. Hunger was the main source of greed, it's why humans would do anything just to not starve. The gimbap on your hand and a glass bottle of soda were enough of a hint for you that there was something more happening.
The glass bottle could be your source of weapon in case something goes wrong in this place. You kept your silence as you ate the dry gimbap, its flavors still present but the dryness was scoring your throat in. It felt like you were eating a piece of paper, but to you, it didn’t matter. As long as it fed your stomach well.
“Y/N,” you blinked, snapping away from your thoughts as you heard Gi-hun’s voice. You glanced up and saw his expression was careful, but there was something else beneath it. “You got a minute?”
You nodded, but there was hesitation in you as he sat down beside ypu, resting his forearms on his thighs.
For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just stared at the floor, his fingers fidgeting on the wrapped gimbap as if trying to find the right words. “It’s about Young-il,” he finally said.
Your stomach twisted, though you forced your face to be stern. “What about him?”
Gi-hun exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “You two are close, right? Like real close.”
You shrugged, keeping your voice even. “Hmm?”
“Isn’t he married?” Gi-hun’s voice dropped slightly, but still careful. “Maybe you shouldn’t get too attached.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you swallowed, keeping your face unreadable.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Gi-hun—“
“Where do you get the nerve?” He cut in, his voice edged with something sharp, something bitter.
You blinked. “Excuse me?”
His jaw tightened. “I’ve seen you. The way you act in the games. The way you don’t even flinch anymore,” his fingers curled into fists. “When did you stop caring? When did you decide it was easier to be a monster?”
The words slammed into you harder than you expected. Your throat tightened as you stared at him. “I’m not a monster.”
“Then why are you here?” He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. “You’re not even like the rest of us. You said yourself that you weren’t drowning in debt. You weren’t desperate to be here.”
You scoffed. “Oh, and you are?” You spat, leaning in, voice dripping with venom. “You won the games before, right? You have 46.5 billion won sitting in your bank account, and yet you still came back. So tell me, Gi-hun, why the hell are you here?”
Gi-hun’s face twisted. “That’s different.”
“Is it?” You let out a laugh, almost mocking. “You had a choice. You could’ve walked away. You could’ve lived. And yet, here you are, just like the rest of us, pretending you’re better.”
Gi-hun flinched, but his jaw tightened. “At least I know when to stop,” he muttered.
You felt a bitter taste in your mouth as you spoke. “But you’re here pretending to be a hero.”
A thick silence settled between you, feeling the tension on your shoulders. You stared onto space as you felt affected towards his words. You didn’t know whether to take it into consideration or to feel insulted.
Then, a voice cut through the tension.
“That’s enough.”
In-ho stood nearby, his presence commanding, gaze locked onto Gi-hun. There was no warmth in his voice, only quiet authority, the weight of someone who had been watching long enough.
Gi-hun exhaled, standing up. His shoulders slumped slightly, but his eyes never left yours. “Just don’t lose yourself in here,” he said, his voice quieter this time. “This place eats people alive.” He walked away, leaving you there.
You stared at the ground, weighing his words, feeling their weight settle deep in your chest. But when you looked up, your eyes met In-ho’s. You weren’t sure which was heavier — Gi-hun’s warning or the pull of In-ho’s gaze, the silent reminder of everything you were letting yourself become.
“Hey,” In-ho said, his voice warm enough to make you feel at ease. “You alright?”
You nodded, remembering you still had your one remaining gimbap in your hand. “Yeah. Gi-hun just noticed us becoming too close.”
“Is that a bad thing?” In-ho asked, though his voice was a bit teasing but there was questioning in his voice, as if he was testing you.
“No,” you shrugged. “Let’s just go with the others and see what they’re up to.”
In-ho nodded as he helped you up, holding you as if you were something fragile. Your cheeks flushed a bit but kept your gaze in front, knowing you would melt if you met his gaze. You sat beside Geum-ja, who was grouped now with Player 246, who you now know as Gyeong-seok, then Yong-sik, Jung-bae, Dae-ho, Jun-hee, and Gi-hun. As much as possible, you distanced yourself from Gi-hun, still feeling disturbed by your recent conversation with him.
You noticed Yong-sik standing up, facing the players who had O patches on the other side. “Hey!” He called out. “Don’t agonize over your decision while eating this dry gimbap. I just want one of you to come over to our side. If we get out of there tomorrow morning, we could get Korean beef! I’ll tell you what. It’s my treat!”
You shook your head, feeling the secondhand embarrassment. This was a pity attempt to make the O players change their minds. This wouldn’t end well.
“And after that, the noodles are on me!” Geum-ja spoke up. You wanted to stop her, but she was too determined to speak up. Despite the evilness in this place, you can’t deny that there were pure, good-hearted people like her.
Yet to you, evilness always prevailed. Your point was proven when Player 100 spoke from the O crowd.
“Once you all die in the next game, we can all leave with 800 million each!” Player 100 spoke with diction, his words echoing through the silence prevailed over the X crowd. “With 800 million, we could buy a freaking cattle ranch!”
The O players cheered from behind him, their taunting smiles and growls echoing through the room. Dae-ho stood up, taking a step forward as he pointed his fingers at them. “You’ll get 800 million? Who are you kidding? Do you think you’ll still be alive after the next game? If you don’t get out now, you’re all going to die!”
“So let’s play one more game to see who dies,” Player 226 from the O crowd snapped back. “Stop trying to run away like a goddamn coward.
Dae-ho scoffed. “What did you say?” He moved towards the O crowd but still near the X crowd. “Come here, asshole!” Jung-bae followed in attempt to stop Dae-ho from walking towards the O crowd.
“I’ll take you down, chump!”
“Not with civilians,” Jung-bae dragged Dae-ho by the shoulder, only to be snapped away by Dae-ho. He took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeve, revealing his Marines tattoo.
“I was in the Marines, fucking asshole!”
The O players laughed mockingly. You looked away, feeling your cheeks flush in secondhand embarrassment. You noticed In-ho watching the scene intently, though his stare was cold as if assessing.
“Oh, yeah? Then I was in the air force, fucker!” Player 226 retorted, earning more laugh from the crowd behind him.
Then, for a split second, the X crowd start to gather in the middle, though they weren’t crossing the line. The division between two crowds was evident as the lines from each O and X were enough for them to not cross. The room was echoing with hatred, evilness, and something vulgar. If you were expecting the guards to step in and bring peace, you were wrong. They stayed still in the corner, their guns in hand watching the scene unfold.
Your eyes turned to the foil on your hand where the gimbap was wrapped. Though as you were about to crumple it, something cold and metallic brushed against your palm. Your breath hitched as you unwrapped the foil, revealing a fork.
Your fingers curled around the handle, heart thudding against your ribs. This wasn’t a mistake. This was deliberate.
You were right. The system wanted you to kill each other.
In-ho’s hand reached out to your fork, covering it. His grip was firm, but his thumb traced the ridge of your knuckles as if there was unspoken reassurance, a warning wrapped in something softer. He leaned in, his breath ghosting near your ear.
“Keep it.”
Your fingers tightened around the utensil, swallowing hard as you glanced up at him. His face gave nothing away, but his eyes held something heavy, as if it was calculated.
“What?” Gi-hun’s voice was low, but the edge was unmistakable. Across from you, he stared down at his own gimbap, his fingers pulling away a fork of his own. His eyes then flickered to yours, then to In-ho, suspicion bleeding into every inch of his face.
Something was coming. The guards never made mistakes. This wasn’t some mere accident.
You exchanged one last glance with In-ho before lowering your head, slipping the fork into your sleeve. Your mind raced as you realized, muttering under your breath as it washed over you. “X versus O…”
“They want us to turn on each other,” In-ho murmured, just loud enough for you to hear. He sensed the growing weight pressed against your chest, he added, “I’ll protect you.”
You flinched. The words were so quiet they barely existed, but they were there. You turned to him, but he was already staring at you.
“There’s going to be a plan,” In-ho continued, his voice smooth but he seemed unaffected. He didn’t need to say whose plan. You both knew Gi-hun wouldn’t sit still. “He’s going to try to rally the X players, maybe propose an alliance before the real bloodshed starts.”
“It won’t work,” you replied, your tone with certainty but the concern was evident on your face. “But you, you already have a plan, don’t you?”
“I have a foresight,” he said simply, though it wasn’t enough for an answer.
“Tell me,” you pressed, leaning towards him.
He held your gaze for a moment too long. Then, his lips twitched. Not into a smirk, not into a smile, but something close to amusement. “You’ll see soon enough.”
Somehow, his words sent a shiver down your spine. That was more terrifying than anything Gi-hun could come up with. With Gi-hun, he wanted to survive.
But with In-ho, he knew the rules better than anyone.
----
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A/N: I'm so so sorry this took a bit long. I had to move things around in my house as we're moving out from the family home. You know, for a fresh new start. I admit that I'm not doing a bit well lately but writing this chapter still lifted my spirits up somehow. I kinda feared this chapter would be a bit long but turns out it's kind of the same from the other chapters. I'm also excited to write the next chapter and I'll definitely started to work on it immediately. Anyway, feel free to leave out your thoughts here, and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶
Don't forget to leave a comment in this post to be tagged on the next chapter! ✨
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CHAPTER 11 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)
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——
The tension in the dormitory hung like a thick fog, pressing down on your lungs as the fight between the X and O players seemed to calm down, with each player going back to their side. The air smelled of damp wood and sweat, but something else lingered beneath it — an undercurrent of unease.
Beside you, In-ho finished the last bite of his gimbap and stood up, putting the fork in his pocket and brushed his hands off on his pants. He was about to take on step forward when you reached for his wrist, your fingers wrapping around his pulse. His gaze flickered down to where you touched him.
“Where are you going?”
“Bathroom,” he replied smoothly, but there was something off about the way he said it. It seemed too casual, too detached.
You frowned, tightening your hold. “Wait. Just stay a second.”
In-ho sighed through his nose, seemingly impatient. “Why?”
“You owe me something.”
In-ho turned his gaze to you, his expression calm, but a question was evident in his face. Something gnawed at the back of your mind, an instinct you couldn’t name. You remembered In-ho wanting to tell you something after you vote. In-ho exhaled sharply, a short, amused breath, but he continued to look at you. Your hand was still on his wrist, and though he could have pulled away, he didn’t.
He studied you for a moment before exhaling, and to your surprise, he sat back down. His eyes, usually so guarded, were unreadable as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Then, his next words shifted the air entirely.
“I won the games in 2015.”
You felt your breath hitched.
“I didn’t enter out of curiosity like you. I needed the money. I had nothing.” In-ho’s voice was low, controlled. But underneath it, there was something at it. Something bitter. “It’s for my wife. She was sick… and pregnant. I did everything to try and save her, but they misinterpreted it as a bribe, and so I was out of the force. The hospital bills were growing and growing each day. She...” He paused for a moment but continued. “She was struggling. I was, too. Then, I was handed a card. I accepted it knowing I could win the prize money. I did everything to survive, just so I could go back to her.”
Your chest tightened.
“I won. But when I got home, she was already gone. Already wrapped under a body bag.”
You stayed silent, seeing a tear forming in the corner of his eye. He was holding them back. You almost motioned to touch his face, but then, he continued.
“The moment I walked out of here, I realized what kind of person I became. What I had to do to survive. I saw what these games really are, how people turn when there’s nothing left but desperation.” His lips curled, almost in disgust. “And I realized I was no different. I thought winning would fix everything. But it didn’t.”
Your fingers curled into his palm, gripping it tighter. Then, he held yours back.
“I walked out of here with more money than I could ever spend, and yet… I lost more than I gained,” his jaw tightened. “People think money changes everything. Maybe it does, but it doesn’t bring back what you sacrificed to get it.”
The weight of his words settled over you. For the first time, he was letting you see something raw. It was like you were talking to the In-ho you once knew years ago. And yet, there were still things he wasn’t saying. There were pieces he was deliberately leaving out.
“So why are you here again?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.
“Maybe I wanted to see if people ever change,” he murmured. You weren’t sure if he was talking about the players. Or himself.
Or you.
The sound of a distant scream shattered the moment. Your head snapped toward the source — the bathroom. Another noise followed, a sharp crack of panicked shots.
If you hadn’t stopped In-ho, if he had left just a second earlier, he would’ve been in there. His gaze flickered back to you, something unspoken passing between you both.
“That was close,” you muttered.
In-ho’s lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something. But then he shook his head. “Lucky me, I guess.”
But you both knew luck had nothing to do with it.
“The following players have been eliminated. Players 230, 268, 299, 331, and 401. End of the list.”
Your posture straightened up upon hearing the announcement. How can these players be eliminated in such a short time? There were no games in play.
Everyone in the dormitory tensed up, clearly shocked by what was announced. You felt the ceiling rumble, the piggy bank showing at the top as more money plopped inside, the TV turning on accounting the accumulated prize money for each player and the total prize. In front of you, Gi-hun stood up, his face focused on the piggy bank at the top.
“What’s going on?” Jung-bae turned to your group and asked.
You all heard the doors open, seeing players drenched with blood all over their clothes, faces, and bodies. It seemed as they just got out from a massacre - a bloody one, indeed.
“Listen, Team O!” Player 124 ran in the middle, his face with patches of blood and his tracksuit number with blood as well. “When we were in the bathroom, those fucking X bastards tried to kill all of us!” He yelled. “They killed some of us, including my friend—“
“Bullshit,” Player 047 interrupted. “You’re the ones who started it. They threatened one of the people on our side! They attacked us to win the second vote!”
“Hey!” Player 192 called out. “You killed one of us first. You were trying to win the vote by killing us!”
“Fuck you. You killed some of us too,” Player 145 retorted. “Did you think we would just let you kill the rest of us?”
“So, which side lost more people?” Player 100 asked out loud. In just a few minutes, each X and O players grouped each on their sides, counting themselves.
You and the X players grouped in the staircase in the corner, with Player 047 counting each of you. You continued to study the crowd, seeing the O players doing the same on the other side. The tension was palpable. You found yourself shaking a bit, but In-ho held your hand, trying to make you at ease.
“Two people died on our side,” Player 047 said in a whisper, but enough for the X crowd to hear.
“Two out of five. That means they lost three people,” you said, remembering the number of players who recently died.
“Then we have a better shot at winning the vote tomorrow,” Player 380 murmured, earning a nod from each X player.
As if a thought snapped in Jung-bae’s mind, he hurriedly whispered loud enough for you and everyone else to hear. “Hey, it’s 48 against 47. As long as we don’t change our minds, we’ll win by one vote!”
You noticed Gi-hun’s face focused on the O crowd as if he was trying to anticipate their next move. His eyebrows were furrowed together, his eyes almost a glare.
“Attention, please,” the speaker announced, breaking the thoughts away from your mind. “Lights out in 30 minutes. All players, please return to your beds and prepare for bedtime.”
Player 047 stood up, eyeing each and one of you, the desperation evident in his face. “Listen. You cannot change your minds. We have to win the second vote and get out of here tomorrow. All right?”
Each X player nodded while you only stared at Player 047. At least, in this way, you still saw the goodness in this place. There were still some other people who were desperate to get out of the place and be satisfied with the accumulated prize money.
You can’t help but feel unease. You were so sure that the O players would attack during lights out, seeing them eyeing the X crowd multiple times and pointing their fingers. As the other X players start to return to their beds, Gi-hun motioned a small wave for you and your group. You and the others followed, though your group wasn’t only limited now to In-ho, Dae-ho, Jung-bae, and Jun-hee. Hyun-ju’s group also tagged along, with Gyeong-seok becoming a part of it. You gave Gyeong-seok a small nod, giving a small, quiet recognition to welcome him in the group.
Together, you all formed a circle. Dae-ho turned around to look at the O crowd, then turned back to your group. “It looks like they’re up to something.”
Jung-bae scoffed. “Whatever those idiots do, once we win the vote tomorrow, it will all be over.”
“You think we’ll be okay?” Dae-ho asked worriedly. You gave him a small pat on his back to comfort him somehow. He gave you a small smile, but his eyes still had a hint of worry. “They said things were really scary in the bathroom earlier.”
A brief silence filled your group, weighing Dae-ho’s words. But then, Gi-hun’s voice cut out the tension as he stared into space, his eyes determined while his eyebrows were furrowed. “Once the lights go out, people on the other side will attack us.”
“Really?” Yong-sik’s eyes widened.
“Because if they kill us, they’ll be able to win the vote and increase the prize,” Gi-hun explained.
“So what do we do?”
“Let’s attack them first,” In-ho replied, much too quickly, earning a glance from Gi-hun who seemed to be taken aback by his words. “They’re probably thinking we’ll just wait for the second vote. We can use it to our advantage. We’ll attack them first once the lights go out.”
“That’s right. It would be better to attack them first,” Player 047 agreed, then eyed you, Geum-ja, and Jun-hee. “We have more women and elderly on our side. If we get attacked, we’ll be at a disadvantage. Attacking them first would give us a better chance of winning.”
“We can’t do that,” Gi-hun replied, his voice with diction as the words left his mouth.
“But we have to get out of here,” you retorted, though your voice calm despite the incoming chaos you could predict. “You said it yourself. Staying calm won’t get us anywhere now.”
“That doesn’t mean we should kill each other,” Gi-hun explained, his voice reeking out of desperation. “That’s exactly what they want us to do.”
“They?” Jung-bae asked.
Gi-hun paused for a moment, clearing his throat before continuing. “Those who created the game. Those who watch us play. If we’re going to fight someone, it should be them.”
“Where are they?” Dae-ho asked.
Gi-hun slowly looked up at the ceiling, as the others followed. You almost did, but then you notice In-ho looking at Gi-hun more than he should, though his expression was unreadable yet… too calm. He sat across from you, one arm draped over his knee, the other resting loosely at his side. His expression was unreadable, but you caught the minute tension in his posture, the way his fingers flexed ever so slightly, like a subconscious tell. His gaze, dark and piercing, remained locked onto Gi-hun.
And suddenly, it all clicked.
Gi-hun kept speaking, laying out his plan, but his words blurred in the background as your mind reeled.
“I have a foresight.”
In-ho’s words echoed to your mind. He anticipated things before they even happened, maneuvering like a man who had already played this game before. You remembered his words, the way he hinted at his understanding of the games — too precise, too calculated.
“Has anyone ever played before?” You murmured, interrupting Gi-hun, your voice barely above a whisper.
Gi-hun blinked. “What?”
“You survived the last game,” you continued, staring at him. “Did you ever feel like… someone already knew how it would all play out?”
“Yeah, there was this old man,” Gi-hun’s voice was quieter now, more thoughtful. “Oh Il-nam. He was with us from the start. Turns out he was the creator of the games.”
You tilted your head. “What happened to him?”
Gi-hun exhaled as his hands twitched against his knee, as if the memory physically lingered there. “He died three years after I won.”
You swallowed hard. Slowly, you turned to In-ho, your gaze locking onto his. His mask didn’t crack, but his eyes told another story. His expression was still unreadable, but something in his gaze shifted — the slightest trace of amusement, of challenge.
He knew what you were asking. And he was waiting for you to piece it together.
“The man in the black mask is their leader,” Gi-hun continued. “Once we capture him, we’ll be able to win.”
You heard Jung-bae sigh, who was seated beside Gi-hun. But then, In-ho replied, his gaze locked onto Gi-hun, his expression cold as his voice remained low, as if he was calculating something. “How are you going to fight them? They have guns.”
“We’ll fight them with guns too,” Gi-hun answered, the determination in his voice was evident.
“But we don’t have any,” Jung-bae said in defeat.
“We’ll take their guns.”
“From those masked men?” Gyeong-seok asked in surprise.
Gi-hun nodded, which earned a worried sigh from Jung-bae.
“That’s too dangerous,” In-ho said. “Even if we manage to take a few guns, we’ll still be outnumbered.”
“What then?” Gi-hun retorted. “Are you going to kill each other all night and hope you survive?” He eyed each one of you in the group, then eyed In-ho. “Is that what you want, Young-il?”
You almost forgot that they all knew him as Young-il. Silence fell into your group, the uncertainty of surviving in this place crashing on to the air.
“Do we… stand a chance?” Hyun-ju asked, her voice with a hint of worry.
“We do if we catch them off guard,” Gi-hun replied. “Out of everyone, they’re the ones who would least expect us to attack first. This is our last chance to end these games once and for all.”
“Don’t you think it’s too… ambitious?” You asked, feeling each eyes of your group turn to you.
“If you don’t want to join the fight, then don’t,” Player 047 said, looking at you in disbelief.
“All I’m saying is, we’re not sure if we can survive. The stakes are getting higher. Wouldn’t it be more dangerous if we bust our way out there and fight all of them, including this captain with a black mask?” You explained, giving Player 047 a slight glare before turning to the rest of the group. “It’s not about me not wanting to join the fight. It’s about being cautious about whatever danger we may encounter. I’m not opposed to the idea.”
Gi-hun nodded, taking in your words. His lips parted slightly as if to say something, but In-ho quickly spoke. “How are you going to take their guns?”
“Once the fight begins tonight, we’ll have our chance,” Gi-hun said surely. Then his voice became low, but still enough for your group to hear. “Once the lights go out, get under the bottom beds quietly. You must not get caught by those planning to attack us. We have to hide until the fight ends. Don’t get caught up in the fight.”
“But that would put people on our side at quite a disadvantage,” Jung-bae murmured. “Without us in the first, they’ll be outnumbered.”
“I know,” Gi-hun said. “But if we fight with them and some of us end up dead or injured, it will ruin our entire plan. We can’t beat those bastards with a lower headcount.”
“Are you suggesting that we make a small sacrifice for the greater good?” In-ho asked, though his eyes were still unreadable, but his voice was calm yet there was a hint of amusement in it. You could his lips twitch almost to a smirk, but it seemed as though he was holding it back.
Gi-hun paused for a moment, his expression falling upon the realization of the so-called sacrifice. “If we miss this opportunity, the sacrifice will be even greater. Even if it takes a sacrifice, we must put an end to this game now.”
Your stomach twisted at his words. “A small sacrifice?” You said, your voice sharper than you intended.
Gi-hun’s expression hardened. “If we don’t do something, we’ll all be wiped out. You know that.”
Your breath came slow, controlled, but the words scraped against something deep inside you. “Victory at the expense of others is no victory at all, Gi-hun.”
Silence gripped the group. The air was thick with unspoken fears, the scent of sweat and tension suffocating. Your fingers curled into a fist as you and Gi-hun stared at each other, waiting for each of you to speak.
Gi-hun sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I get it. I do. But this isn’t about just one person. If we don’t act now, we’ll all end up—“
“Dead?” You challenged. “And you didn’t think sacrificing someone will stop that from happening?”
Gi-hun exhaled sharply. “This isn’t about being selfish. It’s about surviving long enough to end this damn game.”
Your jaw clenched, but before you could respond, in your peripheral vision, you could see In-ho shift.
“She’s right,” he said, finally speaking. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it. “You talk about sacrifice as if it’s a simple thing. But once you deicde someone else’s life is worth less than yours, you stop being different from the people who put us in here.”
The words sent a chill down your spine as you looked at In-ho, realizing he was already looking at you, locking your gazes.
Gi-hun shook his head. “So what, then? We do nothing?”
“No,” In-ho murmured. “We do it without becoming the monsters they want us to be.”
And though his words aligned with yours, you weren’t sure anymore if they came from the same place. Because as much as you knew him, as much as he was once your childhood best friend — the one who promised to always protect you — you weren’t sure anymore if he was protecting you.
Or if he was simply playing a different game entirely.
——
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
The dormitory was quieter than usual, a deceptive calm settling over the room as the players settled in for the night. The dim lighting flickered against the cold metal walls, casting long shadows over the endless rows of bunk beds. Some players lay with their backs to the world, others murmured in hushed voices, exchanging anxious theories about the next game.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
You sat on the lower bunk, fingers running absentmindedly over the thin blanket draped over your legs. Beside your bed was In-ho’s, who was leaning against the bedframe, his arms crossed in that ever-relaxed posture of his. But you could that his eyes were sharper than usual, tracking the other players’ movement, scanning the room with quiet precision.
“Something’s going to happen,” you muttered under your breath.
He hummed, barely a nod, but you caught the way his fingers flexed against his bicep.
Four.
Three.
Two.
The tension in the room felt like a rubber band stretched too thin. Then, you heard footsteps in the middle, the light shining on Player 124’s face with a fork in hand.
One.
And then, all hell broke loose.
Someone on the upper bunk near the doors screamed. Metal clanged against metal as a bunk collapsed under struggling bodies. A body slammed into the floor near you with a sickening thud. The room erupted into chaos as players lunged at each other, driven by desperation and paranoia. X and O no longer mattered — everyone was a threat.
“Under the bed. Now.” In-ho’s voice was low, yet urgent.
You didn’t hesitate.
The moment your back hit the cold ground, In-ho followed, pressing close as he pulled the thin mattress down just enough to shield you both from the view. The noise around you grew unbearable — the shouts, the sharp, wet sounds of bodies hitting the ground, and the suffocating smell of sweat and iron.
Your breaths were shallow, your heart hammering against your ribs. The space under the bed felt too small, too suffocating. You could see movement — feet darting past, shadows shifting violently in the flickering light.
Then, you felt warm fingers brushed against your wrist.
You startled, turning to look at In-ho. His face was closer than you expected, his eyes dark but steady. His hand found yours, his thumb tracing soothing circles against your palm.
“Breathe,” he murmured, so soft you barely heard it over the chaos. “You’re safe.”
Safe. The word felt too foreign here, in a place where safety was nothing more than an illusion. But still, his touch was grounding, his presence a steady force amid the madness.
The chaos outside your hiding spot hadn’t lessened, but for a fleeting moment, it felt like the world had shrunk down to just you and In-ho. His grip on your hand remained firm, grounding you in a reality that should have been terrifying — but somehow, wasn’t.
Then, before you could fully process what was happening, he moved. His hands slipped from yours only to cup your jaw, tilting your face towards him. And then, his lips found yours.
A kiss in the middle of a massacre. The softness of his lips against yours clashed cruelly with the violent screams and death rattles surrounding you. It was wrong, so reckless. But damn, you enjoyed it.
The heat surged through you, an intoxicating contract to the blood-stained air. His touch was commanding, his fingers pressing just enough to make you feel it — to make you remember this moment even as the world fell apart. And maybe that was the irony of it all. That you could find something so addicting, so devastatingly good, while people were tearing each other apart.
But the moment shattered in an instant as you felt a hand yanked you backward, ripping you away from In-ho’s hand as he screamed, “No!”
Your body slid out from under the bunk, seeing an O player on top of you.
It was Player 192. His grip on you was bruising, his breath reeking of desperation as he sneered down at you. “Didn’t know whores could get into this place,” he snarled, tightening his grip around your throat. “Let’s see how tough you really are without him.”
Your nails clawed at his wrists, panic rising like bile. The edges of your vision blurred as he raised his fork. You closed your eyes, ready for the impact.
Then, you heard a crack. A familiar one, to be exact.
Player 192’s body jerked violently before collapsing lifelessly beside you. Your own breath was ragged as you struggled to push yourself up, barely able to comprehend what just happened.
In-ho stood over you, his expression softening this time as he looked at you. The sharp rise and fall of his chest betrayed the fury simmering beneath the surface. The bloodied weapon in his hand dripped onto the cold floor, his fingers gripping it so tightly his knuckles had gone white.
He crouched beside you, his hand brushing against your cheek, wiping away a streak of blood that wasn’t yours. “Are you hurt?”
You swallowed hard, shaking your head.
In-ho exhaled sharply, then leaned in, his lips ghosting against your ear. “No one touches you. Ever. Remember that.”
He didn’t waste another second as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back toward the shadows, the urgency tightening his grip. Your breath was still uneven, the ghost of the O player’s attack lingering in your bones. The moment your bodies disappeared for everyone to see, his arm wrapped around your shoulders, pulling you close. “I’m never letting you go again, Y/N.”
You could feel the heat of his breath against your temple, his chest rising and falling in steady contrast to your own erratic breathing. His scent, faint traces of sweat, blood, and something unmistakably him, wrapped around as if it were a second skin.
The chaos was still raging. Metal clashed against metal, bodies smalled into beds, and desperate cries filled the air. The dormitory had become a warzone, a battleground fueled by greed and fear.
In-ho’s fingers traced slow, grounding circles against your arm, a silent reassurance that you were still here… and alive. “Stay close,” he murmured, voice barely audible over the madness. “We move once the guards step in.”
You nodded, gripping onto his sleeve like a lifeline. The minutes passed like hours. The sounds of violence started to blur together, each screeam and crash dulling into a single, ceaseless noise. Your body was stiff, adrenaline still coiling tight in your muscles.
Then, a loud, blaring alarm erupted in the air. The lights turned on, hearing more footsteps. The guards had arrived.
In-ho’s fingers tightened around yours. As the guards’ booths thundered into the room, you and In-ho prepared to slip out unnoticed, ready to face whatever came next.
The surviving players scrambled back to their bunks, some collapsing from exhaustion, others from injuries to severe to ignore. The guards moved in, their rifles raised, their heavy boots pounding against the bloodstained floor.
In-ho gave you a look, then in a seamless motion, he pulled you down, pressing your body against the cold floor beside the fallen. His hand slid over yours, smearing the warm blood from the O player he had killed onto your skin. The metallic scent stung your nose, but you didn’t flinch.
You both lay still, bodies limp among the corpses, eyes fluttering shut as the guards stepped closer. Every breath you took was shallow, controlled, listening for the precise moment.
One guard crouched near In-ho, nudging a lifeless body beside him with the barrel of his rifle. Another did the same near you, muttering something about cleaning up the mess.
The guard turned away, but In-ho struck first. In one swift motion, he rolled up, seizing the rifle from the nearest guard before slamming the butt of it onto his head. The guard crumpled instantly.
You weren’t far behind. With adrenaline firing through your veins, you lunged, grabbing the other guard’s wrist before he could react. His weapon clattered to the floor as you twisted his arm, forcing him down with a brutal precision that left no room for error. A quick, decisive blow to his temple, and he, too, was out cold.
The room fell into a brief, stunned silence. Then, a shot rang out, cutting through the tension like a blade.
It wasn’t yours, nor was it In-ho’s.
Players who had been waiting for the right moment, who had seen what you and In-ho had done, began to move. You saw Gi-hun, Gyeong-seok, Hyun-ju, Jung-bae, and Daeo-ho wrestle the weapons from the fallen guards, others tackled those still standing.
In-ho turned to you, his chest rising and falling with exhilaration, a ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. “Stay close to me,” he murmured, his voice cutting through the madness.
With rifles in hand, you charged into the chaos together.
Another chaos ignited like a match to gasoline. The screams overlapped with gunfire, bodies clashed in frantic desperation, and the metallic scent of blood thickened in the air. From across the room, Gi-hun’s sharp eyes locked onto yours, then flickered to In-ho. There was no time for questions, no time for hesitation. With a decisive nod, he started shooting the other guards.
You lifted your stolen rifle, your pulse steady despite the storm raging around you. In-ho was already ahead, moving like he had done this a thousand times before. As the guards escaped on the other side of the room, the square-masked guard was left out in the open, trapped inside the dormitory.
“Stop! Hold fire!” Gi-hun yelled, his rifle pointed to the square-masked guard. You and the others with the rifles motioned in the middle, pointing your guns to the guard. “Everyone, hold fire!”
Jung-bae ran towards the guard, pointing the end of his gun to the guard. “Hands above your head!” The guard followed reluctantly. “On your knees!”
“You goddamn bastards!” You heard someone shout from behind you. You saw Player 047 aiming his gun towards the O players.
Just as you were about to step in, Gi-hun ran and held Player 047’s rifle down. “No!”
“Move!” Player 047 yelled. “Do you not see this?” He pointed to the dead bodies on the floor. “They are not human. They’re like goddamn vermin blinded by money!” He proceeded to aim his gun again, but Gi-hun held it down once more.
“This is not what we took these guns for,” Gi-hun said, gritting his teeth. “If we do this, we’ll be no different from those masked men.”
Player 047’s breath trembled, his body shaking as he fought the urge to aim his gun once again to the O players. Gi-hun’s back was turned to the O players behind him, which turned out to be a big mistake for him.
Player 336 tackled him to the ground, wrapping his hands around Gi-hun’s throat, squeezing as Gi-hun’s legs kicked out, his face turning a sickening shade of red. His fingers clawed uselessly at the man’s arms, eyes wild with panic. He tried to reach for his gun as Player 047 stared in horror, startled at the sight.
Your body moved before you could think. Raising your rifle, you took a step forward and pulled the trigger.
The shot rang out loud and final. Player 336’s body went limp, collapsing over Gi-hun before rolling off. He gasped for breath, coughing as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. His eyes darted to you, a mixture of relief and something unspoken flashing across his face.
You offered your hand as he took it, gripping tight as you helped him to his feet. You gave each other a nod, a silent acknowledgment of saving his life. Before Gi-hun could say something, In-ho approached you, stepping into your space, his hand instinctively finding your arm. His touch was firm and grounding. But when you met his gaze, there was something else in his eyes.
“You seem eager to play the hero,” In-ho muttered, his voice just low enough for only you to hear. There was a tightness in it, a rough edge that wasn’t entirely from the chaos around you.
You raised an eyebrow. “Would you rather I let him die?”
His fingers curled slightly against your arm before he let go. “I’d rather you stop putting yourself at risk for someone who wouldn’t do the same for you.”
You exhaled sharply, but before you could snap back, Gi-hun had already moved on, recruiting players who had been too scared to fight before. His voice carried over the dormitory, rallying them with the promise of survival.
“You don’t get to decide that,” you said, your voice quieter now.
In-ho’s lips pressed into a thin line, but his eyes, dark and intense, never wavered from yours. “No,” he admitted. “But I know you. You’re getting too involved.”
You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze. “And you’re jealous.”
You noticed a muscle in his jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Instead, his hand brushed against yours, fleeting but deliberate. As if it was a reminder or somewhat a warning.
“Everyone!” Gi-hun called out, as the players continued to place more rifles and ammos in the middle of the room, stealing each from the guard’s uniforms. “We will now head up to the masked men’s headquarters. We’ll capture the ones who captured us, put an end to this game, and make them pay,” he paused for a moment as he lifted the rifle on his hand up in the air. “Anyone who knows how to use a gun and wishes to join us, please step forward.”
You gripped your hand tighter to your rifle, seeing the players hesitate to come forward. But then, Jung-bae moved and stepped forward. “I know you’re scared. I’m scared too. But this may be our last chance to make it out of this place alive,” he said. “Fight with us so we can go home together. All together.”
One by one, players motioned to walk towards you, grabbing rifles from the ground. Most of them came from the X crowd.
“Let’s take one radio each. We’ll use channel 7, the lucky number.”
You grabbed a radio from a fallen guard, following Jung-bae’s instruction. You proceeded to check your gun, checking its ammo. You grabbed more from the ground, placing it on your pocket. Then, you felt someone’s presence beside you. You looked up and saw Gi-hun, the hesitation evident in his face but looked at you.
“Thank you for earlier,” Gi-hun spoke, his voice low. He gave you a small smile and a nod.
You nodded back, loading your gun with an ammo. “You can but me soju when we get out.”
Gi-hun chuckled softly, nodding his head. A fleeting moment of recognition passed between you and him, somewhat like an understanding that for now, you were on the same side. But in your peripheral vision, In-ho didn’t seem to look amused. Yet somehow, you enjoyed seeing him this way, the irony of playing a game inside a game.
Hyun-ju proceeded to teach you and the others how to properly operate the rifle, later revealing that she was part of the ROK Special Forces as a sergeant first class. You awed in admiration. You proceeded to set your rifle to single-fire mode.
You heard a gun cock near your side, seeing the guard on his knees with hands over his head as Gi-hun aimed a rifle at him. “Take it off.”
The guard followed reluctantly, taking off his mask — only to reveal a young, teenage boy.
“Good God,” Jung-bae gasped. “Do your parents know what you’re doing here?”
“Take us to your captain,” Gi-hun said coldly, as the young boy nodded. He dragged the young boy down to the door, shooting the glass window as he peered his arm down, unlocking the door.
You and the others followed as the young boy led the way. You were behind In-ho, his back turned from you though his posture was composed. You gripped your rifle tighter as you exited the dormitory, your heart racing knowing you were about to participate in the rebellion, with no certainty of survival.
You all proceeded to walk towards the labyrinth of stairs, the colorful environment enveloping waiting for chaos to erupt. After a series of turning lefts and rights, Gi-hun grunted, grabbing the young boy’s hood. “How much farther?” He grabbed to face him when he didn’t speak, a gun still pointed to his head. “Is this the right way?”
The young boy’s body was shaking as he pointed his finger behind him. “The entrance to the management area is around that corner. The control room is right above it,” he said, his voice shaking.
“Move it, then,” Gi-hun pressed.
“Wait,” the young boy said as he motioned his hand to his pocket, only for his hand to be grabbed by Gi-hun.
“What are you doing?”
“I need my mask to pass security,” the young boy’s eyes widened as the end of Gi-hun’s gun was already aimed at his forehead between his eyes. Gi-hun relunctantly removes his hand from the boy.
As the young boy glances up, you notice his shoulders stiffened at the sight of someone behind Gi-hun, which was In-ho. It wasn’t the stance of a seasoned enforcer. It was hesitant and uncertain. He was clearly shocked but at the same… terrified.
Something twisted in your gut as you looked at In-ho, expecting confusion, maybe even a demand for answers. But he wasn’t surprised nor alarmed. In fact, he just… stared.
Your grip on your gun tightened as your mind raced, piecing things together, little by little. The foresight. The calculated steps. The way he always seemed to anticipate what was coming.
Gi-hun’s voice from earlier echoed in your mind. His recollection of a former player who turns out to be a part of the games, Oh Il-nam. And now, this.
The young guard who was too young to be here, and too familiar with In-ho. Your pulse pounded as you turned to In-ho, searching for an explanation, but he wasn’t looking at you. His eyes remained on the boy, and for a split second, you saw something there.
Some kind of recognition. Not surprise nor fear. Just… recognition.
A chill crawled down your spine. Your fingers curled tighter around your gun, your heartbeat roaring in your ears.
But then, the young boy’s body fell from the ground, much to your surprise. Gunfire and chaos echoed through the corridors as the rebellion pushed forward, sweeping through the facility like a storm that couldn’t be contained. In-ho immediately turned to you and pulled you down, pressing you against the wall as you dodged.
There was no time to think. You felt In-ho’s body pressed against yours as he shot the guards out by the corridor. He bent down and hid behind the wall beside you, reloading his ammo. You took it as a signal to shoot as you and In-ho exchange shifts, shooting each guard one by one.
——
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A/N: I got the next chapter ready already! Hahaha it was supposed to be a really long chapter but I decided to cut it from here instead. I'm so excited about the next chapters as they would rely solely on my imagination on the aftermath of Squid Game. I'm aiming to upload two chapters today so y'all better wait for that 👀 Anyway, feel free to leave out your thoughts here, and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶
Don't forget to leave a comment in this post to be tagged in the next chapter! ✨
TAGS: @machipyun @love-leez @enzosluvr @amber-content @kandierteveilchen @butterfly-lover @1nterstellarcha0s @squidgame-lover001 @risingwithtriples @fries11 @follows-the-life-ahead @goingmerry69 @plague-cure (p.s. if i forget to you, please let me know)
it's 2am in where i live and a video game page decided to post a compilation of the saddest deaths in video game history
one of it consisted of soap mactavish's death yES I AM UGLY CRYING DONT TOUCH ME
Lee Byung Hun 🖤
"Shit! What the hell happened?!"
CHAPTER 14 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)
>> MASTERLIST
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——
He had seen it coming. Hell, he was in charge of everything.
That final game. The one that had changed everything. The one that had you in it.
The air had been suffocating inside the control room, thick with the metallic scent of blood, with the weight of choices that had been made long before the game had even begun.
In-ho remembered how you looked on the TV from the last season of the games, your body barely keeping itself upright during the Red Light, Green Light game. Your eyes were sharper than ever, burning and filled with something that he had never quite seen before.
The way you had looked at him in the limousine at that moment haunted him still.
And then, despite the rebellion, there had been a winner. Deserving, as In-ho thought.
But the man who had risen from the bloodshed, broken, and victorious should have left. But he didn’t.
Instead, a new role had been placed upon him. Not by choice, but by design.
In-ho had watched as the mask was placed over his face, the weight of it settling onto his shoulders like a sentence, as if an inevitability. He had worn that mask once.
But not anymore.
Not after he had been called into that silent, suffocating room where the men in gilded masks sat in the shadows, waiting for him.
The Overseer. A title heavier than the one before it.
A role he hadn’t asked for — one that had been forced upon him the same way he had forced the mask onto the new Front Man. The games had changed, and so had its players.
A knock echoed through the dimly lit room. In-ho turned, his gloved hands resting idly behind his back as the door opened. The knocker’s footsteps were slow and deliberate. Then, a silence came in.
A presence stood across from him, face obscured beneath the black mask that had once belonged to him. For a moment, neither spoke. Then, in the quiet, In-ho exhaled.
“How does it feel?” In-ho asked, his voice smooth but unreadable.
The figure didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was different than before — colder, stripped of anything human.
“It doesn’t matter how it feels.”
In-ho allowed himself the faintest ghost of a smirk beneath his own mask. “Good.”
Then, without another word, he turned away.
The city hadn’t changed. The streets pulsed with life as if the world had never stopped turning, as if nothing had fractured beneath its surface. The skyline still burned with city lights stretching beyond the horizon. People walked from one place to another, drowning in their own worlds, oblivious to the monsters that lurked beneath their feet.
But for In-ho, the world had never felt more empty.
Six months had passed since that night — since he found the blood on his counter and the microchip abandoned beside it. Six months since you had vanished without a trace, disappearing into the shadows as if you had never existed.
It had been six months since he had lost you. And yet, he refused to let go.
He searched everywhere. Every street, every darkened alley, every lead that turned to dust beneath his fingertips. But no matter how far he looked, how many resources he pulled from the depths of his influence, you were nowhere to be found. He scoured the underground, digging into places so deep that even the organization had turned wary of his movements. The weight of the mask no longer felt heavy on his face, but without you, it no longer felt like it belonged.
The realization had settled in his bones like a sickness — an aching, gnawing thing that refused to let go. And yet, he couldn’t stop.
Every week, without fail, he visited your apartment. It was muscle memory now, the way his hand would rest against the doorframe, the way his breath would still in his chest as he listened for any sign of movement beyond the door. But there was nothing.
Always nothing.
There was no warmth inside. No trace of your presence.
You left your key there, but he never once thought of taking it. He never stepped inside, not even once. Because if he did — if he walked into that empty space and saw the dust gathering on surfaces you should have touched, saw the absence of you woven into the very walls — he wasn’t sure if he could keep moving forward.
So instead, he stood there. Every end of the week, in the dead of night, standing like a ghost outside a home that no longer belonged to anyone.
Waiting.
Hoping.
Knowing, deep down, that you weren’t coming back.
——
The news reached him in whispers.
In-ho went back to his other apartment, the one that no one ever knew — only him. The apartment he went home to after every season of the games. However this time, he was searching for you again, locked in on every file. For the first time in months, something inside In-ho shifted.
A body had been found at an abandoned dockyard. A clean execution — one bullet to the head. No struggle, no trace left behind except the corpse of the man who had once been responsible for finding desperate souls for the games.
The organization had been careful. This was no ordinary attack. Whoever had done this had known exactly what they were doing. It wasn’t just a loss of a valuable asset to the operation. It wasn’t just the unsettling fact that someone had gotten close enough to take him out without raising any alarms.
You were still out there. And now, you weren’t just running. You were fighting back.
A slow exhale left his lips as he set the report down. His fingers tightened slightly around the edges of the paper, though his face remained unreadable.
The world had indeed changed in the past six months.
In-ho’s feet moved before his mind worked, entering his car as his fingers curled around the steering wheel, knuckles white from the pressure. The rain drummed softly against the window of his car as he drove towards your apartment. There, he parked outside. Although he had no reason to be there, but he couldn’t help himself.
Another week. Another night. Another moment was spent staring at the door that would never open.
The rain blurred the city beyond the windshield, distorting the world in streaks of color. And for a moment, he let himself remember your voice, your smile. The warmth of your presence beside him.
But then, as his gaze drifted toward your apartment building, something gnawed at the edges of his mind. A feeling — one he had long learned not to ignore. The environment carried a charge, something almost electric, almost alive. It wasn’t obvious at first, not to someone who wasn’t looking for it.
Something was wrong.
Without thinking, he stepped out of the car, the cold rain soaking through his coat almost instantly. His heart pounded as he took the stairs two at a time, reaching your door before he could convince himself otherwise.
Then, he froze. The door was slightly ajar. His pulse quickened, a sharp contrast to his otherwise calm exterior. His breath caught in his throat. Slowly, he pushed the door open, the hinges creaking in protest. And then, his stomach dropped.
The apartment was empty. Not just in the way it always had been — but stripped bare, as if someone had come and erased every last trace of you from existence. The bed was untouched. The air smelled stale. His eyes scanned the space, taking in every detail. Although the furniture was the same, something about its arrangement felt off. As if someone had touched it, moved it, sat on it.
His gaze trailed along the room until it landed on the small table near the window. And then, he saw it.
Your letter.
The envelope was simple. There were no markings, no embellishments. Just his name scrawled in familiar handwriting.
Your handwriting.
His fingers tightened around the edges as he picked it up, his throat constricting. He exhaled, steadying himself before he slipped a gloved finger beneath the seal, carefully unfolding the paper within.
Your scent still lingered on it.
His eyes moved over the words, absorbing them, dissecting every sentence, every choice of phrasing, every hidden meaning between the lines.
I wonder how long it took you to realize I was close. Or if you came here just to mourn the ghost of me, the one you left behind. I wonder if you’ve spent your nights lying awake, picturing my face in the crowd, searching for a glimpse of me in every shadow.
But I already know the answer, don’t I?
You’ve been looking for me. I know, because I’ve been watching you, too.
Do you understand what you did to me, In-ho? It wasn’t just the bullet — it was the choice. It was the cold look in your eyes, the way you pulled the trigger as if my life was nothing more than a means to an end. I wasn’t just another player in your game. I wasn’t someone you could sacrifice for the sake of your throne.
You betrayed me.
And yet, I still think about you. That’s the cruelest part of all.
Even after everything, I still remember the way you used to look at me. I still remember your hands, the warmth of your touch before you became someone I could no longer reach. And I hate myself for it. I hate myself for every moment I miss you.
But I won’t let that stop me from what I have to do. The recruiters are still out there, hunting for the desperate and the broken. And I see them. I watch them from the shadows. I’ve followed them down the streets, through the alleys, watching as they hand out those cursed cards. And every time I find one, I promise myself I will end them.
I wonder, In-ho… will you stop me? Will you try?
Or will you let me disappear into the abyss you threw me into?
You know where to find me. If you’re willing to look hard enough.
By the time In-ho finished reading, his hands had curled so tightly around the letter that the edges crumpled beneath his fingers. A slow exhale left his lips, his shoulders stiff, his mind a storm of emotions too tangled to unravel.
You were near. You knew he was looking for you. And now, you had given him a choice: let you vanish into the darkness or chase after you.
The corner of his lips twitched, a ghost of something almost like amusement, but there was no warmth in it.
You wanted a challenge? You would get one.
Because no matter how far you ran, no matter how well you hid, In-ho wasn’t going to stop. He had already lost you once.
And he wasn’t going to lose you again.
——
The alley was silent. The kind of silence that only came after death.
Even in the middle of Seoul, where the streets never truly slept, there were places like this — forgotten corners between looming buildings, spaces where the city’s neon glow didn’t quite reach. Places where death could slip by unnoticed.
The recruiter’s body slumped against the cold brick wall, his final breath long stolen from his lungs. Blood seeped into the cracks of the pavement, dark and glistening under the faint streetlight overhead. The warmth of it clung to your hands, soaked into the creases of your knuckles, staining your sleeves.
The knife was still in your grip, trembling slightly as the adrenaline burned through you.
Another one down. Another recruiter gone.
Your pulse pounded, loud in your ears, drowning out the distant sounds of the city. This was what you had become. You had made your choice the night you left.
You promised yourself that if you couldn’t stop the games, you would stop those who fed it. And yet, as you stood there, staring at the life you had just taken, a part of you wondered if this was really justice.
Or if it was revenge.
Your breath came uneven as you wiped the blade clean against the recruiter’s coat before slipping it back into your pocket. The blood on your hands had already begun to dry, leaving a tacky feeling against your skin. The weight of it pressed against your chest.
You had to move.
With one last glance at the lifeless body, you turned, slipping into the shadows, disappearing before anyone could find you.
You had never been much of a smoker before, but now, it was a habit you had picked up in the quiet moments between the killings, in the stolen hours of the night when the world slowed just enough for your thoughts to catch up.
The flame flickered as you brought it to the tip, the ember glowing faintly before you took a slow drag, letting the smoke fill your lungs. It burned, just for a second, before settling into something familiar, something grounding. Your mind wandered before you could stop it.
In-ho.
The man who had once been your everything before he became the one thing you could never forgive.
Six months since you had disappeared into the cracks of the city. Since you had left behind the world that had nearly swallowed you whole. Since you had walked away from him.
And yet, he hadn’t walked away from you.
You’ve seen him. Every week. Every damn week, without fail.
Standing just across the street from your apartment building, half-hidden in the shadows, his hands in the pockets of his coat, his gaze lingering on the shadows as if you could step out onto the balcony. He would stand there for hours, unmoving, just watching.
And then, just before the sky began to lighten before the world stirred awake, he would disappear like a ghost. Like a man who didn’t know how to let go.
You had never let him see you, never once stepped out of the safety of your hiding place. But you had thought about it.
God, you had thought about it.
There were nights when you had stood by the window, fingers curled around the curtain, watching him through the sliver of space between the fabric. Careful enough not to make any movement around your apartment, for him to think that you never came back there. Nights when you had imagined walking down those steps, crossing that street, standing in front of him, and asking him why.
Why he had done this.
Why he had betrayed you.
Why he still looked at you like you were something worth waiting for.
And worse, there were nights when you had almost considered it.
Almost considered going back.
Almost considered accepting his offer.
Because for all the blood on his hands, for all the lives he had stolen, there had been a time where he had been yours. And a part of you, no matter how much you hated it, still wanted to believe that be again.
But then, the memories would come back. The pain. The betrayal.
The weight of his gun against your body, the sharp crack of the bullet tearing through you. The way he had looked at you afterward. Not with regret, not with hesitation, but with cold, calculated detachment. Like you had never meant anything at all.
You exhaled, watching the tendrils of smoke curl toward the ceiling before vanishing into nothing. As you stood there in the dim light of the convenience store, with the taste of nicotine on your tongue and the weight of another life on your conscience, you couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how far you ran, no matter how many recruiters you took down, he would always find a way back to you.
The gas station flickered ahead, neon signs buzzing faintly against the dark sky. It sat on the edge of the city, just far enough from the main streets that it felt detached from the world. A temporary sanctuary.
You pushed open the door to the restroom, locking it behind you. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed, casting a sickly glow over the cracked mirror. And then, for the first time in hours, you saw yourself, barely recognizing what you had become.
Your reflection stared back at you, hollow-eyed and exhausted. Slowly, you turned on the faucet, watching as the water sputtered out, filling the sink.
Your fingers shook as you scrubbed. The blood smeared at first, painting your skin deeper shades of red before finally fading down the drain. But even as your hands became clean, the weight in your chest did not lift.
You gripped the edges of the sink, head lowering, and your breath shaky. You had been killing them one by one.
You exhaled sharply, blinking back the exhaustion threatening to consume you. There was no time to dwell on it. Not now.
Pulling your coat tighter around yourself, you pushed open the restroom door and stepped into the dimly lit convenience store.
The bell above the convenience store door chimed as you stepped inside, the harsh fluorescent lights making you squint after spending too much time lurking in the shadows. The scent of cheap instant ramen and cleeaning detergent filled the air, clashing with the lingering smoke of your cigarette, which you quickly stubbed out against the trash bin by the entrance.
You barely spared a glance at the other customers. Just another late-night stop for the city’s restleses — people either coming from work or trying to escape something. The latter fit you right in.
But then, you saw her.
Jun-hee.
Your breath hitched.
She was standing in front of the fridge, reaching for a bottle of water, completely unaware of your presence. For a moment, your mind refused to believe it was real. But she was here, standing right in front of you when, by all accounts, she should have been dead.
Just like you.
Her hair was longer than you remembered, tied back in a loose ponytail, and she wore a thick coat that did little to hide the exhaustion in her posture. But it wasn’t her disheveled appearance that caught your attention.
It was the baby in her arms. Small, bundled up in soft, pale yellow fabric.
Yours and Jun-hee’s eyes met in the reflection of the fridge door. She froze, the bottle slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a dull thud.
“No…” Her voice was barely above a whisper, trembling with disbelief. “You… You’re dead.”
The words sent a chill down your spine. You could have laughed if the moment wasn’t so suffocating. You had to get out.
You schooled your features, masking the sudden rise of panic clawing at your ribs. “I’m sorry, you must have the wrong person.”
Her eyes widened, a million emotions flashing through them. “No, no. It’s you. It’s really you. How—?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you cut her off, voice steady but firm. You turned sharply on your heel and strode toward the door, the familiar itch of danger creeping up your spine.
You shoved the door open and stepped back into the cold air, swallowing down the panic rising in your throat. Your fingers twitched at your sides, muscles tensing as you forced yourself to keep walking, to not turn back, to not run.
Jun-hee won.
She was the winner of the last game. The realization settled like a heavy strone in your gut. She had survived. She had gone through the same nightmare, played the same deadly games, watched people die, and somehow, she had come out alive.
And she had a baby now.
Your mind ran circles around the thought, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it. She had seen you. That was all that mattered. You needed to disappear again and let the city swallow you whole, let the neon lights blur in your peripheral vision, let the sounds of traffic and distant voices drown out your thoughts.
By the time you realized where you were, you were standing in front of a bar. It was dimly lit, old, with a neon sign flickering above the entrance, half the letters burnt out. It was the perfect place to sink into oblivion.
The door creaked as you pushed it open, the scent of liquor, sweat, and stale cigarette smoke hit you instantly, familiar and suffocating all at once. A few patrons lingered at the tables, hunched over drinks, lost in their own troubles. The bartender barely spared you a glance as you slid into a seat at the counter.
Your hands were still shaking, realizing that Jun-hee had seen you.
You drank the night away, the coldness of the liquor etching your throat as it burned, but you didn’t care. You needed to be wasted.
——
A/N: So far, I've been liking the thought of In-ho and Y/N writing letters for each other 🤭 What did you think of Jun-hee becoming the winner of the games? Do you have any theories in mind for the next season of Squid Game? Let's discuss about it! Feel free to leave out your thoughts here, and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶
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