“What The Hell Kind Of Name Is "Soap”, Eh? How’d A Muppet Like You Pass Selection?“ –John Price

Continuing the Metal Gear Solid 30th anniversary!

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. 

——

previous chapter | next chapter

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)

Heavydirtysoul

Heavydirtysoap

EPILOGUE - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)

previous chapter | MASTERLIST

——

The plan was set. The weight of it sat heavily on your shoulders as you checked your gear, strapping a handgun to your thigh holster and ensuring the spare magazines were secured. Your hands trembled slightly, but it wasn’t from fear. It was the quiet, lingering uncertainty deep inside you—the kind you couldn't afford to acknowledge right now. You felt In-ho’s presence before you even saw him.

“You’re hesitating,” he said lowly, standing just beside you, his voice quiet enough that only you could hear.

Your fingers hovered over the strap of your vest before tightening it. “I’m not.”

His gaze flickered down to your stomach. It was subtle, but you knew him well enough to see the moment of hesitation in his normally calculating eyes. His hand clenched at his side, the leather of his gloves creaking slightly.

“You don’t have to be here,” he said finally.

You let out a short breath, tilting your head toward him with an almost bitter smile. “And do what? Hide while everyone else fights? Pretend none of this is happening?”

His jaw tightened. “You have more to lose.”

Your heart clenched at those words, but before you could respond, Gi-hun’s voice cut through the tension.

“Everyone ready?”

The room shifted.

Hyun-ju was tightening the bandages on her wrist, tucking a blade into her boot. Jun-ho was checking his firearm, his expression unreadable as he stood near the doorway. No-eul adjusted the strap of her guard uniform, her fingers steady. Gyeong-seok exhaled through his nose, shifting his weight as he cracked his knuckles.

They were ready, and so were you.

But before you could step forward, In-ho caught your wrist. You froze as his gloved hand closed over your arm—not in restraint, but in something gentler. 

You turned to him. He didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he reached down and pulled something from the inside of his coat—a sleek, customized handgun. He placed it in your palm, closing your fingers around it.

Then, for the first time in a long time, his eyes softened. “I’ll protect you,” he murmured, voice quiet but firm. “No matter what happens.”

The words were a promise. One that neither of you knew if he could keep. Your throat tightened, but you nodded. “We protect each other.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Stay close to me.”

Then, without another word, he released your wrist and turned to the others. The tension in the room shifted once more.

Gi-hun gave a sharp nod, rolling his shoulders back. “Let’s move.”

With that, the group stepped forward, the war ahead looming like a storm. The fight was coming and there was no turning back.

You moved as thoughts started to cloud your mind. You weren’t sure when you lost yourself.

Maybe it was the moment you stepped into the games, out of sheer reckless curiosity, thinking you could outsmart something designed to break people.

Maybe it was when you ran for six months, evading shadows, haunted by memories of the bodies that had fallen around you—names you never knew, faces you would never forget.

Or maybe it was when you put on the mask. When you stood above the very system you once despised, playing the role of the overseer, whispering orders that made the machine turn, knowing that every command meant another life lost.

The moment you ascended to power, donned in black, speaking in commands that turned life and death into a cold transaction.

The mask was supposed to be just that—a mask. A tool to hide behind. A way to survive. But at some point, you had begun to wonder if you had become the mask itself.

And now, here you were. Again.

But this time, you weren’t running.

You were trying to end it.

Your fingers tightened around the edges of the table in front of you, knuckles turning white. The room was empty, save for the distant hum of the facility’s systems and the echo of your own ragged breathing. Your body ached, exhaustion weighing down on you like chains, but the real war was inside your mind.

What if, after all of this, you weren’t meant to be saved?

What if you had already become everything you once swore to destroy?

The thought sent a deep, twisting nausea through you.

You had spent so long convincing yourself that you weren’t like the others. That you had control over your fate. That despite all the blood on your hands, you were still human. But were you?

If you were, why did the sight of death no longer make you flinch?

Why had you learned to speak in orders and sacrifices, calculating loss like it was just another variable in an equation?

You clenched your hands into fists, feeling your nails dig into your skin. You needed to hold onto something real—anything that reminded you that there was still something left of you beneath all of this.

And then you thought about the life inside you.

You placed a hesitant hand over your stomach, your heartbeat hammering against your ribs. You were carrying life in a place built to destroy it.

For a second, you almost laughed. How cruel, how ironic, that in the heart of this machine of death, something so fragile—so pure—was growing inside of you.

Would they ever know the truth about you? About what you did?

Would they see you as someone worth saving, or would they only see the monster that history had made of you?

Your chest felt tight. You pressed a hand against it, as if that could steady the whirlwind inside you.

Was there anything left of you beneath the mask?

The door creaked open behind you. You didn’t turn immediately. 

You knew who it was.

In-ho stepped inside, his presence solid, grounding. He didn’t say anything at first, only watching as you stared at the reflection in the dark glass—your own face staring back at you, tired, fractured.

"You’re overthinking again," he murmured, stepping closer.

You let out a bitter laugh. “Am I?”

There was silence, then something was softer. “What are you thinking about?”

You exhaled slowly. “That I don’t know who I am anymore.”

In-ho’s gaze darkened, but there was no judgment in his expression. Only understanding.

“I was a player,” you continued, voice quieter now. “Then I ran. Then I became an overseer. And now, I’m here. Back where I started. Tearing it all down.” You turned to him, eyes searching his as if he had the answer. “So tell me, In-ho. Who am I supposed to be?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached for your hand, gloved fingers closing over yours. His grip was steady. Warm.

"You are who you choose to be," he said finally. "And right now, you’ve chosen to fight.”

Your throat tightened.

Fight.

You had fought for the past few months, hadn’t you? For control. For survival. For something greater than yourself.

What if fighting only turned you into another cog in the machine?

What if you were too far gone to be anything else?

Slowly, In-ho lifted his other hand and rested it gently over yours, over where it still hovered against your stomach. His gaze was softer now, his touch careful, almost reverent.

“You still have something to fight for,” he murmured.

For the first time in a long time, you felt fragile. Breakable. A lump formed in your throat, but you forced yourself to swallow it down.

Maybe there was no clear answer to who you were.

Maybe there never would be.

But right now, you knew one thing.

You weren’t going to let this place define you anymore.

Slowly, you exhaled, steadying your hands. Then, with newfound clarity, you met In-ho’s gaze.

“Let’s finish this.”

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you had control over your own story again.

——

The cold night air pressed against your skin as you and the others moved through the shadows of the island, weaving between steel walls and towering storage units. The moon hung overhead, half-veiled by storm clouds, casting eerie streaks of light over the empty pathways.

Jun-ho moved ahead, his camera clutched tightly in his hands. His fingers trembled slightly—not from fear, but from adrenaline. Each click of the camera shutter echoed in the silence, capturing the horrors of the island one frame at a time.

“Keep moving,” In-ho whispered beside you, his voice barely above the wind. His presence was steady, a contrast to the chaos in your mind.

You adjusted your grip on your gun, scanning the area. Every flickering shadow, every distant noise, sent a wave of paranoia through your veins. This island was alive, breathing, waiting to swallow you whole.

You turned to Gi-hun, who was watching Jun-ho carefully. “How much proof do you have so far?”

Jun-ho glanced down at his camera. “More than enough to make sure the world never turns a blind eye again,” he murmured.

But was it enough to stop them? The organization had power—more than any of them had ever imagined. Even with evidence, they needed to make sure this wasn’t just another buried story.

That meant one thing.

They needed to get out alive.

Hyun-ju let out a sharp breath. “We can’t just keep sneaking around. We need to hit them where it hurts.”

Gi-hun nodded. “That’s why we’re heading to the control room.”

You swallowed. “That’s the most dangerous place in this facility.”

Gyeong-seok, standing beside No-eul, flexed his fingers over his stolen rifle. “Then let’s make it count.”

There was no turning back now. You followed the group through the winding paths, past lifeless halls and silent corridors, deeper into the heart of the island. The closer you got, the heavier the air became.

Then, you saw it.

The control room.

A fortress of reinforced glass and steel, glowing with monitors displaying every part of the island. The pulse of the entire operation. If they could get in, they could override the system. Send the footage out. Tear down the organization from the inside.

But as you took another step forward, something felt wrong.

Too quiet.

Too easy.

Your instincts screamed just as the first shot rang out.

“AMBUSH!”

The world exploded. Gunfire erupted from above, from the sides, from the very walls themselves. Dozens of guards stormed in, masked and armed, their weapons aimed with deadly precision.

Your body moved before your mind could catch up. You dove behind a stack of metal crates as bullets shredded through the air, sparks flying from every surface.

Gi-hun fired back, his expression a mask of fury. Hyun-ju ducked behind a column, reloading as Gyeong-seok and No-eul tried to hold the right flank.

Jun-ho barely managed to shield his camera as a bullet shattered a light overhead, raining glass down on him.

You felt a hand on your wrist—In-ho, pulling you back as another round of bullets whizzed past where you had just stood.

“They were waiting for us,” you gritted out, pressing yourself against the crate.

“They knew we were coming,” In-ho muttered, eyes scanning for an opening.

A guard charged towards Jun-ho, gun raised. Before you could react, In-ho was already moving, raising his weapon and firing a clean shot. The guard collapsed, but another took his place, then another.

You turned, firing rapidly, each shot precise, controlled. Your months full of training, of surviving, had honed your skills into something deadly.

But the guards weren’t just trying to kill you. They were herding you. Pushing you back. Forcing you into a trap.

“We need a new plan!” Gi-hun shouted over the chaos.

You looked up. The control room doors were still sealed, reinforced. The only way in was through a direct override—or through the bodies standing in the way.

The choice was clear.

No turning back. No surrender.

You locked eyes with In-ho. “We fight our way through,” you said.

His gaze flickered to your stomach, hesitation flashing through his expression for the briefest second. But he knew you wouldn’t back down. “Then we do it together,” he murmured.

You nodded. Then, gripping your gun, you took a deep breath and ran straight into the fire.

Bullets shredded through the air as you sprinted forward, your heart hammering against your ribs. The floor beneath you trembled with each deafening blast. You moved purely on instinct, firing into the chaos, ducking and rolling behind a control panel as guards swarmed the entrance. The others were right behind you.

Gi-hun took cover behind an overturned console, his jaw clenched as he reloaded. Jun-ho was crouched near a metal pillar, his camera slung over his shoulder, his gun shaking slightly in his grip.

In-ho was beside you, his movements precise and ruthless. He fired clean, methodical shots, covering Hyun-ju as she darted to the other side of the room, her rifle slung over her shoulder. Gyeong-seok and No-eul worked in tandem, their stolen weapons spitting fire as they tried to clear a path forward.

But there were too many.

Guards poured in from the upper levels, rifles trained on your group like predators circling prey. You counted at least two dozen, their numbers closing in.

A bullet grazed your arm, the burn searing through your flesh. You clenched your jaw, shoving the pain aside. You couldn’t afford to hesitate.

“We’re getting pinned down!” No-eul shouted, ducking behind the cover as bullets ripped into the wall beside her.

“We need to move, now!” Gyeong-seok gritted out, his breathing ragged.

In-ho scanned the control room, his sharp eyes locking onto something across the room. The main terminal. The heart of the facility.

“We have to get to the override panel,” he said. “It’s our only chance to take control of the island’s systems.”

“Then let’s make a path,” you said, gripping your gun tighter.

You and In-ho moved together, breaking from cover in perfect sync. Your weapons fired in unison, dropping two guards blocking the path to the panel. The others followed your lead, pushing forward with relentless force.

Hyun-ju threw a stolen flash grenade, the explosion of light and sound sending the remaining guards into disarray. “Go! Now!” she yelled.

In-ho grabbed your wrist, pulling you forward as you weaved through the chaos, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You reached the main terminal, its screen glowing with layers of security protocols.

Jun-ho rushed in behind you, typing furiously on the control pad. “I can override the security feeds, but I need time!”

Time was the one thing you didn’t have. Guards regrouped, their gunfire tearing into the walls. No-eul yelped as a bullet grazed her leg, Gyeong-seok dragging her back behind a desk for cover.

Gi-hun gritted his teeth, turning to you. “We have to hold them off.”

You nodded, your body aching, but your mind razor-sharp. You lifted your gun and fired, refusing to let them take another step forward.

And then, a voice crackled through the speakers.

“You really thought you could win?”

Everything stopped as your stomach twisted as the voice reverberated through the room. Cold. Amused. Unshaken by the battle raging inside the control center.

It was one of the overseers. Though its voice sounded from… a woman.

“You think you’re exposing us? You have no idea what you’ve done.”

The screens flickered, revealing a horrifying sight.

Outside the facility, massive cargo ships loomed on the horizon. Heavily armed. Reinforcements.

Jun-ho’s fingers froze over the keyboard. “They knew we were coming.”

Your grip on your gun tightened. The weight of everything—your past, your choices, your unborn child—pressed down on you like a crushing force.

“We can’t stop now,” you said, your voice steely.

In-ho turned to you, something fierce and unyielding in his gaze. “I won’t let them take you.”

You swallowed hard, your hand instinctively resting on your stomach.

No one ran. No one surrendered.

The next battle had just begun.

Thick iron chains rattled against the damp ground as you and the others were dragged forward. The cold bite of steel dug into your wrists, the weight of captivity pressing down on you with every step. The guards flanked you in a tight formation, their rifles primed and ready to fire at the slightest resistance.

The sky was dark, storm clouds swirling like an omen above the endless stretch of ocean. Massive cargo ships loomed ahead, their floodlights cutting through the night, illuminating the dock where your fate awaited. The air reeked of salt, gunpowder, and something else—something metallic and final.

A line of masked overseers stood at the edge of the dock, their robes billowing in the wind. Their presence alone was suffocating, a silent reminder of the power they wielded.

At the center stood one of them. A woman with a single black mask, wearing a red long dress that fit her shape. An unmistakable symbol of control. She was someone you’ve never seen before, even In-ho seemed confused seeing her.

The overseer inched forward, exuding an aura of absolute dominance. The guards shoved you and the others to your knees, forcing you to look up at the figure towering above.

The overseer’s slow, deliberate applause echoed against the crashing waves.

“Well, well,” the voice purred, smooth and amused. “Look at you. The rebels. The revolutionaries.” A pause. Then, with venomous delight. “The failures.”

A low growl rumbled from Gi-hun’s throat, his wrists straining against the chains. In-ho remained still, his gaze locked onto the overseer, his mind calculating every possible move. Your breath hitched, your pulse hammering at the base of your throat.

The overseer paced in front of you, slow and measured, relishing every second of your humiliation.

“Did you think you were the first?” Her voice was mocking, dripping with condescension. “Did you really believe you could ‘expose’ us? That the world would shun us in horror?”

A bitter chuckle.

“Oh, how naive.”

A monitor buzzed to life behind the line of overseers. The screen flickered, revealing something none of you had expected.

Millions of people were watching. The world wasn’t horrified. They were entertained.

Live feeds, interviews, and even betting pools flashed across the screen. People weren’t condemning the games. They were celebrating them.

Your stomach twisted violently.

The overseer gestured toward the display. “You see, the world doesn’t want justice. They want a spectacle. And thanks to you, dear rebels, we’ve given them just that.”

Gi-hun’s fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “You’re lying.”

The overseer tilted her head. “Am I?”

The screen shifted again, showing news anchors praising the system, social media posts glorifying the brutality, commentators analyzing ‘strategies’ for future contestants.

“People have stopped questioning the morality of it all. They’ve accepted it.” The overseer’s voice lowered to a chilling whisper. “They want more.”

A sickening wave of nausea rolled over you.

The overseer crouched down, inches from your face. “And you,” she murmured, “were always meant to be part of it.”

Your breath hitched as they lifted a gloved hand and traced it along your jawline—then lower, hovering just above your abdomen. Your blood ran cold.

“I must say,” the overseer drawled, “I’m impressed. Even after all the carnage, you still found time to create life.”

Your entire body stiffened. Beside you, In-ho’s head snapped up, his entire posture shifting from composed to sheer, unfiltered rage.

The overseer’s voice dropped to a lethal whisper. “I wonder… how much longer it will last?”

In-ho lunged as the chains snapped as he surged forward, a raw, animalistic fury igniting in his eyes. The guards reacted immediately, striking him across the face with the butt of a rifle. He hit the ground hard, a sharp crack echoing as blood splattered against the dirt.

You gasped, jerking forward, but the guards yanked you back, forcing you to watch as In-ho writhed, his chest heaving, his head bowed.

The overseer smirked. “How predictable.”

In-ho lifted his head, a slow, dark smile curling at his lips despite the blood dripping down his chin. “You have no idea what’s coming.”

The overseer merely chuckled. “Oh, but I do.” She straightened, dusting off their coat. “You see, the three of you—” they gestured between you, In-ho, and Gi-hun “—were always meant to be the pillars of this system. A former winner, a perfect enforcer, and a rogue overseer. The power of the games could have been yours.”

A pause.

“But you chose defiance.”

She turned to Gi-hun, her expression unreadable behind the mask. “And you, my dear 456… you were never meant to win.”

Gi-hun inhaled sharply, his body going rigid.

The overseer took one last step closer, looming over you. “But now, you get to witness something far more tragic.” She motioned toward the ships. “Your final chapter.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears as realization sank in. They weren’t taking you to be executed. They were taking you to be displayed.

A grand finale for the world to see.

The guards yanked the chains, forcing all of you to your feet. Your legs trembled, but you forced yourself to stay strong. You couldn’t afford to break. Not here. Not now.

You risked a glance at In-ho. His lip was split, his eye swelling, but his gaze was still burning with defiance. He met your eyes, a silent promise there.

I will not let them take you.

The storm overhead rumbled, the waves crashing violently against the dock as the guards led you closer to the ships. You swallowed back the fear clawing at your throat.

The waves roared beneath the docks, a monstrous force of nature that mirrored the chaos unraveling in your mind. The cold steel chains dug into your wrists as the guards tightened their grip, dragging you and the others toward the looming cargo ships. The world had already decided your fate—whether as traitors, martyrs, or something far worse.

And then the overseer spoke again, her voice eerily calm against the storm.“You’re still clinging to the idea that you’ve uncovered the truth,” she mused, stepping forward with a measured grace. “That you’ve somehow managed to defy the system. But tell me…” She tilted their head slightly, the smooth black mask reflecting the flickering floodlights. “Did you ever stop to think that perhaps… the system wanted you to?”

The words settled like a slow, creeping poison. Gi-hun stiffened beside you, his fists trembling within the chains. “What the hell are you talking about?” he snapped.

The overseer chuckled, the sound drenched in amusement. “You really think all of this—” she gestured at the massive ships, the live broadcasts, the relentless global fascination “—happened because of you?” She let the silence hang for a moment before answering their own question.

Your stomach twisted.

“This—all of this—was inevitable.”

The overseer began pacing in front of you like a predator toying with its wounded prey.

“Violence… spectacle… the illusion of rebellion. You see, the system never feared exposure.” She turned slightly, glancing at Jun-ho. “Did you think you were the first to attempt such a thing? To gather evidence? To infiltrate?”

Jun-ho’s breath hitched, his jaw tightening.

“Many have tried before,” the overseer continued smoothly. “Some died. Some disappeared. But their efforts all had one thing in common.” Her voice dropped to a taunting whisper. “They never mattered.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

The overseer exhaled, her tone almost sympathetic. “We never needed to hide the games. We only needed to… evolve them.”

Gi-hun’s expression darkened, fury twisting his features. “No. That’s bullshit—”

“Is it?” The overseer took a slow, deliberate step forward. “You saw the world’s reaction. You saw the demand. You thought you were at the top, pulling the strings, but in reality, you were merely pieces on a much grander board. The real game isn’t about survival or wealth. It never was.” Her gaze darkened, sharp with something unreadable. “It’s about control. Manipulation. How far people are willing to go when they believe they have power.”

The screen flickered behind them again—broadcasts of talk shows, endless online discourse, governments debating regulations rather than condemnations.

“The world isn’t horrified. It’s hungry.”

Gi-hun's expression hardened. “And what? You think people will just let this continue?”

The overseer chuckled, shaking her head. “Let it continue?” She gestured grandly. “The world has already decided. The games were revealed, the public saw the truth, and what did they do?”

She leaned in closer, voice thick with amusement.

“They begged for more.”

Your stomach twisted.

No. That wasn’t possible.

The world should have been horrified. Outraged. The system should have collapsed under the weight of its own sins. A twisted smile played at the overseer’s lips, barely visible beneath the mask.

“This was never about stopping the games.”

She turned their gaze onto you this time, her tone softening into something almost affectionate.

“This was about creating something new.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

The overseer let the weight of her words sink in before continuing. “You, In-ho, Gi-hun… you were never opponents to the system. You were components.”

Another pause. Then, another cruel smirk.

“You were the experiment.”

The words shattered the last threads of certainty holding you together. The realization was crushing. The system hadn’t been exposed to destroy it. It had been exposed to evolve.

And now, you, In-ho, and Gi-hun—the supposed "leaders" of the system—were nothing but remnants of an old era. Pawns that had served their purpose.

Your knees nearly buckled beneath you. “What…?” Your voice barely registered, hollow, strangled.

“Did you really believe you infiltrated us? That you and In-ho’s power struggle meant anything? That Gi-hun’s rebellion made an impact?” The overseer’s head tilted, amused. “No. You were all carefully placed pieces on the board. Given just enough power. Just enough hope.”

She gestured between you and In-ho. “The overseer who once enforced the system, turned against it. The rogue infiltrator seeking to burn it down.” Her gaze slid to Gi-hun. “And the man who tried to end it, only to be drawn back into its orbit again and again.”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips.

“All of you… designed to stir the pot. To give the world something new to fixate on.”

It was like the ground beneath you had crumbled. Jun-ho’s breathing was uneven now, his fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to lunge at the overseer despite his chains. Gi-hun was eerily silent, his entire body rigid with unprocessed rage.

You turned to In-ho, desperate for some kind of answer, some kind of denial—anything. But his face was unreadable. You couldn’t find anything. Even he didn’t know what to do anymore. 

The overseer took a slow step forward, her voice dropping to something almost gentle. “The real games never ended.” She leaned in closer. “Because they never truly began.”

A cold, sickening dread settled deep in your bones. Everything you had done. Everything you had fought for. It wasn’t against the system.

It had been for it all along.

A deafening silence consumed the dock, broken only by the distant wails of the ocean and the mechanical hum of the ships. Your mind was still reeling from the overseer’s words, from the realization that the very thing you fought against had been orchestrating your every move.

You were never tearing the system down.

You were fueling it.

The chains rattled against your wrists as you struggled to breathe, your pulse hammering so loud you could barely hear the distant screams of the world that now knew the truth—but was unwilling to stop it.

And then the overseer moved slowly and deliberately. The gun in her hand was raised, the barrel leveled directly at your head. A cruel smirk tugged at the edges of her lips beneath the mask. “I think we all know how this ends. But I have to say,” she mused, her eyes flickering down to your stomach, “this was an interesting variable.”

The guards beside you tightened their grip. No one in your group dared to move, frozen in place like ghosts waiting to vanish into oblivion.

“No.”

The word came from beside you, raw and desperate.

In-ho took a step forward, yanking against the chains holding him back. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body tense, as if ready to tear through every restraint between him and the gun aimed at you.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, his voice tight with barely contained emotion. 

The overseer didn’t even glance at him. She took a slow step forward, locking eyes with In-ho. “But you, In-ho…tell me, how does it feel? To know you fought so hard to survive—only to end up right back in chains?”

In-ho said nothing. You could feel the tension radiating off him, his fists clenched so tightly they trembled.

The overseer took another step closer, voice turning into a whisper. “Does it hurt more knowing that she’ll suffer with you?”

Something inside of In-ho snapped. With a roar, he lunged. The guards reacted instantly, yanking him back before he could reach the overseer. A sharp crack echoed as a rifle butt smashed into In-ho’s gut, sending him to his knees.

“No!” You struggled against your restraints, but the chains dug into your wrists, holding you back.

In-ho coughed, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. He lifted his head slowly, glaring up at the overseer, pure hatred burning in his gaze. But the overseer only chuckled, looking amused.

“No,” In-ho hissed, his eyes burning with something unrecognizable—something vulnerable, something stripped bare. “She—she’s pregnant.”

The words barely made it past his lips, but they hit like a gunshot. The world seemed to stop. The others visibly stiffened, the revelation settling into their bones like a slow, creeping cold.

Gi-hun turned sharply toward you, his brows furrowing, his lips parting in silent realization. Jun-ho’s expression shattered for just a second before he quickly masked it, his gaze flicking between you and his brother. Hyun-ju inhaled sharply. Gyeong-seok muttered a quiet curse under his breath. No-eul’s hands twitched at her sides.

And the overseer laughed.

It was quiet at first—a small chuckle, almost amused. Then it grew.

Louder.

Hollow.

Merciless.

“How poetic,” she tilted their head. “A life growing inside the very person who helped enforce the deaths of so many.”

In-ho’s breathing was ragged. “It’s unfair,” he rasped. “The child… our child… they never chose this.”

For a fraction of a second, the overseer seemed to consider his words. Then, her smirk deepened.

“You’re right.”

Then, without warning, the gun was pulled away. Instead of relief, a cold wave of dread washed over you. The overseer turned slightly, pacing in front of your group, her gaze flickering between you, Gi-hun, and In-ho.

“But fairness was never a part of this game.”

The next words came like a slow death sentence.

“Choose.”

The wind howled as the reality of their command settled over the group.

“You,” the overseer gestured at you. “Or him.” They pointed at In-ho. “One of you dies here, the other gets to live… for now.”

Gi-hun stepped forward instantly. “This isn’t a choice.” His voice was sharp, cutting through the thick air like a blade. “It’s a sick joke.”

The overseer barely acknowledged him. Jun-ho’s eyes flickered toward his brother, then to you. He was calculating, searching for a way out.

The chains around your wrists felt tighter. The child inside you was an anchor, holding you down, keeping you from thinking straight.

In-ho's voice was barely above a whisper. “Take me.”

“No,” you said immediately, shaking your head.

In-ho’s eyes met yours, and in them, you saw it. The exhaustion. The torment. The weight of everything he’d done. But before you could say another word, the overseer let out a short laugh. 

“Touching,” she mused, before tilting their head toward the guards. “I’m getting too impatient. Kill them both.”

The world moved too fast and too slow all at once.

The gunshot rang out like a crack through the fabric of the world.

“Y/N!” In-ho cried out, breaking away from the chains as he rushed to you. 

Your body jerked. At first, it didn’t register. Just a strange, searing heat blooming somewhere deep inside you, like a fire spreading through your veins. The force of the impact sent you stumbling, the air knocked from your lungs as if someone had just punched a hole through your chest.

Then, the pain came.

A slow, creeping agony at first—like the burn of a blade pressing into flesh—before it exploded into something unbearable. It stole the breath from your throat, the strength from your limbs. Your knees buckled. You barely felt yourself falling.

But In-ho was there.

His hands were on you before you hit the ground, catching you, his grip desperate—too desperate. He pulled you against him, his voice breaking into fragments of sound, of syllables that you couldn’t quite grasp.

“Stay with me,” he whispered, his voice raw. “Just—just keep your eyes on me.”

You tried. God, you tried. But the world was slipping, bleeding into shadows. “In-ho…” Your voice was barely a breath. “We were just kids,” you murmured, your fingers barely brushing his wrist. “Do you remember? When we used to sneak onto the rooftops? Just to watch the city lights?”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Yeah,” he rasped. “You said they looked like stars. That if we couldn’t reach the real ones, we could pretend.”

You gave a faint smile, though it barely stayed. “And you—” a cough wracked through you, and his hand cradled your cheek instinctively, as if afraid you’d disappear right in front of him. “You always brought the stolen snacks. Said we’d never go hungry if we stuck together.”

His breath hitched. “And we didn’t. Not once.”

A silence stretched between you both—long enough for him to realize how cold you were getting. His hold tightened.

“We were supposed to make it out together,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

You let out a shaky breath. “And yet… here we are.”

His jaw clenched. The weight of everything—his choices, your choices—settled heavily between you. He had spent years chasing power, believing it was the only way to survive. But in the end, it had led to this.

Your fingers barely curled around his wrist. “Do you… ever wonder?”

He blinked, leaning closer. “Wonder what?”

“If things were different,” you murmured. “If we were never part of the games…” You swallowed, your throat dry. “Would we have been happy?”

His face crumpled, something deep and painful surfacing in his eyes.

“In-ho,” you whispered. “What if… what if we raised our child together?”

His breath caught. For the first time, the war around you faded. The guards, the overseers, the bloodshed—it all became distant noise.

“I would’ve kept you safe,” he said, his voice thick. “Both of you.”

Your lips parted, a shuddering exhale escaping.

He wasn’t lying.

Despite everything, despite the monster he had become to survive, there was still the boy who had once promised to never let you starve. The boy who had watched city lights with you and told you the world could be yours.

“In another life,” you whispered, tears slipping past your lashes, “I think we would’ve been happy.”

His grip on you trembled. “Then let’s make this one count,” he said fiercely.

But you knew—both of you knew—there was no escaping this ending. And yet, for just one fleeting moment, you both allowed yourselves to pretend.

The moment In-ho’s trembling hand pressed against your belly, a choked sob tore from his throat. His palm was warm, despite the coldness creeping into your body, despite the chaos around you. His tears fell freely now, mixing with the blood that pooled beneath you both. His forehead rested against yours, his breath uneven, shaky, desperate.

"You were supposed to live," he whispered, voice barely audible over the ringing in your ears. "Both of you."

Your fingers weakly lifted, wanting to touch him, to reassure him, to tell him that it was okay—even though it wasn’t. But before you could reach him—

Bang.

His body jolted violently. A sharp, shuddering gasp left him, his grip on you tightening as if he could still shield you from the inevitable.

Your vision blurred, but you felt it. The way his muscles tensed, the way his breath stilled for a split second before leaving him in a broken, rattling exhale.

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Just raw, silent agony.

But he didn't let go. Even as his body trembled, even as the warmth began to seep out of him, he held you. Tightly. Desperately.

His head dipped forward, his lips barely brushing your temple.

In-ho's grip on you slackened slightly, his forehead pressing weakly against yours as his breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. The warmth of his body was still there, but it was fading—just like yours.

You forced yourself to lift a trembling hand, brushing against his jaw, smearing blood across his skin. His own hand covered yours instantly, holding it in place, as if anchoring himself to you. His body trembled, whether from pain or grief, you weren’t sure.

"I’m sorry," he rasped, his voice cracking under the weight of emotions he had buried for so long. His other hand stayed firmly over your belly, shaking with the realization of what was slipping away. "I was supposed to protect you. I was supposed to—”

A wet cough interrupted his words, his body shuddering as another wave of pain struck him. But still, he clung to you. 

You swallowed back the lump in your throat, blinking away the tears clouding your vision. "We... we had so many plans, In-ho," you murmured, a weak smile tugging at your lips despite the pain. "Remember? That little house by the coast... waking up to the sound of the waves... raising our child somewhere safe... away from all of this."

A broken chuckle left him, but it sounded more like a sob. "Yeah... I remember." 

His fingers brushed against your cheek, gentle despite the blood staining them. "You always wanted a garden."

You let out a breathy laugh, though it hurt. "And you said you’d build the fence yourself, even though you’re terrible at carpentry."

His lips twitched in something close to a smirk. "I would’ve figured it out eventually."

Silence hung between you for a moment, filled only by your labored breaths. The world around you had blurred, the distant chaos nothing more than background noise now.

You stared at him, memorizing his face, the way his dark eyes held a depth of emotions he had always tried to hide. And despite everything—the pain, the blood, the inevitability of it all—you still found solace in him.

You wished you could turn back time, rewrite the ending, give your child a life beyond this place. But there were no second chances.

Another gun cocked in the distance. Footsteps approached, seemingly cold, heavy, and unforgiving. In-ho's body tensed, his arms instinctively pulling you closer. Even now, even with his strength waning, he was still trying to shield you.

You tried to hold him, to keep him upright, but your strength was gone. Your fingers, sticky with blood—his blood—clutched at the fabric of his uniform, desperately trying to ground him, to keep him here with you.

His breaths came in uneven, shallow bursts, his body twitching against yours as he struggled to fight against the inevitable. His grip on your waist weakened, but his hand on your stomach never wavered, as if it was the only thing tethering him to life.

"In-ho," you rasped, your forehead pressing against his, trying to keep him with you, trying to will his body to stay alive despite the fatal wound tearing through him.

His lips parted, breath ragged and wet. His fingers twitched against your cheek before they cupped the side of your face in a weak attempt to comfort you. His dark eyes, once so intense, now held something softer—something desperate.

A sob broke from your throat as you held him tighter, ignoring the way your own body was beginning to weaken. Blood pooled beneath the both of you, the warmth of it contrasting cruelly against the chilling night air. You looked up and saw the overseer, standing there, watching the two of you, gun still raised. Her mask gave away nothing, but her stance was relaxed as if she knew the fight was already over.

"This was always how it was meant to end," the overseer murmured, her voice laced with cold amusement. "Did you really think you could change the system?"

In-ho shifted slightly, his fingers twitching against your belly again. His body was shaking, struggling to keep himself upright, but his eyes—despite the agony—still burned with defiance. "You’ll never win," he rasped.

The overseer chuckled, low and knowing. "You still don’t get it, do you?" She took a slow step closer, the muzzle of her gun lowering slightly. "There is no winning. There is no escaping." Her head tilted slightly, gaze flickering to you, her tone mocking. "You of all people should know that."

Your vision blurred, not just from the pain, but from the weight of everything. She was right. You knew it the moment you stepped back onto this island. 

And yet, despite everything, despite the certainty of death hanging over you, you still reached for In-ho.

Still clung to the last warmth between you.

Still wished, in another life, you could have had more time.

A heavy silence fell over the bloodstained ground. The sea air, once brimming with the scent of salt, now reeked of gunpowder and iron. Your body, weakened and barely clinging to consciousness, trembled in In-ho’s embrace. His grip was still firm despite the life draining from him, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm but fading.

Then, through the blur of pain and dimming vision, you saw them.

Gi-hun. Jun-ho. No-eul. Hyun-ju. Gyeong-seok.

They stood frozen at the edge of the platform, their faces carved with horror. Jun-ho’s eyes were the widest, wild with anguish. His lips moved, screaming something—your name, In-ho’s name—but his cries were muffled by the roaring in your ears. A guard yanked him back roughly, restraining him as he thrashed, desperation twisting his features.

Gi-hun's fists clenched at his sides, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—those sharp, battle-worn eyes—were filled with something between sorrow and fury. No-eul and Gyeong-seok looked pale, tense, their bodies rigid with helplessness, and Hyun-ju—always so composed—had a rare moment of raw emotion flicker across her face.

The overseer stepped forward, her heels stopping just before the pooling blood beneath you and In-ho. Her presence loomed over all of you like a specter, and when she spoke, her voice carried an eerie finality.

"Let this be a reminder," she mused, slow and deliberate, her gaze shifting between the remaining survivors. "A lesson for those who think they can escape fate."

Jun-ho struggled again, his entire body shaking. “You bastard!” he screamed, his voice cracking. “You fucking coward—let them go! Let them go!”

The overseer merely chuckled, tilting her head slightly, amusement lacing her words. "Oh, Jun-ho," she sighed, stepping back into the shadows. "You still don’t understand, do you?" She gestured toward the island, toward the monolithic structures that loomed under the stormy sky. "You came here thinking you could end the games. You thought you could take it all down." She let the words linger before her voice dropped into something more menacing.

"But once you go in—there’s no turning back."

A new alarm blared across the island. The guards yanked Jun-ho, Gi-hun, and the others away, dragging them further back into the compound. Their muffled shouts became part of the chaos, swallowed by the unrelenting storm of fate.

As darkness pulled you further into its embrace, the last thing you saw was In-ho’s bloodied face, his eyes barely open, his lips trying to form words he no longer had the strength to say.

——

previous chapter | MASTERLIST

A/N: Now, it's done! Can't believe I've ended this series already. Also, I broke my own heart while writing this epilogue, but I really do think that the actual show will have a sad ending for In-ho. I can't wait for the next season of Squid Game, and maybe I'll write another series based on the 3rd season 👀 Also, thank you so much to all of you for reading and bearing my writing of this series! Your comments and feedbacks really helped and motivated me to continue writing. You can check out my masterlist to see more of my oneshots and my upcoming series soon. You may also request oneshots so please feel free to do so. 🫶

TAGS: @machipyun @love-leez @enzosluvr @amber-content @kandierteveilchen @butterfly-lover @1nterstellarcha0s @squidgame-lover001 @risingwithtriples @fries11 @follows-the-life-ahead @goingmerry69 @plague-cure @theredvelvetbitch @cherryheairt @voxslays @thebluehair23 @coruja12345 @alliyah-ll @spiritualgirly444 @luvr4miya (p.s. if i forget to you, please let me know)

CHAPTER 13 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)

>> MASTERLIST

previous chapter | next chapter

——

“Noona?”

The voice sent a shiver down your spine, stopping you in your tracks. His voice was cautious and uncertain but heavy with unspoken questions. You turned sharply toward the door, your heart pounding as you did so. And there, standing in the doorway, your eyes widened in disbelief. 

Jun-ho stood there, his expression unreadable, though his sharp gaze flickered between you and the room behind you. His presence was both a comfort and a threat — he was someone familiar in this unfamiliar place, yet someone who could easily shatter everything you had been trying to hold together.

“Jun-ho…” you breathed out, struggling to keep your voice steady.

“His brows furrowed. “What are you doing here?”

For a brief moment, you considered telling him the truth. About everything, In-ho, the games, the reason you were here. But your self-preservation kicked in, forcing you to piece together a half-truth instead.

“I… I needed a place to think,” you let out a shaky breath. “A friend told me about this place when I was looking for in-ho.”

Jun-ho’s stare hardened. “A friend?” His voice was laced with skepticism. You couldn’t blame him.

You nodded, forcing yourself to look confused, as if this revelation meant nothing to you. “I wasn’t sure if it was his.”

Jun-ho stepped further into the apartment, the door clicking shut behind him. His presence filled the space, tense and searching. His dark eyes darted over the room, scanning the familiar surroundings as if he were seeing a ghost. Then, he scoffed. “You really expect me to believe that?”

You held your breath.

“You’re correct, this is hyung’s apartment,” he continued, stepping past you, his fingers grazing over the furniture. “I came here once before he disappeared.” He stopped in front of a bookshelf, his hand ghosting over a framed photo. You knew what it was — a picture of In-ho before the games, before he was swallowed whole by the world he had tried to escape.

Jun-ho picked it up, staring at it for a long moment. His jaw clenched. “I searched everywhere for him,” his voice was quieter now, but the bitterness in it was impossible to miss. “For years, I thought something happened to him. That maybe he was dead. And then I find out he wasn’t just alive — he was running the damn thing.”

Your stomach twisted as he set the frame down with more force than necessary before turning to you. “And now, I find you here,” his gaze pierced through you. “That’s not a coincidence.”

Jun-ho exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I figured I should let you know,” his voice was rough, like he had been carrying these words for too long. “Maybe it’s because you actually seem like you care about him. Or maybe I just need to hear myself say it out loud.”

A brief silence hung between you, heavy and suffocating. Then he let out a humorless laugh. “He’s the front man, noona. My brother runs the games.”

You flinched at his words, even though you already knew the truth. You averted his gaze.

Jun-ho studied your reaction carefully, his eyes darkened with suspicion. “You don’t seem surprised.”

You felt your heart thrum harder. Your lips parted, but no words came. You only looked at him, seeing his gaze over you.

Jun-ho stepped closer. “Did you already know?”

You felt your defenses crumbling as your thoughts spiraled. It seemed your silence was enough of an answer as he let out a bitter chuckle.

“I used to think I could save him,” he admitted, shaking his head. “I chased a ghost. And when I finally found him… he shot me.”

Your heart clenched.

“I gave up on him,” Jun-ho said, his voice quieter now. “Because he already made his choice.”

“And what if he didn’t have a choice?”

Jun-ho’s gaze flickered with something unreadable after you said it, pausing for a moment before continuing. “Are you saying that you believe it… or because you don’t want to admit the truth?”

The question hit you like a punch to the gut. Jun-ho let out a slow breath, turning away from you and walking towards the shelves. He sifted through a stack of books, letters, and relics of a life that In-ho had left behind.

A life that no longer existed.

“Back then,” Jun-ho started, his voice becoming distant. “I thought my brother was the strongest person I knew. He always had a way of pulling himself out of the darkest situations,” his fingers traced over an old medal, the one In-ho had won in university. “But now? Now, I don’t even know if he’s still my brother.”

You felt the ache in your chest intensify. You couldn’t believe how harshly the world treated these brothers. Then, he finally turned back to you, his gaze softer, but the weight of his words heavier than ever.

“Noona, whatever reason you’re here, whatever you’re holding onto, please ask yourself this,” his voice was low, filled with something almost pleading. “Are you willing to live a lie until the day you die, or are you going to do what’s right?”

Your breath hitched as he spoke.

“Because if you know the truth, you only have two choices,” he continued. “Tell me everything you know about him, the frontman, and save the lives of many… or you can bury this forever.”

The weight of his words pressed down on you like a crushing force. 

Tell the truth. Betray In-ho. Expose everything.

Or stay silent. Go back. Live in the shadows.

Your throat felt dry, the room suffocating. You had fought for survival. You had fought for In-ho. But now, the real fight was beginning, and you had no idea which side you were on. 

Silence filled the apartment long after Jun-ho had left, not realizing he already did. But in your mind, his voice still echoed, lingering like a shadow that refused to fade.

The weight of his words settled deep into your chest, a pressure that made it hard to breathe. You sank onto the couch, staring at nothing yet seeing everything. The past, the present, and the uncertain future that stretched ahead of you.

If you exposed In-ho and the games, the world would finally know the truth — the horrors of the games, the lives lost, the twisted system that had turned desperation into entertainment. But what then? Would it truly end? Would it stop the games, or would the people in power simply replace him and erase his existence as if he never mattered?

Would it change anything at all?

And In-ho…

You pressed your fingertips to your temples, squeezing your eyes shut. It wasn’t just about what he had done, about the blood on his hands. It was about the moments in between — the quiet ones, the fragile ones, the ones where you saw glimpses of the man he used to be.

The man who had once laughed with you on the streets, who promised things he could never give. The man who, despite everything, had let you go when you asked for three days to think.

And then, there was Jun-ho.

Jun-ho, who had spent years searching for his brother only to find a monster in his place. Jun-ho, who had given up on saving him. The memory of In-ho’s bullet sinking into Jun-ho’s body made you feel sick.

Because what if he could do the same to you if you don’t come back?

How much of him was left? How much of the man you once knew still existed beneath the mask, beneath the weight of every decision he had made?

You had seen his hands tremble when he held you. You had seen the way he looked at you in the quiet moments when neither of you spoke — like he was afraid that if he did, the last piece of him that remained human would crack and shatter.

But wasn’t it already broken?

Jun-ho had been right about one thing. You could only do one of two things — expose In-ho and destroy what little remained of him, or stay silent and live with him, carrying this truth in your chest like a lead weight for the rest of your life.

You thought about the others. The ones still trapped in that nightmare, fighting for survival, fighting for a chance to crawl their way out of hell. If you did nothing, how many more would die?

And yet if you betrayed him, would it even matter?

You plopped yourself down to the bed, burying your face in your hands.

Minutes had already passed, maybe even hours. Time felt frozen, meaningless in the suffocating quiet of In-ho’s abandoned apartment.

Then, the black box with a pink bow caught your eye again.

The sight of it made your heart lurch, its place too deliberate and carefully placed. With slow, almost reluctant movements, you reached for it.

Your hands trembled as you untied the ribbon, the silk slipping between your fingers. You hesitated for a brief moment before lifting the lid. Inside, there was an envelope nestled within crisp white paper.

Your breath caught, realizing it wasn’t just any envelope. It had your name on it.

Written in sharp, deliberate strokes, the kind of handwriting you had seen on countless reports, on cold, official documents. But this was different. The way your name curved on the paper felt personal.

With an uneasy inhale, you pulled the letter free, unfolding it with care.

If you’re reading this, you’ve found your way back to me.

The first sentence made your stomach twist. It wasn’t a question, nor hopeful. Rather, it was a statement and certainty.

You asked me once why I did all this. Why I became the Front Man. The truth is, I stopped looking for a way out the moment I realized there was none. There is no justice in this world. Only power and those who wield it. I did what I had to survive.

But if I ever wished for something more, something outside of the choices I made… it would be you.

The words felt like they were cutting into your skin. Your eyes continued down the page, your breath shallow.

It was always you.

Your fingers clenched around the edges of the paper. You inhaled sharply, your pulse hammering in your ears.

You and I have always been the same. You understand survival better than anyone. You understand what it means to make impossible choices. And now, you have another one to make.

Your vision blurred for a second, the weight of the moment pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe.

If you choose to walk away, I won’t stop you. But they will.

But if you stay, then come back. Come back, and I will show you the world beyond this. The world we can build together. I never lied to you about that.

I will give you everything. Not as the Front Man. Not as the overseer. Not as the man who ran the games. 

Just as me. Your In-ho.

Your hands trembled as you lowered the letter, your heartbeat erratic. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you were at a crossroads.

You had spent the last few hours caught between two paths — Jun-ho’s quiet plea for justice, the weight of every life lost pressing into your ribs… and In-ho, the man who had shattered your trust, yet still held something deep inside you that you couldn’t sever.

You could leave and take this letter, burn it, and let the world know what you knew.

Or…

You could step back into the abyss.

The weight of everything threatened to crush you. You ran your hands over your head, fingers digging into your scalp as you tried to steady your erratic breaths. Your chest tightened, your thoughts racing in an endless, suffocating loop.

Jun-ho.

In-ho.

The games.

Their lives, your life, the lives of everyone still trapped in that nightmare.

No matter which path you took, someone would suffer. If you told Jun-ho the truth, you’d be condemning In-ho to a fate he could never escape. You wouldn’t want to know what the system could do to those who strayed too far from their role. They would never let him go. And if they found out about Jun-ho? He wouldn’t make it out alive.

But if you stayed silent, if you kept this secret locked away in your chest, then you were no better than the masked men who orchestrated the deaths of hundreds. You would be turning your back on the people still trapped inside, on the innocent who would be lured into the next set of games.

A sickening weight settled deep in your gut, twisting like a knife. Then, you felt a shift, some kind of pressure. Right near your ear.

Your fingers brushed against something small, firm, and foreign beneath your skin. Your stomach lurched. You pressed against the area again slowly and cautiously, the dread pooling into your veins.

It wasn’t your imagination. It was there.

A cold realization slammed into you like a freight train. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, drowning out all other noise. Your stomach twisted violently, nausea rising in your throat.

You had to get it out.

Your feet moved before your mind could fully catch up. You rushed to the kitchen, yanking open drawers with shaking hands, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The metallic clatter of utensils filled the air as you rummaged frantically until your fingers wrapped around the cool, unforgiving metal of a small knife.

You gripped it tightly, your knuckles white. Your reflection in the window caught your eye — a pale, frantic ghost of yourself as your mouth slightly opened as if gasping for air. A woman on the verge of something irreversible.

You braced yourself against the counter. With one final, shuddering breath, you angled the blade behind your ear and pressed down. Pain seared through your skin, sharp, and unforgiving. Your vision blurred, but you clenched your teeth, forcing yourself to keep going. The blade bit deeper, warm blood trickling down your neck, staining the collar of your coat.

And then, a small metallic object dislodged and tumbled onto the counter with a soft clink. It was a tiny black chip, no bigger than a fingernail, glistened under the kitchen lights, coated in fresh crimson.

Your entire body went still, and then the realization hit.

He had never intended to let you go.

A choked sob bubbled up from your throat. The walls of the apartment seemed to close in, suffocating and oppressive. Your breaths came in sharp, erratic bursts. The betrayal burned through you like acid, scorching every last remnant of hope you had left. Your chest heaved as your fingers curled into fists at your sides, your rage exploding.

With a sharp, guttural cry, you seized the closest object — an empty glass left on the counter — and hurled it across the room. The shatter echoed like a gunshot, fragments scattering across the floor. Your hands trembled, your body convulsing with anger, fear, and betrayal.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You inhaled sharply, wiping the back of your hand across your mouth as you turned toward the door. You couldn’t stay. Not here. Not in this place that reeked of his lies.

You had to leave before they came looking. Before he came looking.

One last time, your gaze swept across the apartment. The relics of the man you once thought you knew. The life he had built on a foundation of secrets.

The letter he had left you still sat on the counter, taunting you. His words, his promises, his confessions — nothing more than ink on a paper. 

It didn’t matter anymore. None of it did.

You turned away, your footsteps slow at first, then faster, more determined. You reached the door, gripping the handle with bloodstained fingers. 

Without another glance back, you slipped into the night, disappearing into the shadows.

——

The car ride was silent.

In-ho sat across from you, though he wanted to sit beside you if only you didn’t avoid him. His fingers loosely curled as if resisting the urge to reach for you. He stole glances at you in the dim light of the limousine, but you didn’t look at him. Not even once. Your gaze remained fixed outside the window, watching the city lights flicker past as if they held answers he could never give. It was all a familiar routine, one that should have been easy and controlled. But today, he felt restless.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

He had granted your request and given you space for three days. Three days apart. Three days to return to Seoul, to clear your mind, to decide whether you could live with the truths you had uncovered.

He stole a glance at you, at the way your fingers toyed absently with the hem of your coat, at the way your jaw tensed as if holding back words you refused to say.

As the limousine slowed to a stop in front of your apartment, he turned to you fully, waiting for you to say something. But you didn’t.

You simply reached for the door handle.

“Three days,” he reminded you, his voice quieter than he intended.

You hesitated for only a fraction of a second before stepping out, but he caught you looking at his lips. But just when he was about to lean in, you exited the car. No goodbye. No glance back. 

The door shut, and that was it.

He watched as you disappeared into the building, his throat tightening with something he refused to name. Then, after a long pause, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers pressing into his temples. He had done the right thing, hadn’t he? He had given you space and time.

And yet, as the car pulled away, he had never felt more like he was losing something he could never get back.

After a moment, he straightened, inhaled sharply, and signaled the drive. “Take me to my other residence.”

——

When In-ho arrived at his apartment, he didn’t immediately go inside. He stood outside the door for a long moment, staring at the numbers etched into the steel. it had been years since he had last bene here, before he had disappeared, before he had become someone else.

The apartment was dimly lit when he stepped inside, a place untouched for far too long. His footsteps were quiet against the floor as he walked through the space, past the memories he had locked away. The air carried the scent of dust and old books, the faintest trace of something familiar — something from a life that had once belonged to him before the games, before the mask.

On the table, he placed the black box with the pink ribbon. Inside was his letter, carefully folded and carefully written. He had thought of burning it a hundred times before, had debated whether you should even read the words he had poured onto the page. But in the end, he had sealed it away, hoping you would find it.

He lingered there for a moment, his fingers resting against the smooth surface of the box, before his gaze drifted toward the shelf near the window. And that was when the memory came back.

The daisies.

As a child, you had loved them. It was the same kind of flowers he’d given you when he wrapped your finger with a paper ring, imitating what you were both watching on the TV. He had never understood why the concept of marriage fascinated you so much—until he did. 

The memory played in his mind like a scene frozen in time, your small hands carefully pressing the petals between the pages of an old book, preserving them as if afraid the world would take them away from you. He had helped you once, collecting the finest daisies he could find, sneaking them into your hands like a secret only the two of you shared. 

That had been a lifetime ago.

He exhaled, pulling himself from the memory before it could tighten its grip any further. There was no use in lingering on the past, not when the present was slipping through his fingers.

Without another glance, he turned and left.

——

Hours had passed since In-ho returned, stepping into the apartment with something unfamiliar clawing at his chest. Something hopeful, perhaps. A foolish, desperate hope that maybe you had come back. That maybe he would find you here waiting. Conflicted, but still within reach.

Instead, the sight that greeted him made his blood run cold.

The counter was stained with small droplets of blood, but enough to send a wave of dread through him. And next to it, lying in plain sight, was the microchip.

His stomach dropped, realizing that you had found it.

His hands curled into fists as he stepped forward slowly and carefully. As if the weight of realization might shatter him completely. His gaze drifted to the black box that was still there, but slightly moved. The ribbon had been undone, the letter taken.

You had read it, but you were gone. 

His pulse pounded in his ears as he turned, eyes scanning the room as if you might still be hiding in the shadows. But there was nothing. Only silence, the remnants of your presence, fade by the second.

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.

Damn it.

You had left. You had run. And this time, you hadn’t looked back. You weren’t just slipping away — you had vanished completely, disappearing into the shadows before he could stop you.

A flicker of something dark settled in his chest — something sharp, something dangerous. He wasn’t going to let this end like this.

He had let you go once.

He wouldn’t do it again.

Jaw clenched, eyes burning with determination, In-ho reached for his coat, slipping it on with practiced ease. Then, without hesitation, he stepped out into the night, his mind set on one thing and one thing only.

And no matter how far you ran, no matter how well you thought you could disappear, he would find you.

——

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A/N: I've decided to put this series also in AO3 and Wattpad so we could reach more people 🫶 I'm so happy with how these chapters are turning out. I find myself writing for hours (even the whole day) again so expect more updates in the next coming days ❤️ 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! ✨

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The M1911

“We try to honor their deeds, even as their faces fade from our memory.”

‘Even if I have to sacrifice everything’.

still salty on soap mactavish's death dont talk to me

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!

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