It all started so quickly—a bond that ignited almost instantly.
His initial reaction may not have been entirely positive, but he undeniably felt... something toward that man, even if he couldn't quite identify what it was.
Perhaps his emotions were clouded by frustration. Player 001 was the last person to cast his vote to continue the games—not the only one, but the decisive one. Gi-hun found himself directing much of his bitterness toward him.
So, when Player 001 approached him for the first time, Gi-hun was curt and maybe even a bit rude; he simply couldn't help himself, especially after...
"I pressed O because of you," Player 001 said, a simple statement that chilled him to the core. Those few words made Gi-hun feel an even greater sense of responsibility for the lives of the players around him, as if their fates depended on him. At first, it might have been merely a sense of obligation that drew him to Player 001.
But then… he saw him fight.
Gi-hun watched as Player 001 put those two cocky players in their place, and many of his negative feelings toward him began to fade. There was something in the way Player 001 moved—cold, precise, and unwaveringly resolute. He didn't just fight; he fought to protect, doing what needed to be done with unyielding conviction.
Gi-hun wanted to be like that.
If that brief moment hadn't been enough to wash away his initial irritation, Player 001 approached him one quiet night and broke the silence with a gentle request.
"Excuse me. If you're still up, can we have a little talk?"
And talk they did—softly, almost in secret, almost intimately.
Player 001 began to share the heart-wrenching story of his wife's illness and the uncertainty surrounding their unborn child's future. Gi-hun felt the walls he had built around himself starting to crumble. With every piece of the story he heard, the irritation he once felt began to melt away.
As terrible as it was to admit, he found solace in the pain that he recognized easily. Gi-hun immediately thought back to his mother—her illness and his willingness to go to great lengths to save her. Looking back, that was the moment when their new bond began to form—a connection rooted in shared pain.
When Player 001 spoke with resigned determination,
"Even if it's blood money, I need it to save my wife and our child,"
Gi-hun felt an intense pang of understanding resonate deep within him. It pierced him to the core. As he listened to those words and that resigned conviction—the willingness to do whatever it takes—Gi-hun couldn't help but think of himself. Not the person he had been before the first games, but the person he was now.
He thought of the guns he had procured, the equipment he had amassed, and the people he had employed—all funded by the money he won in the games. He realized he completely understood what Player 001 was saying.
Because even if it's blood money, he needed it to save everyone here and put an end to those sick games.
After that, Gi-hun didn't even stop to consider why Young-il was present in everything he did. He didn't question how close they had become in such a short time or why this man was instantly so loyal and trusting. He didn't question anything; his defences were down.
The games they endured together, the pain they experienced side by side, and the same adrenaline coursing through their veins only added to the trust that grew stronger with each passing day. Before Gi-hun realized what was happening, they were exchanging glances filled with unspoken understanding, as if they had known each other for years. Young-il's good-natured spirit shone brightly, even when Gi-hun began to sink deeper into his bleak thoughts.
In the blink of an eye, they were inextricably tied, operating on the same wavelength, as if their thoughts flowed seamlessly between them; their minds almost blended into one another.
Young-il understood Gi-hun in a way that even his best friend Jung-bae no longer could. Jung-bae was a connection to Gi-hun's old life; he was a friend from the past, a reminder of who Gi-hun used to be before he became the person he is now. While he still loved his friend dearly and felt warmth as they sat and reminisced about their past, everything was different now.
Jung-bae belonged to the life Gi-hun had left behind, while Young-il became the anchor to the person he was evolving into.
He hated to admit it, but the games had changed him. Yes, he emerged stronger and more resilient, but beneath that toughened exterior lay a sense of loneliness. The memories of what had happened within those brightly coloured walls were impossible to shake—things he wished he could erase, which stabbed at him sharply every time he closed his eyes.
He had changed, and the world had changed.
He retreated into the comfort of solitude because the outside felt overwhelming—too loud, too bright. Even if he tried to go out and connect with people again, there would always be a part of himself he would have to hide. If someone were to ask him what had happened to him, what his story was, or why he was the way he was now, he wouldn't have an answer; the truth was too raw, too far-fetched—no one would believe him.
Perhaps it was this desperation to connect that drew him to Young-il, a kindred spirit who needed no explanation. Here was someone who had faced the same fears and endured the same pain, someone who didn't cast judgment but offered understanding instead.
Young-il was unexpected—a surprise he hadn't known he needed. He had grown so attached to him. Trust wrapped around his heart, its grip tightening with every shared moment.
Gi-hun clung to that bond with fervour, his heart aching for connection and acknowledgment that he wasn't alone.
...And perhaps it was that desperation that made him turn a blind eye to truths he should have seen.
"How do you know my name?"
"We'll have to hope more people from the other side died."
"Gi-hun, about Young-il... When I was in the room with him earlier..."
"Young-il scares me a little. I don't know how to put this..."
Gi-hun should have known. At the very least, he should have suspected something. He should have connected the dots. There had been so many clues; the pieces were spread out before him, ready to be assembled.
Even his number—001—taunted him, instantly bringing back twisted memories of Ill-nam. It set off alarms in his mind as he recalled the warm memories that had twisted into dark mockery, now tainted by the knowledge of Ill-nam's true identity.
Yet, he managed to ignore these thoughts. Even that couldn't shake his blind trust.
He simply couldn't bear to see Young-il that way. He couldn't let the first person he had truly connected with slip away from him.
He was tired. Tired of being the only survivor. Tired of being the last one standing. He wanted someone to stand by his side—a partner to fight alongside him.
So, he buried his suspicions deep within the recesses of his mind, battling each flicker of doubt with fierce determination.
Even now, with the truth staring him in the face, he still couldn't...
"Y-you… you're lying to me," Gi-hun stammered, his voice shaky. "You're… manipulating me again, aren't you? Playing games with my mind…"
The words tumbled out like a desperate shield, an attempt to push back against the reality standing before him.
"You don't really believe that. You know this is real. Look at you—so utterly miserable. If any doubt lingered in your mind, would you look like that?"
Gi-hun briefly wondered how much of his anguish was visible on his face. Did it reveal all of it? Or perhaps the rising anger masked some of the aching sorrow gripping his chest?
He thought back on his memories with Young-il, the moments blurring and twisting, blending into something far more sinister. His heart pounded in his chest as the truth slowly crept over his thoughts.
A new surge of pain pierced his heart as bitter betrayal washed over every memory he shared with Young-il… no, with the Frontman.
His hands began to shake.
Young-il was a lie, just another one of the Frontman's twisted manipulations.
The warmth and trust he felt were nothing more than a cruel illusion—merely a pawn in the Frontman's depraved game.
Gi-hun's jaw tightened. His teeth ground together relentlessly, and his fist turned white from the pressure.
Was any of it real? Was anything Young-il said remotely true? No, it couldn't be. If Young-il wasn't real—if he had been the Frontman all along—that meant…
The cold dread of true realization washed over him, chilling him to the core. This man before him, whom he thought of as a friend—the man whose death he had mourned just days ago—none of it was real.
For days, perhaps even longer, the Frontman had orchestrated every interaction, cradling Gi-hun delicately in his predatory grip only to… only so he could… so he could what?
"So, what's it going to be? Aren't you going to do it?" The man pressed on mercilessly.
Gi-hun's hands trembled, stirred by the burning sensation in his chest. He had opened himself up to that monster, trusting him without hesitation. He had allowed the man to invade his mind—and in a twisted way, he had even enjoyed having him there!
"Do what?" Gi-hun spat, a sickening churn twisting in his stomach.
"Kill me," The Frontman reminded him, his tone casual and almost playful, as if this were all just a game. "That was your plan, wasn't it? You were so passionate, so furious about it. So go on. If you truly believe that killing me will end the games, if you think it will cleanse humanity of its greed and ugliness, then do it. Kill me."
A shiver ran down Gi-hun's spine, and his rising anger momentarily froze. Yes, killing the Frontman—that was his plan. But killing Young-il?
Horror unfurled in the pit of his stomach.
"What are you waiting for? Act on your intentions. Do what you came here to do. Kill me."
The Frontman leaned closer, their faces just inches apart, and Gi-hun felt a rush of adrenaline flood through him. He stumbled back, barely regaining his balance.
"Stay the hell away from me!"
He clenched his teeth, trying to suppress the traitorous tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He couldn't let the Frontman see just how deeply he was affected. He would show him anger—that he could allow—but nothing else. He refused to let the Frontman see that beneath his anger lay a more profound ache.
Because... Because the cruel truth was that Young-il had been more than a friend; he was the first genuine connection Gi-hun had formed since the games had twisted him into a shadow of his former self. He was the person who...
Gi-hun bit the inside of his cheek, finding pain grounding him as he felt the coppery taste of blood in his mouth.
Young-il—no, the Frontman—was still looking at him with those cold, piercing eyes, and Gi-hun would not let him see. He wouldn't allow him to witness the devastation that his deceit had caused.
Pain surged from Gi-hun's heart, tightening it and making him feel as if he might suffocate under its weight. It felt as though Young-il was dying all over again, but this time, it was even more painful than before. His friend—his supposed friend—was the Frontman...
Gi-hun closed his eyes, unable to bear the sight of the face before him. He had trusted him, admired him, and even found himself yearning for him during his weakest moments...
Gi-hun's breath caught in his throat, the sting of tears rising uncontrollably. This couldn't be happening; it felt too ruthless, too unreal.
All he wished for was to escape this nightmare—to wake up, even if it meant returning to that messed-up prison cell, with its vibrant colours that felt like mockery. Anything but this…
Just as he was about to lose his composure, he felt a hand rest firmly on his shoulder.
"Gi-hun…"
It was a simple sound, yet it sparked a primal response within him. Without thinking, he reacted.
Gi-hun snapped his eyes open and punched Young-il in the face.
No, not Young-il—there was never a Young-il—he thought bitterly.
He felt the Frontman's face crumble beneath his fist and watched as a trickle of blood escaped from his mouth with a violent splutter.
Gi-hun's hand throbbed with pain, his breath ragged and shallow. A few traitorous tears slipped down his cheeks.
The Frontman remained still for a moment, his face turned to the side. Gi-hun's heart raced as he focused intently on the man. He clenched his fists, his muscles taut and ready to strike at the slightest sign of retaliation.
But the Frontman merely chuckled—a low, mirthless sound. Wiping the dark crimson from his lips with deliberate calm, he turned his gaze toward Gi-hun, a flicker of what seemed like appreciation shining in his eyes.
"There we go. There's the anger at last. It suits you much better than the look of confusion you had before. But I hope you understand—this won't be enough to kill me. You'll need to put more heart into it."
"W-What is wrong with you? What kind of sick bastard… You're…How could you do this…"
The Frontman tilted his head slightly, curiosity glinting in his eye.
"Is this really the conversation you want to have right now? I was under the impression that your objective was to kill. You might want to focus if you hope to make any progress," he said, his tone light and almost mocking.
"Are you trying to provoke me into killing you?" Gi-hun shot back, indignation colouring his voice.
"I simply want to understand what you're capable of, what you are made of."
"Is that why you entered the games? To conduct a study on me?!
"Yes." The Frontman's reply was blunt, and Gi-hun felt a cold wave of fury wash over him.
"I'm not your lab rat!" he shouted, his voice echoing as he stood tense, fists tightly clenched at his sides.
"No, it would be much simpler if you were."
Gi-hun took a step closer, his expression fierce and brows knitted together.
"So what? You think you can trap me, make me run in circles while you pretend to be my friend?" His tone dripped with disdain.
"Who said anything about pretending?"
Gi-hun felt his eyes widen. Is he honestly going to… He still wants to pretend…
The piercing outrage was overwhelming, putting his mind in a spin. His hands shook, itching once again to punch the face in front of him, to squeeze them around the man's neck, to… to do anything to wipe that calm expression from his face!
"Young-il was a lie…!"
"The name was a lie. Everything else was not far from the truth."
"You expect me to believe that was you?" Gi-hun asked, incredulous.
"It was, and it wasn't. I told you; it was a face of a man from years ago."
Gi-hun let out a mocking huff, a sound ugly and full of derision.
"And that ridiculous story about your wife and child? You're going to tell me that was real, too?" Gi-hun pressed, his words sharp.
In an instant, the Frontman's demeanour darkened, a disturbing sharpness appearing in his expression. He stepped forward abruptly, his hands clenched at his sides. Then he stopped, cold and rigid, staring down at Gi-hun with a chill that sent a shiver racing down his spine.
"I was sorry to hear about your mother," he said unexpectedly, catching Gi-hun off guard.
He had expected the Frontman to react violently—he expected him to pull out a gun; he expected… anything but this.
"W-what?" Gi-hun stumbled over his words.
Young-il… no, the Frontman took a short breath, steadying himself. His eyes closed briefly, and when he opened them, Gi-hun felt another shiver run through his body—not because the expression was cold, but because it was gentle—mismatched and grotesque, an unsettling sight on the face of a monster.
"I can empathize with your pain. I know all too well what it feels like to finally have the means to save those you love… only to arrive too late."
Something flickered through Gi-hun's anger.
"Your wife and child…" he murmured, a creeping realization settling in.
"It's a true story, Gi-hun. I just didn't share the ending with you. I keep telling you, you and I aren't so different."
At that moment, beneath layers of anger, confusion, and betrayal, something stirred deep within Gi-hun—the same feeling he had when they first spoke, the same sensation he felt increasing in intensity over the past few days: that spark, the echo of shared understanding and shared pain.
Just as quickly as it ignited, Gi-hun recoiled, an unsettling nausea churning within him. He took a step back, shaking his head as if to physically dispel those thoughts.
"I don't believe you," he declared stubbornly, the childish tone startling even himself. "I don't believe a word you say. You've been lying to me this whole time, and there's no way… no way someone like you could have been… normal, with a family… there's no way you were…" His voice trailed off, the weight of his racing heart suffocating his thoughts.
Young-il—no, the Frontman—regarded Gi-hun coldly, his eyes scanning him as if analyzing every move.
His gaze felt predatory as if he were assessing his prey and observing every twitch and flicker in Gi-hun's reactions.
"You have no idea how people can change in this place. Isn't that what you told me just a few days ago?"
Gi-hun shivered, goosebumps prickling his arms as memories flooded back.
Yes, he had said that… trying to convince others that they had no idea what they were up against, that they didn't understand these games at all—he had believed he was the sole survivor, the only one who could fathom the true horror of this place.
But that wasn't true, was it? He wasn't alone, not anymore. Young-il understood...
Another wave of unease hit him as the thought entered his mind.
No! No, he couldn't start thinking like that! There was no Young-il. Young-il was a lie.
He quickly raised his hand in indignation and shouted loudly enough to drown out his own thoughts:
"You're a psychopath! Psychopaths don't change."
The Frontman let out a deep sigh, disappointment flickering in his gaze as it settled on Gi-hun. He spoke deliberately, each word infused with a slow, patient cadence as if addressing a child.
"If I were truly a psychopath, you wouldn't be standing here right now. Tell me, why do you think I've kept you alive?"
Gi-hun's patience wore thin, frustration boiling over. "Because you enjoy playing mind games with me! What, am I your favourite little toy or something?"
A flicker of amusement danced in the Frontman's eyes, leaving Gi-hun momentarily unsettled.
"Or something," he replied, a corner of his mouth twitching.
Gi-hun clenched his jaw. "Are you really going to say that and still pretend our friendship was real? You are still playing games with me! You won't even use your real name! You just said it was all made up..."
"I had no choice. I couldn't tell you my real name—not when I suspect you've already heard it."
Gi-hun froze. A wave of confusion momentarily drowning out his anger. He blinked, his mind racing, a knot of apprehension tightening in his stomach.
"What? Where would I—who are you?"
The Frontman scrutinized him as if measuring every detail of his body, and every flicker of emotion laid bare under his piercing gaze. An uncomfortable shiver danced along Gi-hun's spine; he fought the urge to squirm.
After a pause, the Frontman appeared to make a decision. His eyes narrowed as if gathering his thoughts, and he took a deep breath. When he finally spoke, his voice was rough and gravelly, as if saying it had become a laborious task.
"My name is Hwang In-ho."
The name spilled from his lips in a strange, heavy tone, as if he hadn't said it in a long time. Gi-hun blinked.
In-ho…
The revelation hit him like a physical blow. A flash of a familiar detective's face—one who was desperately searching for his brother—flashed through Gi-hun's mind. He recalled the pink guard's whispered words:
"Is there a man named Hwang In-ho in here?"
This… this couldn't be real, could it? It had to be another lie.
His thoughts spun as he desperately tried to reconcile this new revelation with what he knew about the man before him. But the mental image he tried to hold onto began to slip further away, becoming increasingly out of reach. He couldn't make it fit. He couldn't make it make sense.
Gi-hun was left standing with his mouth agape.
"You... but that means... your brother..." he stammered, the words tumbling out in a breathless rush.
Something shifted in… In-ho's eyes—a flicker of emotion that was almost too subtle to notice but powerful enough to break through his composed facade.
"Yes. I believe you've met him—Jun-ho." There was an air of nonchalance in his voice, but Gi-hun could swear he detected warmth and fondness as the Frontman spoke his brother's name.
Gi-hun couldn't dwell on this for long; his mind was still spinning.
"But he... he is looking for you. He thought you might be dead..."
The Frontman tilted his head, an expectant light igniting his gaze as if waiting for Gi-hun to understand. Yet Gi-hun was lost; he had no idea what the other was anticipating, and his mind suddenly fixated on one thing that didn't fit into the puzzle before him.
"He said his brother was a police officer too… that he was a good man, respected… He… he loved his brother…" he said incredulously as if the mere idea was utterly absurd.
The Frontman smiled—but not a mocking smile nor the twisted expression Gi-hun had come to expect. No, this smile was warm and reminiscent.
"Why does that surprise you?" he asked, his voice light yet woven with sincerity. "It's a common sentiment among siblings. I love my brother, too."
Gi-hun felt his breath hitch.
"You love your brother?" he scoffed, his tone dripping with disbelief. "You have a shitty way of showing it! He thinks you're dead! He's risked everything to find you, put his life on the line, and you…!"
Gi-hun felt his frustration so deeply that he couldn't form coherent words. The man before him was so disjointed, so twisted, and Gi-hun could feel his frustration turning into rage. His hands began to shake at his sides. He couldn't help it; he wanted the man to stop looking so composed. He wished for just a moment of faltering, any sign of humanity, any hint that the man felt the weight of the devastation he had caused. That's when the venom slipped from Gi-hun's lips, sharp and biting.
"Maybe it's a good thing he couldn't find you. If you were someone else once, he'd be horrified by who you've become! He'd want you dead!"
Instead of flinching or recoiling, the man merely tilted his head, a contemplative shadow flickering across his face.
"I'm sure a part of him did," he mused. "And I suspect a part of him still wishes to do so. Though when he saw me, there was not much more than shock on his face. It was hard to read anything else."
Wait... Gi-hun's mind snapped into focus.
"What do you mean... he doesn't know... He told me he has no idea who the Frontman is."
"Oh, but he does." The man's gaze sharpened as he continued. "I revealed my identity to him when he infiltrated the island during your initial games. He knows perfectly well who I am now."
Oh, so he lied.
A sharp stab of betrayal pierced through Gi-hun, one that felt less intense but still stingingly bitter. Was everyone around him a liar? Had he been surrounded by deceit at every turn? He hadn't even thought to question it…
The weight of humiliation settled heavily on his shoulders as he realized how naively he had trusted him... trusted everyone.
Had everyone deceived him in some way? Is it because he allowed that to happen? Gi-hun had just blindly believed; he had just blindly trusted...
He let out a short, self-deprecating laugh, not caring that the Frontman was squinting at him strangely.
God, he felt so stupid. So naïve. He was just a naïve idiot, wasn't he?
"He lied to me," he said, disappointment heavy in his voice.
"He did," the Frontman replied as he observed Gi-hun intently.
"Why would he...?"
A corner of In-ho's mouth twitched as he raked his eyes over Gi-hun and said almost wistfully, "Love makes us do inexplicable things."
Gi-hun furrowed his brow. "And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"
In response, In-ho simply tilted his head, his expression suggesting that the answer was obvious. A shiver ran down Gi-hun's spine. Unsure of what to think or do, he chose anger as the safest outlet.
"Like you'd know anything about love!" he shouted right in the Frontman's face.
As anger swirled in his mind, he clung to it with relief. It felt easier that way; anger served as a shield, and lashing out was a far simpler weapon than facing the complicated web of betrayal.
In-ho leaned back slightly, a small smile spreading across his face as if Gi-hun's rage were a personal source of amusement.
"I am quite fond of your anger," In-ho said smoothly, his words laced with a patronizing tone. "However, it loses its charm when it devolves into the childish outbursts of someone who struggles to grasp the nuances of an adult conversation."
Gi-hun gritted his teeth so hard that pain shot through his body.
"Oh, is that what this is? An adult conversation?" he retorted, his voice dripping with venom. His narrowed eyes bore into In-ho, daring him to maintain that condescending demeanour.
In-ho—no! The Frontman—simply shrugged, a careless gesture that dismissed Gi-hun's outrage as nothing more than a fleeting inconvenience.
"The initial plan was for you to kill me, but your execution of that plan is remarkably poor. So, to pass the time, I suppose we might as well converse. I'm sure you have questions for me."
Gi-hun scoffed at the suggestion.
"Yeah, and I want you to answer all those questions at the police station."
He raised an eyebrow, a mocking smirk curling at the corners of his mouth. "You know that's not going to happen. But we can have that conversation here."
The Frontman strode casually across the room, his footsteps echoing softly against the polished floor as he approached a sleek bar cart. He reached for two glasses, the sharp clink of crystal ringing out in stark contrast to the heavy silence.
"Care for a drink?" the Frontman asked casually.
Gi-hun's mouth dropped open in disbelief. What the hell…?!
"You are completely unhinged!" he exploded, shock quickly morphing into fury as In-ho poured two generous servings, the rich liquid cascading smoothly into the glasses. He then sank into the black couch, his demeanour relaxed, as if they were merely old friends sharing a casual evening.
"You want to sit down with a drink and have a chat?!" Gi-hun's voice echoed with incredulity.
In-ho took a leisurely sip from his glass, savouring the taste, then shrugged dismissively. "Unless you'd prefer to stand."
Gi-hun's mouth dropped open once more. What was happening? How had his life spiralled into this absurdity? He stared at Young-il… no, In-ho—no! The Frontman—who lounged comfortably on the sofa, a glinting glass cradled in his hand.
With an annoyed huff, Gi-hun relented. Fine, if this was how In-ho... the Frontman wanted to play it, he'd play along. If this was how he could get answers from him, he'd engage in this game. He had been playing his games for so long; what was one more round? At least this would give him some time to think about what the hell he should do next.
Gi-hun approached the table, his feet heavy against the tiles, moving slowly and deliberately as he sat across from the man on the opposite couch. He sank into the seat, crossing his arms defiantly. In-ho—no, the Frontman—observed him with an expression that danced between annoyance and curiosity. The drinks glinted under the dim light, and Gi-hun regarded his own glass with disdain.
"I'm not touching that," he said, sounding a bit petulant.
The Frontman raised an eyebrow. "You think I spiked it?"
"Absolutely," Gi-hun shot back, his glare intense.
The Frontman's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing with irritation. Impatience simmered in his gaze as he gestured for Gi-hun to proceed.
"Go ahead then. Ask your questions."
God, what a cruel joke reality had become.
Gi-hun had often envisioned sharing a drink with Young-il, imagining the day they would finally escape this nightmarish island and the twisted game that held them captive. They would find a quiet bar, sitting in a corner booth—hidden from the world—where they could toast to their newfound freedom and relish the joy of having escaped the sick clutches of this organization. They wouldn't even need to talk; they could simply enjoy each other's company, sharing an understanding that required no words.
But the man before him was not Young-il. None of it was real.
Gi-hun closed his eyes and took a steadying breath, then another, trying to push away the invading thoughts—at least for a little while. When he opened his eyes, the man still sat there, patiently waiting for Gi-hun to speak.
Gi-hun hesitated. He had no reason to trust the man before him, yet he had no other options. His mind churned as countless questions raced through his thoughts.
"Why… why play these games?" he ventured, his voice wavering slightly.
"Are you referring to our games or the ones the VIPs indulge in?"
Gi-hun let out an exasperated huff. "Is there a difference?"
The Frontman's expression darkened, shadows creeping across his face. "A significant one."
Gi-hun gulped, shifting uncomfortably on the couch. Suddenly, the fabric of his shirt felt like a straight jacket.
"I mean this island," he clarified, forcing his voice to steady. "These games you force people to play for money."
He hummed thoughtfully as if savouring the weight of Gi-hun's words. "I believe the Host already answered that question."
Gi-hun felt his eyebrow twitch dangerously.
"Il-nam," he spat the man's name, "and the rest of the VIPs are just a bunch of rich pigs. I can see... I can see why they would look down upon us. Like we are just horses, they can watch for amusement." Gi-hun's voice trembled with fury as he glared at In-ho. "I don't expect to find humanity in their actions... but you? If you truly are who you say you are, if you once entered this place as a mere player... how could you possibly justify becoming a Frontman?!"
In-ho paused for a moment, lifting his glass to his lips. He took a slow, deliberate sip, his eyes drifting into the distance as if he were genuinely contemplating the question.
"How?" he began, his voice taking on a thoughtful tone. "I suppose I came to understand that what happens on this island is what happens in the real world. The impoverished struggle daily, clawing for survival under brutal circumstances, while the rich look down from above, delighting in their superiority. There's not much difference."
Gi-hun felt a twitch of irritation, his words poised to spill over. But In-ho pressed on, his voice growing heavier and more resolute.
"But here, at least, there is fairness. Everyone knows the stakes—everyone is aware of the rules. Everyone is equal here, while they could never be out there. There is hope in the games. You can win here. You can't win out there. Out there, the battle is rigged."
Gi-hun couldn't hold back any longer. His bitterness spilled forth, raw and fierce: "Hope? You think these games are a good thing?!"
In-ho fixed his gaze on him, unwavering and intense. Under the weight of that piercing stare, Gi-hun's anger momentarily faltered.
"At the very least," In-ho replied slowly, "one individual is rescued from their cruel fate."
"And the rest?"
"The rest is put out of their misery."
Gi-hun let out a sharp, humourless laugh, his incredulity reaching its peak. God, that bastard, he thought, shaking his head slowly.
"You've wrapped this all up in a neat little bow, haven't you?" he said mockingly.
In-ho didn't respond. A flicker of irritation sparked in his eyes, as if he expected Gi-hun to crumble under the weight of his arguments, as if his words could sway Gi-hun to his way of thinking. Perhaps they were both simply naïve in their own ways.
"You actually believe that…" Gi-hun marveled. "You've convinced yourself that you're somehow doing those players a favour?"
In-ho's glare sharpened. Gi-hun noticed the muscles in his face twitching. An unexpected satisfaction coursed through him; it was clear that In-ho disliked the direction this conversation was taking.
Just as Gi-hun was about to launch another sharp remark, eager to dig deeper under his skin, In-ho interrupted him. His voice was strained, attempting to sound casual, but Gi-hun could detect the simmering anger beneath:
"Remember that moment after the very first vote? When I asked you, let's say I pressed X, and we all walked away?" his tone shifted, taking on a cadence reminiscent of Young-il, momentarily stirring pain in Gi-hun's chest. "Would everyone have been happy? If they encountered me later, would they thank me for saving their lives and tell me they're content with how things turned out?"
"At least they'd be alive!"
In-ho leaned forward abruptly, his movement as sharp as his eyes.
"And you think that is a fate better than death?" he snapped, no longer concealing his anger. "You really are naive, Gi-hun," he continued, irritation threading through his voice. "It's impressive, really, that after everything you've been through, you still hold such childish, black-and-white convictions about the world. Maybe it would be easier for you to grasp something more tangible than a mere hypothetical discussion on morality. Let's talk about something that actually happened."
In-ho stood up abruptly and moved purposefully toward a nearby cabinet. Gi-hun's gaze followed him, his instincts flaring like alarm bells. Moments later, he returned, an ominous-looking file gripped tightly in his hand.
He dropped it onto the table between them with a heavy thud.
"What is that?" Gi-hun asked suspiciously, his eyes darting between In-ho and the file.
"Take a look," he suggested coolly, though an unsettling calm returned to his demeanour, his face contorting into a mask of coldness.
"Not until you tell me what it is," Gi-hun countered, crossing his arms defensively.
In-ho's eyes narrowed further, irritation flashing briefly across his face. "As you know, during your game three years ago, not every participant chose to return. Some opted to leave the games and continue their lives in obscurity and poverty. Aren't you curious about what happened to them? Go ahead, take a look."
Gi-hun felt a pulse of unease at his words. He instinctively braced himself; this could merely be another ploy, a cruel attempt to toy with his mind.
But curiosity tugged at him like a moth to a flame.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, he reached for the file, his fingers trembling slightly as he pried it open. As he scanned the pages, dread seeped into him, and his heart raced as each line unveiled a disturbing reality that made his palms slick with sweat.
"W-What is this?"
In-ho leaned in, a shadow of grim satisfaction flickering across his features.
"This, Gi-hun, is the story of those who abandoned the games. This is the fate you wish to impose on the players you tried to convince to leave this place."
Gi-hun felt a chill grip his spine as his convictions crashed down around him. His palms were clammy, his eyes widening.
He could see the twisted joy of victory in In-ho's eyes as he pressed on, relentless:
"It's not quite the happy ending you envisioned in your perfect world, is it? One fell into the hands of loan sharks, her organs removed, and she died in the hospital a few days later. One committed suicide to get out of debt, not before killing his entire family. Perhaps he believed killing them was more merciful than leaving them alone to inherit his burdens. Three others turned to crime, now killing and abusing others... you can read all the horrid details if you wish. As you can see, none of them are better off. None of them have escaped the clutches of poverty. None of them managed to turn their lives around."
Gi-hun felt his hands shaking, but he couldn't find a way to stop it.
He knew that life wasn't easy; he wasn't that naïve. People who ended up in these games learned this lesson the hard way. He knew their lives wouldn't magically improve if they abandoned the games and returned to their old ways. He knew firsthand how cruel life could be… and yet…
"Why should I believe this is real?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, stripped of any certainty or strength.
"You know it is. Just like you know that if you had refused to return to the games, you wouldn't be better off either."
Those words hit Gi-hun like a slap.
"You think I'm better off now?!"
"You are," the man replied simply. "You wrongly blame all your misfortunes on the games. The truth is, whether you played or not, your life would have unravelled in the same way. Your daughter would have still left you, your mother would have still passed away, and… you'd likely have become just another story in this bleak collection," he said, gesturing dismissively toward the dark, looming folder.
"My life might've been shit, but at least my friend would still be alive!" Gi-hun's voice soared, his anger erupting as he sprang to his feet.
This felt like the only argument he had left to hold onto. It was his anchor, his last solid piece of ground in the shifting reality, and he clung to it fiercely.
"Which one?" In-ho asked, his tone almost bored, and in that instant, Gi-hun was overtaken by a disturbing wave of fury.
"I'm talking about Sang-woo!" he shouted, the name sending a sharp stab to his chest. "I'm talking about a man who took his own life all because of your sick games. Maybe I'm just a screw-up or a naïve idiot," Gi-hun admitted, his voice trembling with raw emotion. "But he wasn't! He was brilliant; he had potential. He would have found a way to turn his life around. He would have figured out how to get out of debt!"
His words seemed to wash over In-ho, who simply swirled the liquid in his glass, gazing into it with mild interest.
"Oh, him," he replied, his tone dripping with indifference. "Such a tragic ending, indeed." He glanced up at Gi-hun, who was practically vibrating with barely contained fury. "You seem really worked up about what happened to him. But the truth is, you would have lost him in the end anyway, even if neither of you had ever entered the games."
"Really? And why's that?" Gi-hun shot back, his hands clenched.
"Cho Sang-woo attempted suicide before returning for the second round of the games."
A biting chill sliced through Gi-hun, settling deep in the pit of his stomach. His mind came to a sudden halt, leaving him momentarily paralyzed, his eyes locked on the man before him—wide and unblinking. A tremor quivered at the edge of his lips as he struggled to find his voice.
Sang-woo wanted… he tried to…?
"No, no, he wouldn't..."
In-ho met his gaze, unyielding, his tone edged with cold certainty. "When we reached out to him, he was lying in the bathtub, dressed in his suit, with a drink in hand, in the room filled with the smoke of burning coal briquettes. How would you interpret that?"
Gi-hun could only stand there, shaking his head in slow, disbelieving motions.
"You would have lost your friend regardless," In-ho continued, calm and detached. "If anything, these games have merely extended his life."
Gi-hun took a sharp breath as the vast room around him suddenly felt small and suffocating. He felt the walls closing in. His heart pounded violently, teetering on the edge of a breakdown.
"No! No, that's not right… That's… You can't just twist it like that!" he shouted desperately. "You don't know what would have happened! You can't rationalize this… You can't just say that Sang-woo… You can't justify it by saying these people would die anyway! Just because we're at the bottom doesn't give you the right to force us into this madness!"
"No one is being forced. Every person here has a choice. The one who emerges victorious leaves with a life beyond their wildest dreams…"
Gi-hun shook his head fervently, desperation seeping into his words. "There are no winners in these games! Can't you see that? There are only survivors. Look at me, look at you… we're not better off at all!"
In-ho raised an eyebrow, a slight smirk touching his lips. "Would you like to see those files as well? Not just yours and mine, but the records of all the other winners, too?"
"What for?! To show me how they live in mansions, enjoying their lives funded by blood?"
"To show you that no one, not even a single winner, used the money to help others. Not even you, Gi-hun."
Gi-hun's pulse quickened, indignation flaring in his eyes. "I didn't even want to touch that money! I only did it to—"
"Settle old scores, fulfill your personal obligations, and feed your thirst for revenge," the man interjected sharply.
Gi-hun clenched his fists and shot back, "You don't think I feel like shit about it?"
"Didn't stop you, did it?"
Gi-hun leaned forward, desperation seeping into his voice. "Because I wanted to save lives!"
In-ho's gaze hardened, the irritation deepening the lines on his forehead. "Then why not make it so the people you so desperately want to save never had to enter these games in the first place?"
Confusion raced through Gi-hun's mind. "What… what do you mean?"
With a weary sigh, In-ho seemed to gather his thoughts, irritation creeping back into his voice. "Why not do something good with that money? Why not donate it? Start scholarships? Build a school? Create jobs? Or even set up a free clinic to help people avoid drowning in debt just to get basic healthcare?"
Gi-hun could only stare, his eyes wide.
In-ho pressed on, each word a sharpened probe into Gi-hun's conscience. "You didn't do any of that. Not once did it even cross your mind. You had the chance to save people from the horrors of these games long before they even knew they existed, yet you did nothing. Because, frankly, that's just not who you are. That's simply not human nature."
A wave of self-doubt washed over Gi-hun, making him feel like he was standing on shifting ground, drowning in confusion and isolation. He opened his mouth, half-formed words struggling to escape, but they faltered, caught in his throat.
"That's because..." he began, but nothing came out. Frustration simmered within him, bitter and hot. "Why are you doing this? Why are you laying all this on me as if you're trying to convince me… why do you even care what I think…?!"
Instead of Gi-hun reaching his breaking point, it was In-ho who finally snapped. He moved abruptly, slamming his glass of half-finished drink on the table with such force that Gi-hun saw the edges crack.
In-ho narrowed his eyes, leaned forward, and seethed, "Because you need to have a full understanding of the world around you before you can make your choice."
Gi-hun's heart pounded. "What choice?"
"On how to move forward."
"I… I don't know what you're talking about."
In-ho took a deep, shaky breath, his chest rising and falling. He briefly lowered his gaze as if to collect himself. When he looked back up, he seemed much calmer, but Gi-hun noticed his fist was still clenched at his side.
"I know it's… unbearable to carry the weight of what happened here," In-ho murmured, leaning in closer. "But pretending to be a hero, acting as if you're above the VIPs… that path will only lead to your own downfall."
"And you care what happens to me?" he huffed in disbelief.
"Yes."
The weight of In-ho's sincerity caught Gi-hun off guard, leaving him momentarily stunned. The unexpected vulnerability laid bare before him was... illogical. He didn't... he just didn't know what to make of this man...
"What do you want from me?" Gi-hun managed to ask, his voice weak even to his own ear.
"I don't know," In-ho confessed, a hint of frustration lacing his tone.
"You… you don't know?!" Gi-hun's voice trembled, incredulity rising with each syllable.
"And I can't know," In-ho continued sharply, "until you reveal your true self to me. Until you make your choice."
Then he looked at him, his expression tired, frustrated, almost at a loss; reflecting everything Gi-hun was feeling.
Once again, it sparked a feeling in Gi-hun's chest—a spark of understanding, a spark of shared pain, a spark of...
Gi-hun squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the image of those eyes staring at him.
It was maddening—everything about him grated on Gi-hun's already frayed nerves. Each word, every inflection in his voice, felt like piercing needles in his brain.
Gi-hun felt as if he stood on the edge of a precipice, acutely aware that he was about to unravel. He couldn't bear another revelation; he just couldn't... All he wanted was for things to be simple, even if just for a moment, just once.
"Stop acting like that! Like... like you care!" Gi-hun shouted, his desperation fueling his words. "You don't give a damn about me or the choices I make! You've made my life a nightmare! You put me through those games!" His voice echoed with pain and anger, the raw emotion pouring out of him like a dam about to burst. "You... you killed my friend!"
"I thought we went over that. Sang-woo would—" In-ho began.
"You killed Jung-bae!" Gi-hun interrupted.
There was a brief moment of silence as In-ho's eyes widened, clearly unprepared for Gi-hun's fierce accusation.
"It was either him or you," he declared, almost as if he were defending himself to an invisible jury. A hint of defensiveness crept into his words. "I chose the one I felt capable of killing."
Gi-hun's laughter pierced the air, sharp and derisive. "You're not capable of killing me?" he spat mockingly.
His reply came slowly, each word heavy with resignation. "No. Not anymore."
"Bullshit!"
In-ho inhaled deeply. "You keep saying you don't believe a word I say, but your eyes tell a different story…"
"It's because you make no sense! What possible motivation could you have for all this besides some sadistic pleasure? As if there's any deeper reason for you to join the games again…"
"I told you," In-ho interrupted, his voice softer yet filled with impatience. "I was curious. About you. About the choices you'd make. And maybe… a part of me was hoping you'd reveal a different side of humanity—something I haven't encountered yet. Perhaps you'll show me that these games could be stopped and that there's a deeper truth within people. But ultimately, you and I are the same—just two flawed, twisted human beings. You were ready to sacrifice others for what you convinced yourself was the greater good…"
Gi-hun's expression hardened as his brow furrowed. "You sacrifice lives for your own twisted entertainment!"
"No," In-ho retorted sharply. "I sacrifice lives for their entertainment."
Gi-hun blinked in confusion, but In-ho didn't seem to care anymore; he continued, his voice desperate and frustrated:
"Do you think that if you stop the games, human nature would also disappear? All those rich, deprived people you despise... will they simply disappear? Run away with their tails between their legs? Tuck away their depravity and become good people? No. If you take away these games, they will simply find another form of entertainment, possibly something more twisted and disturbing than this."
Gi-hun watched as In-ho breathed heavily, his eyes a storm of emotions flickering so rapidly that he could not hope to identify them. Finally, In-ho dragged a weary hand across his face and let his gaze drop, resting his elbows on his knees as if an invisible weight was pressing down on him. For a long moment, he remained silent and still. An unease began to prickle at Gi-hun's skin; he even considered saying something or doing anything to break the tension. But then In-ho moved.
With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself up from his seat, crossed the table, and stood directly in front of Gi-hun.
In-ho scrutinized him with a blend of determination and impatience as if he were searching for any sign of understanding, of acceptance.
"Gi-hun, there will always be people in this world who want to play these games. There will always be those who want to watch them. And there will always need to be people overseeing the whole thing. It's a cruel, chaotic world, but sometimes believing in that structure is the only way to impose some semblance of order."
They were standing so close, In-ho's eyes boring into his. That smirk, that cold look, that mask of indifference was no longer on his face. He just looked... tired and impatient, as if he was done, as if he had reached the end of his arguments, as if he had said all he had to say, and now he was just... waiting.
And Gi-hun... felt his mind go into a whirlwind.
He was beginning to spiral. He knew it. After everything he's been through, after all the pain and confusion, he has reached his limit. Just like the man before him, he was done. Whatever semblance of sanity he had left was slipping away, and his convictions were slowly disintegrating under the weight of confusion.
With a voice trembling from the effort of holding it together, he pleaded,"You can't keep doing this to me... You can't pretend you care. You can't act like any of this makes sense. I…I need you to play your part. Just... just fight with me. Be my enemy. Stop pretending—just be my enemy!"
In-ho studied him closely, tilting his head.
"Because killing me in self-defence is the only way you think you'd be capable of doing it?"
Gi-hun moved abruptly, taking a step forward. He found himself standing so close to In-ho that he could feel the warmth of his body. No, not In-ho. The Frontman!
He reached out, his fingers digging into the fabric of the man's gray coat, gripping it with such intensity that his knuckles turned white. The Frontman remained still, his gaze piercing yet unreadable.
"I can't do this," Gi-hun said, struggling to maintain his composure as his voice trembled with desperation. "I can't just sit here and t-talk. I can't keep playing these twisted games. You have to act—do something—because I can't... I can't take it anymore. I can't! Do something! Stop pretending!"
His breath quickened, shallow gasps threatening to spiral into hyperventilation. He wanted to leave, to run away from this place and never look back. Yet, he felt bound to the Frontman, unable to break away from that gaze. Those eyes—they were the eyes of someone he hated, the eyes of someone he considered a friend, and somehow, they were slowly starting to merge into one.
In-ho continued to watch him, calm and patient as if he possessed all the time in the world. He lifted his hand with deliberate slowness as if every gesture held a profound weight and let it settle gently against Gi-hun's cheek.
" I am not pretending. Everything I told you is true. I also cannot do what you are asking of me. I can't make this choice for you, Gi-hun," he said gently. "You must do it for yourself. Decide, and then move forward, regardless of the consequences."
Something within Gi-hun clicked into place and shattered all at once.
He was done; he couldn't go on like this. He knew he had to—he just had to. Confusion waged war with clarity in his heart.
And then...
He was strangling the man before him.
In an instant, his hands found their way to In-ho's neck, gripping it with the same intensity he had just used on his coat. His hands finally did what they had itched to do since he entered the room. He felt them tumble over as the Frontman fell back against the couch, with Gi-hun quickly following, dropping on top of him with a low growl. He braced himself, gripping the Frontman's neck with his hands. Every part of him yearned for this to end, desperate to do whatever it took to be free. Nothing else mattered anymore; he just needed to escape the man in front of him. This man that had somehow invaded and constrained his very being, targeting the raw, unhealed wounds. He needed to break free from the grip of this man, who was closing in on him, zeroing in on where it hurt the most.
He wasn't thinking, just reacting on base impulses, not even...
Not even bothering his brain with the knowledge that he was killing someone.
He could see it clearly—the man in his grip growing progressively paler. Each passing second seemed to drain the colour from his face, yet he remained poised, a silent acceptance allowing Gi-hun to act as he wished.
Gi-hun focused on the eyes slowly dimming before him, watching as they dulled, the vibrancy of life receding.
He will be dead soon... Young-il... In-ho... The Frontman... they will all be dead soon.
And Gi-hun… he will be… he will be alone…
He gasped as panic took hold of him. Black dots danced before his eyes, and the room swayed as if it were being pulled away beneath him. Dizziness washed over him, blurring the edges of the world into a haze.
He felt as though he were the one being strangled, an invisible hand tightening around his throat. The only thing anchoring him to reality was the intense gaze fixed upon him—those eyes, once filled with mild curiosity, now seemed to echo a silent acceptance.
Slowly, Gi-hun felt the tension in his hands begin to dissolve. The fierce grip that had held so tightly relaxed until his fingers merely rested against the heated, crimson-marked neck of the man before him—the Frontman—no, Young-il... no, In-ho.
In-ho.
Gi-hun slumped forward, utterly spent, pressing his forehead against In-ho's shoulder. His entire body surrendered to exhaustion, his legs trembling and on the verge of buckling. He should have been falling, yet he was anchored by the strong arm surrounding him, holding him steady and preventing a crushing fall.
"You need to breathe, Gi-hun; you're going to pass out soon if you don't," In-ho urged, his voice coming as if from far away.
Gi-hun let out a choked laugh, a sound that was both a release of mounting tension and a bittersweet recognition of the absurdity of his situation.
God, hearing that from the man he just tried to strangle... Gi-hun was really pathetic at killing someone, wasn't he?
He sank deeper into the embrace, completely unbothered by the fragile boundary that had blurred between them. His body felt limp; the only thing keeping him anchored was the pair of hands—one encircling his torso and the other gripping his neck with a mix of tenderness and urgency. The warmth radiating from their bodies enveloped him.
He was in agony, yet a strange sense of contentment washed over him. Something new had awakened, bringing a moment of clarity. His fingers curled around In-ho's shoulder, feeling the solid muscle beneath his touch—reassuring and real. In-ho was lifting him, raising him from the depths of uncertainty and delivering him onto firm, stable ground.
The thought of releasing his grip filled him with paralyzing dread as if letting go would cause In-ho to vanish into thin air.
Fear clawed at him, suffocating and real.
Who else did he have in this world? Who could possibly understand him the way In-ho did?
He tightened his hold, clinging desperately to the connection that bound them together.
"I can't kill you," Gi-hun choked out. "I can't kill you. I can't kill you."
He repeated those words over and over in a fervent chant, each repetition growing heavier and more strained than the last. Tears streamed down his face, and his heart felt like it might explode, pounding so fiercely that its rhythm echoed in his ears.
In-ho held Gi-hun tightly, his warm hand gently stroking the back of Gi-hun's neck.
"I still hate you. I hate you so much. I hate you," he gasped, desperation lacing his words. It felt as if he could just force those feelings out into the world; maybe the pain would lessen.
"I know you do. Just not enough," In-ho replied, his voice a bit strained.
"What am I supposed to do?"
In-ho hummed softly, his presence so close that Gi-hun could feel the vibrations against his skin.
"You're no longer capable of killing me. And I'm no longer capable of killing you. Whatever choice you make must encompass those two truths," he said, and then his voice shifted to a heavier, more serious tone. "Just know this: I won't allow you to kill yourself, Gi-hun."
Gi-hun felt his body tense… only to become unnervingly calm just a moment later.
" I thought if I stopped the games, the guilt would go away," he confessed, his voice barely a whisper as he slumped fully against In-ho, the fight leaving him entirely.
"There is no stopping the games. Whether here, on this island, or somewhere else in the world, as long as there is disparity between rich and poor, the games will always be played, whether you are aware of them or not."
"I don't know what I can do," Gi-hun admitted, hopelessness lacing his voice.
"You can stay. Right here, with me," In-ho murmured his tone both soothing and firm. "I will allow all the remaining players to return home with their share of the winnings, and we can start planning the next game—perhaps one that is more principled and fair than the last."
Gi-hun closed his eyes, a fleeting moment of vulnerability washing over him. He allowed the image of what In-ho proposed to invade his mind.
... Nausea rose like bile in his throat, a sharp pang.
He buried his face deeper into In-ho's neck as if shielding himself from this image.
"I can't," he stated, his voice shaky and brittle but filled with conviction.
In-ho's hand, which had tenderly caressed Gi-hun's back, stilled for a moment. He sighed deeply, a sound heavy with resignation, before continuing his soothing strokes. "Then leave. Turn away from the games and pretend they don't exist. Just dismiss them as if they were a nightmare. Just a bad dream."
Gi-hun clung to him tighter. "What are you doing? It sounds like you're just letting me walk away…"
"I am."
An uncomfortable shudder rippled through Gi-hun's body, a chill creeping up his spine. "What about you? What will you do?"
He felt In-ho's grip tighten as well. "I've told you, I will play whatever game you choose for me. So, make your choice. It's for both of us."
Gi-hun inhaled deeply, drawing a shuddering breath as if he were pulling the weight of the world into his lungs. Exhaustion enveloped him, every muscle in his body pleading for rest. He was so tired—so exhausted—that he felt like a stranger to himself.
He was a stranger to himself.
The games had changed him in ways he could never have predicted and in ways he couldn't undo, reshaping his identity and leaving scars that could never truly heal.
He was someone else now, and the world was something else now, too. And amid all the chaos and pain, the only thing that seemed to anchor him was the unwavering presence of the man before him.
In-ho, resolute and steadfast, tethered Gi-hun to the remnants of who he once was and who he had become—and perhaps, deep down, to the man he had always been.
Player 456, please cast your vote, a bright, metallic voice echoed in his mind.
How many times had he heard this by now? Countless, surely—each instance persistent and merciless.
But now, it no longer felt futile; his choice now mattered.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
With a shaky inhale, he filled his lungs with air, allowing his pounding heart to slow. Closing his eyes tighter, he steeled himself...
And made his final choice.