001 - Blog Posts

01 - no good deed | just another player. (hwang in-ho x reader)

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The room was dark. Not the artificial, humming darkness of the dormitories. No flickering overhead lights, no sound of desperate breathing in the shadows. 

This darkness was deeper, becoming quieter, then still.

Hwang In-ho bolts upright in his bed, breath caught in his throat, chest heaving beneath the black robe of the Front Man. Sweat clung to his skin like blood once did. The black mask sits abandoned on the table beside him, and for a moment, he remembers who he is. 

Not Hwang In-ho.

The Front Man.

But the dream, kind of a memory, doesn’t let him go. He can still feel it — the warm pool of his blood beneath him, the shouts, the silence, and the pain.

And then, there was you.

Your gloved hands pressing down his wound with a whisper against the chaos, “If you live, don’t forget who you were.”

In-ho’s hands tremble as he reached for a glass of water beside him. He had forgotten, hadn’t he? Bit by bit, piece by piece, until all that remained was the mask, the control, the machine. 

But that voice —  your voice — it never left.

He brushes his hand through his damp hair, eyes burning as they stare at nothing. You were just a shadow then, a mask among other masks. A rule-breaker in a place where mercy was punishable by death.

He doesn’t even know your face or your name. Yet your presence lives in the cracks of his memory, in the fractured quiet of his mind that he never allowed himself to touch.

Except in his dreams.

Or nightmares.

He rose slowly, each movement deliberate. There’s something cold and restrained about him now, but the weight behind his eyes was unmistakable. He walked to the system terminal as the soft glow of the screens hummed to life, illuminating the sharp edges of his face, the shadow of grief still etched across his expression.

His fingers tapped on the keyboard as the screen flickered.

Pink Guard Personnel Records: 28th Squid Game

He shouldn’t do this.

He knew he shouldn’t. Everything about the games was built on anonymity, everything encrypted as if you were expected to forget, bury the past six feet beneath protocol and power.

But he couldn’t forget you. 

His voice was low, hoarse, as he spoke into the silence. “Who were you?”

The system begins its search as the man behind the mask isn’t the Front Man tonight. Tonight, he’s a survivor… still trying to find the one person who made him feel human again. 

Lines of data flicker across the screen — guard IDs, biometric logs, movement patterns, shift schedules. Thousands of entries. Most were clean, categorized, and controlled.

But one file stalls.

ID: P-132-20152745

In-ho narrowed his eyes as he noticed the file. He hovered his hand on his mouse as he clicked, only for the screen to shudder.

ERROR. FILE CORRUPTED. ACCESS DENIED.

He leaned closer as he squinted at the file number. He doesn’t recognize the number, but something about it pulls at him. The timestamp matches the night he was injured. That narrow window between the second and third round.

His fingers fly over the keys as he bypasses standard security. Firewalls resist him, but he wrote the protocols himself. He cracks through the surface code, digging deeper.

REDACTED ENTRY: UNAUTHORIZED INTERVENTION DETECTED.

P-132-20152745: Disciplinary Report - MISSING

Security Footage - DELETED

Status: UNKNOWN

He sits back slowly, the air tight in his lungs, realizing that someone had scrubbed the record. 

Not just a name or a face. Just plain everything.

As if that guard never existed. 

As if the system had tried to erase the very moment he clung to all these years.

His jaw tightened, rage pulsing beneath the surface. Not just for the system, but for himself for forgetting, surviving, and becoming the very thing he once feared. 

Still, there’s a silver of data remaining. A slashed fragment of a voice file that was compressed and corrupted.

Yet, it was still playable.

The static nearly swallows the sound, but in the middle of the distortion, something cuts through.

“—wasn’t supposed to do this…”

“…remember who you are…” “—forgive me.”

In-ho’s eyes closed, his heart pulsing through his chest. Though it was comforting to feel that you were real, he couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to you. 

As his thoughts almost swayed him, he immediately snapped out of his thoughts as he heard a heavy thud. Not from the room, but from the recording.

He sat up as a sharp intake of breath was heard, then another sound that seemed like a hit. Then, another sound that pierces through even the most distorted noise.

A soft, broken whimper. A woman’s voice.

“Please…” A muffled cry as another strike seemed to be done, and then, there was silence.

In-ho froze as his jaw clenched while the recording looped, replaying that single moment of helplessness. Something cold grips his chest, curling around his ribs like barbed wire. 

Someone definitely made sure he wouldn’t remember it. 

The file ends with one last, choked breath — one that doesn’t quite sound like fear, but grief.

“He wasn’t supposed to see me.”

The silence after felt suffocating. In-ho’s fingers curled into fists as the final realization sank in. This wasn’t just a disappearing act.

Someone silenced you, covered you up, and buried your existence under codes and protocols. In-ho scoffed, a smirk forming as if an idea shone all over his face.

They didn’t bury you well enough.

His eyes hardened as he locked the terminal.

You saved him once, now it was his turn.

——

The incinerator hisses as the body bag disappears into flame.

It was either buried or harvested for organs — you couldn’t care at all. In fact, you don’t flinch anymore. You haven’t, in a long time. 

The stench of burnt cloth and blood clings to your mask, thick and stubborn, as if even the scent refuses to die here. You stand still, posture straight, hands clasped behind you just as protocol demands.

You were only a pink circle guard. Just another pair of obedient boots, another ghost in the machine.

Your boots echo softly down the corridor. Rhythm is everything here—footsteps measured, spine straight, eyes forward behind a mask that tells the world nothing. Now, you’re Guard 427.

You swipe your card at the checkpoint and enter the security control wing. The guards here don’t speak unless ordered. The walls hum with surveillance feeds, and one screen, larger than the rest, projects the black mask of the Front Man. You’ve worked hard to become invisible. You are precise in your tasks, silent in your duties, unremarkable in your movements. You erase yourself every day, bit by bit, in service of survival.

Still, you remember him. Not as the Front Man. But as Player 132.

He was bleeding when you found him, struggling beneath the weight of survival. You should’ve walked away. Left him to die like all the others. But something in his eyes that night — numb but furious, cracked but not yet broken made you stop.

You knelt. Whispered. Touched his bloodied chest with trembling fingers.

“If you live, don’t forget who you were before they made you fight.”

And now, he sits behind the glass of power, voice modulated, mask unshifting, his judgment absolute. You wondered if he dreams of you, if your voice ever slips into his nightmares. You wondered if, when he stares too long at the monitors, he's chasing something his mind won’t give him.

You kept your head down and your steps even. You cleaned blood off the walls. You followed orders. You pretend you’re not the one he’s unknowingly searching for.

Because if he ever does remember… If he ever sees through the perfect circle painted across your mask, what then?

Would he thank you? Punish you? Undo you?

You weren’t sure. In a place where mercy was a foreign concept, such a situation of his finding you would cause more complications.

The alarm blared. A low tone thrums through the walls, and every Circle in the hallway stops in unison.

“VIP arrival. Level Six. Escort detail.”

Your fellow pink guards peel off wordlessly, boots pivoting toward the service lift that leads to the opulent corridors you’re never meant to see. The ones draped in gold and smoke, the ones that reek of indulgence and blood.

But not you.

Your earpiece buzzes with a separate frequency.

“P-427, Report to Sub-Level Three. Clearance Sigma Red.”

Sigma Red.

You hesitate for half a breath before responding.

“Confirmed. On route.”

It wasn’t your first time.

You walked alone now, past the steel hallways, the flickering fluorescents, the guards who pretended not to see. You made your way towards the door marked only by a red triangle and the faint scent of disinfectant beneath it.

Inside the room was quiet, warmer, and cleaner. There was no briefing. No other guards. Just a room with a solitary mirror and a rack of clean clothing with soft fabric, unlike your uniform.

“Change. Protocol 09 is in effect,” the voice over the intercom says.

You obeyed, not needing to be told why. 

You’ve done this before. You remember the way the Front Man had just taken the mask then. How his presence had loomed even before you could name it. The first time, you’d done what you were told because not doing so meant punishment. 

You were a standard circle guard who was quiet, efficient, and obedient. Not until that night during the 28th Season where you chose mercy. 

He was bleeding out during lights out where his eyes had pulled you in — the hollow ache of someone who wanted to die but was too proud to beg for it. You broke the rules, yet they let you live.

Only so they could strip you down slowly — the escort class.

The lowest, most degrading designation in the hierarchy of this twisted system. You are masked, dressed in thin civilian mimicry, and handed over to the VIPs—not for pleasure, necessarily. Sometimes just for company. Sometimes for cruelty. Always for obedience.

“Escort detail begins in thirty minutes. Await further instruction.”

The door clicks shut behind you. You sat and waited, listening to the hum of the walls as you wondered, what if this is the time he speaks to you? What if he looks at you a second too long? What if he asks your name? And what if you're too afraid to give it?

The walls here were too quiet. No screams, gunfire, and barking orders. Only silence — deliberate, echoing, and unnerving.

The mask stays on. It always stays on. It's the only part of yourself you're allowed to keep. As you sat, the intercom crackled again. A different voice this time. One you know. One you’ve heard before during your disciplinary hearing. 

“Protocol 09 in effect,” the speaker hisses.

No acknowledgment required. They know you understand.

“You aided a player in the 28th Season. Unforgivable.”

A pause, long enough to let the weight settle. “You will not speak of it. Not to him. Not to anyone. The Front Man does not know. He must never know. Do you understand?”

You nod silently, because that’s all you're allowed to do now.

“VIPs arrive in thirty. Escort mode active.”

You fixed the mask over your face as you changed layer by layer, its garments feel like silk-wrapped shame. 

You remember how, once, your hands shook as they held a bleeding man. The one who now runs the games, one who sits behind a mask of black steel, haunted by something he can’t quite name.

He lives because of you and now you serve because of him.

He must never know.

But you remember.

Every time.

——

The scent of cologne, alcohol, and smoke clung to the velvet of the VIP lounge. The lighting was warm, golden, and suffocating — designed to flatter the depraved. Laughter cuts the air like broken glass. Masks of beasts and emperors lounge across gilded sofas, their voices slurred, their gaze predatory.

One of the VIPs snaps his fingers lazily. You pour his drink, bow just enough, and say nothing — as trained. You don’t speak. You don’t blink too long. You don’t feel.

“You’re quiet,” the VIP, masked as a Minotaur, slurred, brushing his fingers against your mask. “That’s good. Quiet girls know their place.”

You don’t flinch. At least, not visibly.

He grabbed your wrist, pulling you slightly closer, examining you like a possession. “You’re prettier than the last one. I like the silent ones.”

You remain still and silent. Fighting the urge to pull away because if you did, they win. And if you speak, you lose more. Your hands rest on your knees as you lowered your gaze.

“You’re not new, are you?”

The question stung, but you didn’t flinch. You were burning inside, but you stayed silent. 

“That means you know not to fight.”

A murmur of laughter from the others. One of them raises a toast. Another gestures toward you and makes a cruel joke about how easily the silent ones break.

But something shifts in the room. The air tightens. The laughter dulls into murmurs. 

The door opened, revealing the Front Man.

Black mask. Black coat. His movements sharp and deliberate. Authority trails behind him like a shadow.

Your body reacts before your mind can catch up. You straightened your back, holding your breath as you felt your pulse surge. You kept your head bowed. 

He shouldn't be here. Not during the lounge sessions. Not unless something’s wrong. Yet here he is.

He walked slowly through the room silently as if he were observing and calculating something. His presence stills the most obnoxious of the guests. Even the ones who believe they own this place lower their voices when he moves near.

From across the room, the Front Man’s visor tilts toward you. He seemed to see your… situation. But, he doesn’t stop it. He doesn’t speak.

He simply watches.

You don’t know what’s worse. The VIP’s hand curling around your waist…

…or the silence from the one man who might have stopped it.

The VIP’s hand had finally left your side—only because another escort had arrived, younger and easier to control. You’d bowed out with the grace expected of you, even though your fingers trembled behind your back.

“Go help the servers,” one of the Square guards said. 

You obeyed.

It was almost a relief to stand by the bar cart again, serving champagne, bourbon, whiskey, gin. Anything they asked for. Anything to stop being seen.

“You,” the Square guard pointed at you. “Pour for the Front Man.”

The air around you dropped ten degrees, but your hands moved on instinct. The Front Man stood near the edge of the lounge, silent and still as the walls themselves. You could feel the room shift around him. 

You approached with measured steps, a crystal decanter in hand.

He didn’t look at you when you poured, though you could smell his cologne even beneath your mask. As you were about to finish filling up the glass, he suddenly spoke.

“Stay.”

You froze. You expected to be dismissed. But instead, he stood there, drink in hand, and allowed you to remain beside him. One step behind. Within reach. Claimed without announcement.

“Careful with that one, Front Man!” a portly VIP calls out with a laugh, drink sloshing in his hand. “Keep her too close, and you might find yourself using her for more than just drinks!”

Laughter erupted from his circle as your breath hitched a bit. You didn’t move, and the Front Man didn’t say anything. You weren’t sure if he reacted beneath his mask, but he stayed still. There was no reaction and defense.

He sipped his drink slowly, his gaze never leaving the room. Not even a glance toward the man who joked. Not toward you. But then, you felt a sting inside you.

It wasn’t because of the VIP’s words — you’ve heard worse.

But because he didn’t stop it.

You stood at his side obediently, and he let the insult hang there, untouched. You forced the pain down like glass, straightening your spine. Somehow, his silence hurts more than the joke ever could.

By day, you sweep floors, distribute rations, check that the cameras are functioning. Your circle mask stares back at you from polished metal when you pass the infirmary door. You speak to no one. You salute when required. You blend in easily and invisibly. 

You are not meant to be remembered. That, too, is part of the punishment.

At night, it changes. The suit comes off. The silk goes on. You trade your mask for another kind — faceless still, but far more exposed. An escort — a role no one envies.

No one asks how you ended up there. They already know. 

It’s all because you interfered and saved someone you weren’t meant to. You’re not even sure he remembers. Or if he ever knew. Or if he’s simply chosen to forget because acknowledging what you did would mean acknowledging that even he was once weak enough to bleed.

And weakness isn’t allowed here.

Sometimes, when you stand beside his chair in the VIP lounge and pour his drink, you think about that moment in the dark, years ago. When he was gasping, wounded, barely clinging to life behind a player’s uniform soaked in blood. And you chose to help.

That was the night your position was stripped from you.

Because you weren’t always a circle.

Your hands remember how to hold a gun with authority. Your voice remembers how to give orders.

You were a square.

You remember the weight of command.

But mercy is a betrayal in this place, and your punishment is to be seen and not recognized. It is for you to serve quietly the man you once saved and to suffer silently each time he looks right past you. 

----

A/N: We're back! This time, it's more of a slow burn type of fanfic so please bear with the story. What did you think of how you're a Pink Guard saving the Front Man back when he was still a player and him trying to find you in the crowd? This whole fic will be based on the events of Squid Game Season 1, as it would be like one of the first years of In-ho as the Front Man. :D

Don't forget to leave a comment in this chapter to be tagged on to the next chapter. :)

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taglist: @roachco-k @goingmerry69

saw this on pinterest but HEAR ME OUT why does this photo just make so 😩

i think i need help but there is something so attractive in this, it stuck in my mind for days

A Familiar Stranger (What if...?)

Summary: After the Red Light, Green Light game, the players vote to continue or leave the games with their own shares. In-ho votes for X this time, and the players are all sent home. Gi-hun goes back to the outside world and finds In-ho in a convenience store, but he knows him as Young-il.

REQUEST HERE

The warehouse reeked of stale sweat and blood as the players crowded into the middle, awaiting their turn to vote to continue or leave the games. The voting box was placed at the center of the room, ready for everyone to decide their life.

The red and blue buttons blinked softly on its surface like a heartbeat, waiting. For some, it was hope. For others, it was a cruel tease of a chance to escape. 

Gi-hun’s hands trembled as the last player, 001, took their turn. The vote had been close — shockingly so. The players were divided to Xs and Os, who had been nearly neck-and-neck after the Red Light, Green Light game bled the truth into their bones.

91 people died in less than five minutes into the game. There was no sugar-coating on such a bloody and violent scene. The gunshots still echoed behind their eyes.

Player 001 seemed to think first before pressing one of the buttons, adding to the tension. Gi-hun whispered under his breath as if he cheered for 001 to vote for X, so all of them could go home, and everyone could still have a chance to be saved. 

Or was it?

Was it really because he wanted everyone to be saved, or just to prove to the system that there is still something good in humanity?

Then, a click.

The computer above showed the score of votes, seeing a close call. 

X - 183, O - 182

A crowd of cheer erupted inside the warehouse, only to be interrupted by the lights being shut off, then a hiss of air followed. Gi-hun’s vision blurred, his heart pounded as he struggled to stay upright, but the weight of exhaustion and chloroform dragged him into darkness. 

——

Gi-hun awoke to the sting of cold pavement scraping his cheek.

Rain drizzled softly on the city street as Gi-hun groaned and pushed himself onto his hands and knees. The van’s taillights disappeared into the night, and the alley it had dumped him into was as empty as it was unfamiliar. He was back in Seoul, just like last time.

He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and froze, only to find a small, rectangular shape sitting in his palm, wrapped in plastic. It was a cassette tape, seemingly new, with three shapes on it - triangle, circle, and square. His pulse kicked into high gear as he looked around, but no one was in sight. Just the eerie hum of a city that truly never slept.

Gi-hun pulled the tape closer and saw a faint marking on the side, written in black ink.

“456.”

Gi-hun’s breath clouded in the cool air as he stood outside the nondescript apartment door, knuckles poised mid-air. The city buzzed below like it always had. But in his chest, something old had awakened. The tape sat like lead in his jacket pocket.

The door creaked open before he could knock, seeing Jun-ho staring back at him, who seemed scruffy, leaner, and shadows carved beneath his eyes.

“Gi-hun,” Jun-ho said, his eyes with a hint of question as he looked at him. “You’re back. How?”

Gi-hun stepped in without asking, pulling the cassette from his jacket and showing it to Jun-ho. He immediately closed the door as Gi-hun placed the cassette on the kitchen table like a loaded gun.

Jun-ho narrowed his eyes. “What is that?”

“A message from the inside,” Gi-hun’s voice was low and hoarse. “There’s something else. They took out the tracker.”

Jun-ho blinked. “What?”

“In my tooth. It’s gone. Someone knew it was there. They knew it from the from start,” Gi-hun’s hands trembled as he rubbed at his jaw.

A long silence followed, broken only by the soft click of Jun-ho inserting the cassette into an old player and hitting play. The tape hissed before starting, then came a voice.

“I must admit, watching you squirm has been… entertaining.”

A soft static crackles.

“Gi-hun, you should’ve taken your prize and disappeared. But I suppose you’ve never known when to walk away to try and be a hero.”

A pause came, then a faint sound that seemed like footsteps or breathing. 

“You thought you were clever. Hiding a tracker in a tooth? Cute. But I’ve been watching longer than you’ve been planning.”

The voice lowers, almost a whisper now. A sharp breath caught in Gi-hun’s throat.

“You should’ve stayed gone, Seong Gi-hun. You want to expose us? Tear everything down? Fine. But know this: while you waste time chasing shadows, we’ve already found her.”

Jun-ho’s head snapped toward Gi-hun.

“She looks so much like her mother.”

Gi-hun surged forward and slammed a fist on the table. “You son of a—“

The player stopped as Gi-hun was shaking now, clenching his teeth, curling his fists until they turned white. “He knows about Ga-yeong. He’s threatening my daughter.”

Jun-ho’s mouth opened, then shut. Something passed behind his eyes, something along the lines of guilt, recognition, or restraint. The cassette whirred softly behind them, tape still spooling, like a ticking clock counting down to something neither of them could stop.

The day when the line between brother and monster would no longer be a line, but a fog — bleeding through every breath he took, every step he retraced. But knowing that the voice belonged to his brother, crackling through the cassette player, was like being buried alive in guilt all over again. 

He hadn’t slept much since returning from searching around the islands. Sleep came in bursts, always haunted by the rhythmic thud of bodies hitting the ground, the clicking of guns disguised as toys. 

And his brother’s face. Always, his brother’s face.

But Gi-hun’s reaction had shaken something loose in him. That rage and fear. It wasn’t just about revenge anymore. Now, it was personal for him too. They crossed a line.

Jun-ho watched Gi-hun pace the room like a cornered animal. He knew that look. He had seen it in the mirror for years.

What if Jun-ho had pulled the trigger first? What if he didn’t hesitate back then, on the cliff…?

Jun-ho swallowed hard, his voice hollow as he broke the silence. “There’s a chance it’s a bluff.”

Gi-hun rounded on him. “Would you bet your daughter’s life on that?”

Jun-ho didn’t answer. In fact, he couldn’t. Because deep down, he knew In-ho never bluffed.

Jun-ho walked into the bathroom, shut the door behind him, and leaned heavily on the sink. In the mirror, his reflection stared back with eyes that didn’t belong to the cop who once believed in justice. They were the eyes of someone who knew too much — who lived too long in the underworld without dying. 

He couldn’t tell Gi-hun the truth — how he knew it was his brother who’s been running the games along and was a player. Because he knew that if he did, Gi-hun would run into hell blind.

——

The rain pattered against the glass as Gi-hun sat at the tiny plastic table near the window, slurping instant ramen like it was the first meal he had in days. In truth, it probably was. He stared into the broth as if it could answer the questions clawing at his brain.

The bell above the door jingled softly. Gi-hun barely glanced up, until he heard a voice.

“Mind if I sit?”

Gi-hun looked up, almost startled. A man stood across from him, casual in posture but sharp in the eyes. He wore a weathered jacket, sleeves slightly too long, and a disarming smile on his face.

“I saw you from the inside,” the man added. “Thought you looked familiar.”

Gi-hun blinked. “Have we met?”

The man nodded. “Briefly, I think. In the games.”

Gi-hun studied his face, but nothing rang a bell. Still, something about the man was unsettlingly calm. 

“You played?” Gi-hun asked.

The man took the seat across from him, folding his hands. “First game was Red Light, Green Light. It was total chaos. I tapped out early.” He took the seat across from Gi-hun. “Oh, and I’m Young-il, by the way.”

Gi-hun nodded. “Gi-hun.”

Young-il’s eyes lit up with interest. “So, It’s true then. You’re the winner from the last game.”

Gi-hun didn’t answer right away, but the man’s gaze was unwavering, so he shrugged. “Yeah, if you could call it that. I spent months trying to figure out how to stop it. Now I’m working with someone… trying to take it down.”

Young-il’s lips curled slightly. “Is that so?”

Gi-hun frowned, which seemed to make Young-il chuckle, much to his surprise. He leaned back in his seat, lifting both hands in mock surrender.

“Sorry, I’m not here to cause trouble. Just… I guess I needed someone to talk to. My wife’s in the hospital.”

Gi-hun's suspicion softened slightly. “Oh?”

Young-il nodded, eyes lowering. “She’s seven months pregnant. Liver cirrhosis. Doctors say she might not survive the birth,” Young-il paused, then continued. “We needed the money. That’s why I signed up. But I didn’t make it past the first night. Coward, right?”

Gi-hun shook his head. “No one who left that place is a coward.”

Young-il’s smile returned, faint and thoughtful. “Thanks.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than before. Then, Young-il pulled something from his pocket, which seemed to be a small, crisp invitation card, just like the ones given before the games.

“There’s a new date, and I got two cards. I don’t know why they gave me two.”

He slid one across the table to Gi-hun, who looked down at it, his heart thudding. 

“I think they want us back,” Young-il said, his voice quieter now. “Maybe it’s a second chance. Or maybe something else.”

Gi-hun pocketed the card slowly. “Why give me yours?”

Young-il shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe you might want to think about it? I’m not really sure. But given what you’ve told me, maybe this could be your way in to… tear everything down.”

Gi-hun’s hand hovered in the air for a moment before he took the card and looked it over. It had the same symbols and format, like déjà vu written in ink. 

The date was five days from now. 

Young-il smiled faintly, rain dripping from his lashes. “The games might be full of traps, but after seeing my wife again, I definitely need the money.”

Young-il turned, ready to walk away when Gi-hun called after him. “Wait! What are you planning to do? Are you going back in again?”

Young-il glanced over his shoulder, the words leaving his mouth left Gi-hun in pure shock.

“Some of us never left.”

----

REQUEST HERE

prologue - just another player. (hwang in-ho x reader)

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A/N: I'm back! Yey! No more sad endings this time, I promise. 😅 Hope you'll like my new series!

----

The night fell in the games like a clenched fist. 

The low hum of the fluorescent lights buzzed inside Hwang In-ho’s skull, matching the stuttering beat of his heart. Blood, slick and sticky, pooled at his side where the jagged edge of a broken bedframe had ripped through his shirt and skin hours ago. He pressed his palm over the wound, more out of instinct than hope.

His wound wasn’t deep enough to kill him yet. But enough to slow him down. And in here, slowing down meant dying. 

The air reeked of sweat, fear, and iron. He leaned back against the freezing metal frame of his bunk, staring blankly across the dormitory where the others lay curled like dying insects, clutching stolen blankets, clutching each other if they had to.

His breathing stayed shallow. Any deeper and the pain would carve a new line through him. He barely noticed it now. Pain was just another part of the architecture—another brick in the wall he'd built around himself the moment he realized survival meant killing something inside.

His body screams to collapse. But he can't afford to listen.

Would it even matter if he survived?

The thought drifted through him, detached, like watching someone else drown through a pane of glass. If he died here, it would be easier. No debts. No shame curling in his gut like a parasite every time he thought about his wife sitting alone in a sterile hospital room.

He closed his eyes briefly, letting the numbness settle deeper. Hope was dangerous here. Softness was lethal. He had clawed and fought to stay alive through the first game, through the second, through the alliances and betrayals that had stripped everyone down to what they really were. And now?

Now he was just a body pressed into a corner, bleeding out slowly, wondering if the prize at the end was even real.

The blood slid down his side in slow rivulets. His fingers tightened reflexively, staunching it, but the strength was leaving him. He shifts, grimacing, dragging himself tighter into the shadow between two bunks. Just another faceless player trying not to die before morning.

Somewhere, a scuffle breaks out. A choked scream. The wet, final thud of a head hitting concrete. In-ho doesn't even flinch.

He can't afford to.

He wonders if this is how dying feels—not sudden, but slow. A gradual loosening from the world, like slipping under deep water where no one can hear you scream.

Maybe tomorrow, he would bleed out during the next game. Maybe he'd die here, alone in the dark.

Maybe, he thought distantly, it wouldn't be a bullet that took him out. Maybe it would be something stupid like an infection. Or bleeding out under the blank, indifferent gaze of a dozen pink-masked guards.

Guards who wouldn’t even flinch.

Guards who didn't see him as anything but a number.

Soft footsteps edged closer through the rows of battered bunk beds. He didn’t bother to open his eyes. If it was another player, they would slit his throat and be done with it. If it were a guard, maybe they would drag him out early. Spare him the indignity of dying like a stray dog in front of the others.

The footsteps stopped in front of him. A shadow falls across him as he squints up at you, someone with a mask and pink uniform blurring at the edges of his swimming vision. 

Your voice was low and close, like a secret pressed against his half-conscious mind. You knelt, against every protocol, and pressed something against his wound with pressure, making it firm and steady.

“If you live,” you whispered. “Don’t forget who you were before they made you fight.”

In-ho’s eyes snapped open, his hand brushing against yours as he tried to make sense of what was happening, on why the hell a guard was speaking to him in this manner. You immediately swat his hand away as you hurriedly tend to his wounds.

For the first time in days, Hwang In-ho felt something splinter deep inside the fortress he had sealed himself into. It wasn’t hope — more of the terrifying possibility that even if he lived, he might not be the same man who started the game. 

----

A/N: I'm so happy to be writing another series again! Squid Game started appearing in my FYP again (and yes, I've watched multiple edits of LBH again 😭). Anyway, we're like almost a month away from the new season of Squid Game, I'm so excited! 😆

As the saying goes... Don't forget to leave a comment in this prologue to be tagged on to the first chapter. :)

masterlist | next chapter

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

>> MASTERLIST

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——

The atmosphere in the control room was thick with tension as the final preparations for the dry run commenced. You stood beside In-ho, both of you in your authoritative masks and dark uniforms, overseeing the screens that displayed every inch of the arena. This was a necessary step to test the mechanics, ensuring every trap and function worked seamlessly before the real games began.

“We proceed as scheduled,” In-ho’s voice was calm but firm. “The Front Man should have been here by now.”

Your eyes flicked to the empty chair that Gi-hun was supposed to occupy. A small frown formed beneath your mask, but you shook it off. There were more pressing matters at hand. “Begin the dry run.”

The order was relayed, and the countdown was initiated. The massive red doors to the arena creaked open, revealing a handful of test subjects—masked guards disguised as players, meant to simulate real conditions. The last game was about to begin.

“All systems online,” a masked technician announced.

The massive doll at the center of the arena, responsible for detecting motion, remained still. Its head did not rotate, its sensor lights did not flicker. The guards in their test-player disguises exchanged confused glances. You exchanged a look with In-ho, his posture stiffening.

“Check the wiring,” he ordered sharply.

One of the technicians frantically worked at his station, fingers flying over the keyboard. “The detection system isn’t responding! It was functional yesterday—”

Another alarm blared across the monitors as more systems began to shut down. The retractable floors beneath certain marked spots—a key feature for later rounds—remained locked in place. The automatic turrets that were meant to simulate eliminations did not fire. A critical command flashed on the screens: 

SYSTEM ERROR – CONNECTION LOST

“What the hell is happening?” Your voice came out sharper than intended, but the tension in the air was suffocating.

“Security breach in multiple areas,” another guard reported, voice shaking slightly. “But… nothing is physically damaged. It’s like the entire system is shutting down on its own.”

In-ho’s hand tightened into a fist, his knuckles ghostly white against his gloves. He turned to you, his voice dangerously low. “Where is the Front Man?”

A cold shiver ran down your spine. You turned to one of the nearest guards. “Find him. Now.”

The guard hesitated, then slowly stepped forward. “Sir… he is nowhere to be seen.”

Your heart thumped in your chest.

“What do you mean, ‘nowhere to be seen’?” In-ho asked, his voice devoid of patience.

“We checked his quarters. He’s not there. And… several guards are missing as well.”

Your breath hitched. The realization clawed at your mind like a cold hand gripping your throat.

Your conversation with Gi-hun and Jun-ho. The options they gave you.

n-ho’s voice came through again, harsh and unrelenting. “Seal off the exits. No one leaves the island.”

But before the command could fully register, another sound rang through the control room. A shrill, piercing alarm—one that sent the entire room into a frantic motion.

EMERGENCY MEETING CALLED – ALL OVERSEERS REPORT IMMEDIATELY

The red warning lights flashed violently against the steel walls, bathing everything in crimson. Your pulse pounded in your ears as the realization fully settled in.

Gi-hun was gone.

And something bigger than a mere malfunction was about to unfold.

——

You and In-ho make your way towards the conference room. Inside was thick with tension, the overhead lights casting harsh shadows on the long table where the overseers sat. The air was heavy, charged with suspicion and quiet rage. You and In-ho stood at the end of the room, backs straight, masking any sign of weakness. The red alarms still echoed faintly in the corridors outside, a constant reminder of the chaos that had begun to unravel.

One of the overseers, a man with a deep scar running across his jaw, slammed his fist onto the table. "Everything was running perfectly until now. And suddenly, the system crashes? The games malfunction? Guards go missing? And where is the Front Man?!" His sharp eyes drilled into yours. "You and In-ho were supposed to ensure that none of this happened."

Another overseer, a woman with ice in her voice, leaned forward. "The two of you were the only ones who had direct access to every security measure. And now, there's a breach. We have reason to believe this is an inside job."

"You’re accusing us?" In-ho's voice was dangerously calm, but there was an edge to it. His hand rested subtly at his side, close to his gun holster.

"You tell us," the scarred man hissed. "How do we know you haven’t been compromised?"

The room darkened as the monitors flickered, static crackling before returning to blank screens. The overseers grew restless, shifting in their seats, fingers twitching near their weapons.

Then came the final blow.

A different overseer, older but sharper than the rest, tilted his head. "The games have been exposed."

You exchanged a sharp glance with In-ho. The older overseer continued, his expression unreadable. "And you know what’s surprising? The world isn’t outraged. They’re obsessed. Demanding more. Calling for a massive televised event." He exhaled sharply, voice dripping with disdain. "It’s no longer just a secret bloodbath—it’s entertainment."

Murmurs rippled through the room. Some overseers looked disturbed. Others intrigued. But suspicion still lingered.

"And you think we had something to do with this?" In-ho asked, voice tight.

"It’s too convenient. The timing, the failures, the missing personnel." The scarred man leaned in. "The only ones who could have let this slip are the ones who had access to everything. You."

Then, the final nail in the coffin.

The same older overseer smirked. "And, of course… we know about the pregnancy."

Your blood ran cold as your body tensed. In-ho’s grip on his gun tightened. The way the older overseer’s lips curled ever so slightly sent a wave of unease through you.

"A child," the man mused. "What a complication that would be. A liability. Perhaps you’re both already thinking about an escape. Perhaps you’ve been compromised long before this."

Your heartbeat pounded in your ears as you felt the shift in the room—the rising hostility. A sharp click rang through the air, seeing guns drawn directly at you and In-ho.

Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to remain still, your fingers curling into fists. One wrong move, and you’d both be riddled with bullets before you could even react.

"If you’re not with us, you’re against us," the scarred man growled. "And we don’t tolerate traitors."

Then, the first shot fired.

In-ho grabbed your wrist, yanking you down as the bullet shattered the glass panel behind you. A second later, the conference room erupted in gunfire. Overseers ducked for cover as you and In-ho sprinted toward the doors. You felt the air shift beside your cheek as a bullet barely missed you, embedding itself into the steel wall.

"Move!" In-ho barked, his grip on you firm as he led you into the hallway.

The moment you both crashed through the doors, In-ho pulled his gun and fired back, forcing the overseers to scatter for cover. "We have to get to the control room—now!"

Your pulse raced as your boots pounded against the cold floors. Behind you, the doors burst open, shouts echoing through the halls as the overseers pursued, their weapons raised. The emergency sirens blared louder now, blending with the chaos.

You weren’t just running from them. You were running for your life. 

For In-ho’s. 

For your unborn child.

And as another bullet whizzed past, nearly grazing your arm, you knew one thing for certain.

This wasn’t over yet.

Your mind raced as you tore down the hall, your pulse hammering against your ribs. The sharp stench of gunpowder clung to the air as you and In-ho moved in sync, your footsteps heavy against the cold steel floors. Bullets ricocheted off the walls, sparks flying in bursts of light as more guards poured in from the intersecting corridors.

In-ho moved ahead, his precision deadly. His gun fired in clean, methodical bursts, taking out guards with ease. You followed closely, your own weapon raised, firing at the figures blocking your escape. Bodies fell, the chaos swallowing their last gasps as the sirens blared louder, warning the entire facility of your defiance.

“We need to get out of this sector now!” In-ho shouted, his voice nearly drowned out by the endless alarms.

Your grip on your gun tightened as another group of guards stormed in from the left, their rifles aimed directly at you. Your reflexes took over, pulling the trigger, feeling the recoil as each shot landed with brutal precision. One guard lunged forward, and before you could react, In-ho stepped in front of you, his bullet meeting the man’s skull before he could even reach you.

A brief glance was exchanged between you and In-ho—nothing was said, but everything was understood.

Then a voice called out, stopping you both in your tracks.

“Over here!”

You snapped your head to the far end of the hallway. A figure stood there, barely visible through the flashing red lights. Then another voice joined in, a familiar one—Jun-ho.

“This way! Hurry!” he urged, motioning to a reinforced door behind him.

You and In-ho hesitated for a second. A second too long. More guards were closing in fast, their relentless gunfire forcing you both to duck behind a shattered console.

In-ho turned to you. “We don’t have a choice. We move now.”

You nodded, and without another word, both of you sprinted towards Jun-ho. He had already begun keying in a code on the panel beside the door, his fingers moving quickly, overriding the security locks. The moment you and In-ho were close enough, Jun-ho slammed the panel, and the heavy doors hissed open.

The moment you stepped inside, your breath hitched.

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

They were all there.

Gi-hun's eyes flickered between you and In-ho, his expression unreadable. Hyun-ju had a gun slung over her shoulder, her stance tense but prepared. Gyeong-seok and No-eul stood side by side, their hands twitching near their weapons, waiting for any sign of hostility. The air in the room was thick, the weight of past betrayals and alliances clashing in an unspoken war.

No one moved. No one spoke.

The sound of distant gunfire and the wail of the alarms were the only reminders that the war outside had not ceased. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, you weren’t alone.

An alliance was forming again.

——

A tense silence filled the air as Jun-ho and In-ho locked eyes. It was as if the world around them had disappeared, the chaos and the blaring alarms fading into nothing but the weight of years lost between them.

Jun-ho took a slow step forward. His breathing was uneven, his expression unreadable. “Is it really you?” his voice was hoarse, filled with disbelief and something deeper—pain.

n-ho, for all his poise and control, looked shaken. His lips parted, but no words came out at first. He swallowed hard, his gun lowering slightly as if all the fight in him had drained away the moment he saw his brother standing there, alive.

“Jun-ho,” In-ho finally said, his voice quieter than anyone had ever heard it.

Jun-ho clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as he took another step. “You let me believe you were dead.”

In-ho exhaled sharply, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “I had to.”

“Bullshit!” Jun-ho snapped, his voice rising as years of grief, anger, and betrayal surfaced all at once. “You could have come back! You could have told me! Do you have any idea what I—”

Before Jun-ho could finish, In-ho closed the distance between them and pulled his younger brother into a tight embrace.

Jun-ho stiffened, his breath catching in his throat. His hands hovered in the air, unsure whether to push In-ho away or hold on to him like he had been wishing to do for years.

“I’m sorry,” In-ho murmured against his brother’s shoulder, voice breaking for the first time. “I’m so damn sorry, Jun-ho.”

Jun-ho squeezed his eyes shut, his fists clenching before he finally gave in, his arms wrapping around his brother in return. It was a brief moment of vulnerability, a reunion built on broken pieces, but it was real.

The others in the room stayed silent, watching the brothers reunite amidst the madness surrounding them.

After a moment, Jun-ho pulled away, wiping at his face quickly before looking at In-ho with newfound determination. “If you’re really sorry, then help me end this.”

In-ho hesitated, glancing at you for a brief second before turning back to his brother. He exhaled through his nose, then nodded. “We will.”

Gi-hun finally stepped forward, arms crossed as he surveyed the reunion. You smirked, glancing around at the group as your tone laced with purpose when you spoke up.

“So, what’s the plan?”

The silence hung heavy in the dimly lit room, only the distant echoes of gunfire and the blaring alarms breaking through. You stood among the others, feeling the weight of unspoken words pressing down on your chest. In-ho stood beside you, his face unreadable, though you could feel the tension in his stance.

Gi-hun took a slow breath, his fingers curling into fists before he finally spoke.

"The plan is simple," he began, his voice steady but laced with something deeper—calculated determination. "We take the organization down from the inside. We sabotage the games, expose their operations, and ensure that when the world watches, they see the truth."

Jun-ho crossed his arms, nodding slightly. "The system is already crumbling. The overseers are paranoid, the guards are scattered. With the world already watching, all we have to do is show them what’s really happening behind the scenes."

Gi-hun exhaled sharply. "But there was one part of the plan that’s changed."

You felt a sudden unease crawl up your spine.

"The original plan," Gi-hun continued, locking eyes with you and In-ho, "was to execute both of you."

The words hit like a punch to the gut. You barely had time to register it before the room shifted—Hyun-ju tensed, Gyeong-seok and No-eul exchanged wary glances, and Jun-ho's jaw clenched. In-ho, however, remained deathly still.

Gi-hun's gaze didn’t waver. "Before you decided to switch sides, you were still a threat. Both of you. The safest way to ensure this plan succeeded was to eliminate you before you could compromise it."

Your fingers twitched at your sides. You didn't realize how tight your fists had become.

"But," Gi-hun continued, "you chose differently. You decided to fight with us instead of against us. So, the plan changes."

You exhaled, steadying yourself. In-ho's hand brushed against yours—subtle, barely there, but enough for you to notice. When you looked at him, his eyes were focused ahead, but you could sense the turmoil beneath the surface.

"We do this together," Gi-hun said. "And we make sure no one ever has to go through this again."

The room fell into silence once more. The weight of everything—of every loss, every sacrifice—pressed down on all of you. Then, with a sharp inhale, he straightened.

“We take the control room first,” he stated, his voice firm. “The entire island runs on that system—every camera, every security lock, every broadcast. Once we have it, we control the narrative.”

Jun-ho nodded, arms crossed. “The overseers will have the backups, but if we move fast enough, we can cut them off before they get the chance to reboot. We leak everything. We let the world see the truth.”

Hyun-ju leaned against the wall, arms folded. “And then what? Even if the world sees it, we’re still trapped on this island. The guards will come down on us before we even have a chance to escape.”

Gi-hun turned to Gyeong-seok and No-eul. “That’s where you two come in.”

The two guards stiffened slightly at the attention. No-eul spoke first. “We’ve already mapped out the guard shifts and their blind spots. We can secure an exit route while the rest of you handle the control room.”

Gyeong-seok added, “The docks are heavily guarded, but we know the security rotation. If we time it right, we can take control of a transport boat before reinforcements arrive.”

In-ho listened in silence, his mask discarded, exposing a hardened expression. His presence alone was imposing—once the enforcer of the games, now a rogue piece in a collapsing empire.

“And the overseers?” he asked, voice low.

Jun-ho hesitated. “They won’t let this slide. They’ll do everything in their power to contain this before it reaches the outside world. We’re going to have to face them head-on.”

The tension in the air sharpened.

“Good,” In-ho finally said. His gaze flickered to you, then back to the group. “Then we don’t hesitate.”

You studied him, the man who once stood as the face of the system you were now trying to burn to the ground. There was a quiet fire behind his words, something deeper—maybe even regret.

Gi-hun let out a slow breath. “This is our only shot. If we fail, we die here.”

Everyone knew it, but no one backed down.

Gi-hun looked at each of you once more before gripping the pistol at his side. His fingers flexed over the cold metal before he exhaled sharply.

“Let’s end this.”

A brief silence occurred. Then, you nodded, meeting his gaze. “For those we lost.”

The words hung in the air, sealing the fate of what was to come.

No more games. No more survival.

Now, it was war.

——

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A/N: I hope y'all like the concept of their alliance forming once again, minus the other players who really had a higher chance of dying in the actual show (in my opinion though). The epilogue will be up in a few days and I'm taking my time in editing and drafting it. With that, 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 last chapter! ✨

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

>> MASTERLIST

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——

The conference room was cold, as always. The walls were bare, the air thick with the ever-present scent of sterile metal and quiet tension. You sat at the head of the table, eyes scanning over the documents in front of you — the final preparations for the next round of games.

Gi-hun entered moments later, his black mask tucked under his arm. His eyes flickered to the papers, then to you. “You look well-rested,” he noted, settling into his chair. “That’s rare for someone in your position.”

You smirked faintly, about to counter when his gaze landed on your hand. Silence stretched between you as Gi-hun’s eyes locked onto the engagement ring on your finger. His expression was unreadable at first, but then he let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered. “Didn’t think he had it in him.”

You glanced down at the ring, your thumb brushing over the band. “Surprised?”

Gi-hun exhaled through his nose. “Not surprise that he asked. Just surprised that you said yes.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “And why is that?’

Gi-hun leaned back in his chair, tilting his head slightly. “Because you don’t strike me as the type to settle for a man who keeps too many secrets.”

The words cut deep, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you straightened your shoulders, meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve. “I know what I’m doing.”

Gi-hun studied you for a long moment, then gave a slow nod. “If you say so.”

There was something else in his eyes, something unspoken — but you didn’t press. Instead, you moved forward with the meeting, discussing the final arrangements for the games. Gi-hun played along, but you could tell his mind was elsewhere.

Though he never said it outright, you knew he was already calculating his next move. 

The air inside the management sector of the facility was cold, sterile, and suffocating in its silence. The hum of monitors and the faint shuffling of masked guards moving with precision added an eerie rhythm to the stillness. You had grown accustomed to the controlled chaos, the weight of responsibility that came with overseeing the very machine that dictated life and death within the games.

Working alongside In-ho had been a test of both your discipline and your patience. He was methodical, a perfectionist in execution, yet he had an unshakable presence that commanded respect without the need for raised voices. You had learned his habits — the way he tapped his gloved fingers against the table when he was in deep thought, how his sharp eyes scanned over the daily reports with meticulous attention, and the way he adjusted the high collar of his coat as if shielding himself from the weight of his own conscience.

He relied on you, not just as a fellow overseer but as someone he trusted. He never said it outside, but you could see it in the way he glanced at you when a decision needed to be made, in the way he shared information with you that others would ever be privy to. You were his equal in this twisted empire, the one person who stood beside him rather than beneath him.

But the work was relentless.

In order for the games to work, the contestants should be constantly monitored, the staff required strict adherence to protocol, and the VIPs demanded entertainment that bordered on madness. The games would be starting soon and everything had to be perfect.

One evening, as you made your way through the dimly lit corridors of the management sector, something unusual caught your attention. The sound of voices — low and urgent, hushed yet unmistakable. Your footsteps slowed, heart rate quickening as you recognized one of them.

Gi-hun.

That wasn’t unusual. He was the Frontman now, stationed here like you. But the other voice sent a chill down your spine.

You edged closer, ears, straining to catch the words. The cadence, the sharpness — it was familiar in a way that made your stomach drop.

“…If we time it right, we can take out the surveillance feed for at least an hour. That should be enough for extraction.”

“Are you sure about this?” Gi-hun’s voice was quieter, laced with doubt. “She’s part of it now. There’s no telling what she’ll do.”

A pause.

“She deserves to choose.”

Jun-ho.

You stepped forward, your breath caught between disbelief and anger. The moment you emerged into the dimly lit room, both men turned sharply to face you. Gi-hun stiffened, guilt flashing across his face. Jun-ho’s expression was unreadable behind the circle mask he wore, but you could feel his gaze boring into you.

The room felt colder. The weight of their words sank in.

“You,” you whispered, eyes locked onto Jun-ho.

“Surprised?” He asked, his voice steady.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to regain control. “How are you here?”

“That doesn’t matter,” his tone was unreadable. “What matters is that you have a choice to make.”

Gi-hun exhaled sharply. “They’ve been keeping things from you.”

Your fists clenched. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but betrayal isn’t one of my games.”

Jun-ho stepped forward. “Then why do you still hesitate?”

Your lips parted, but no words came.

“You still have your humanity,” he continued, his voice softer now, less like an accusation and more like an offering. “You can feel it, can’t you? This place hasn’t completely taken you.”

Gi-hun chimed in, voice laced with something close to desperation. “You think this is control? That you have a say in anything? The games don’t stop. They never will. Unless someone does something.”

You swallowed, the weight of their words pressing into you like a vice. Jun-ho took one final step forward. “You can either keep lying to yourself or you can decide to change things.”

The choice hung in the air between you, heavy and suffocating. For the first time in a long time, you felt truly, painfully alive. 

——

The walk back to the private felt heavier than usual. Each step echoed against the polished floor, your mind burdened with the weight of what you had just witnessed. Gi-hun and Jun-ho had given you a choice — a choice that shouldn’t have shaken you as much as it did. 

But it did. 

For the first time in a long time, you felt something stir inside you. 

Humanity or whatever was left of it.

Your fingers twitched at your side as you hesitated at the entrance, exhaling sharply before pushing the door open. You expected silence. Instead, you found In-ho already there.

The sight before you made you pause. He sat on the edge of the bed, his back slightly hunched the dim glow of the bedside lamp casting soft shadows across his face. But it wasn’t just his presence that caught you off guard — it was what he was holding.

The small fabric of infant clothing was delicate in his gloved fingers, and beside him, meticulously arranged, were items you hadn’t even noticed before — warm blankets, a baby bottle, small things that would be insignificant to anyone else but to you, they meant everything.

A glimpse of fatherhood.

You didn’t realize how tightly you were holding your breath until you forced yourself to exhale. The sight was so different from the composed, calculating man you worked alongside everyday. Here, in this moment, he was just In-ho. 

Not the Frontman, not the overseer of the games, not the enforcer of death and order. Just a man staring at the fragile reality of the life growing inside you.

“You’re here early,” he murmured, but his voice lacked its usual authority. He didn’t look at you, still fixated on the small piece of cloth in his hands.

You swallowed, stepping further inside. “You weren’t at the conference room. I thought you were still occupied.” You sat on the bed, watching as In-ho knelt in front of you, gently placing his hands over your stomach. His fingers traced delicate patterns over the fabric of your robe, his expression unreadable yet undeniably tender.

“I still can’t believe it,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

You tilted your head. “Believe what?”

“That there’s… life inside of you,” he admitted. His voice was softer than usual, filled with something rare—wonder, maybe even fear.

You reached down, placing your hand over his. “Does it scare you?”

In-ho hesitated before shaking his head. “No. Not in the way you think.”

“Then how?”

He exhaled, eyes flickering up to meet yours. “I’m scared of failing you. Of failing… them.” His gaze drifted back down to your stomach, his hands warm and steady. “I never thought I’d have this again.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, gently threading your fingers through his hair. “You won’t fail,” you whispered. “Not this time.”

In-ho leaned forward, resting his forehead lightly against your stomach, his arms wrapping around you as if trying to shield you from the world.

For the first time in a long while, the weight of the organization, of the games, of everything—faded away. And in that quiet moment, In-ho wasn’t the Overseer.

He was simply a man who wanted to be a father.

Silence stretched between you both, unspoken words lingering in the air like ghosts. Your eyes flickered to the items on the bed again before you found yourself asking a question that’s been lingering on you.

“What’s left of you, In-ho? What humanity do you even have left?”

His expression shifted — subtle, but enough for you to notice the flicker of something deep within his gaze. Something almost vulnerable. His lips pressed together, placing the infant clothing down with deliberate care before turning fully toward you. “I could ask you the same thing,” the countered, voice low. “You tell me, what humanity is left in you? After everything we’ve done?”

You inhaled sharply, but you didn’t look away. “That’s why I’m asking. Because… I don’t know. I was just reminded that I still have it — no matter how much I tried to bury it under power and necessity.”

In-ho’s shoulders tensed. He turned his gaze to the floor, as if searching for an answer he wasn’t ready to admit. “Humanity is a weakness in a place like this. It gets you killed.”

“Then why do you still keep things like this?” You gestured toward the bed where the baby things were placed. “Why do you still hold onto this if you believe we have nothing left?”

He was silent. The question settled deep within him, unraveling something he had kept tightly wound for so long. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost hesitant. “Because I still want to believe that there’s something beyond all of this. That despite everything, I still have a reason to keep going."

Your chest tightened. "Then you still have it," you whispered. "You still have your humanity, In-ho. You just buried it under all the hardship."

His fingers curled into a fist against his knee. "And you? Are you ready to dig yours back out?"

You hesitated, then finally sat beside him. "I don’t know. But I think I’m starting to remember what it felt like."

The room was filled with an unfamiliar quiet—one that neither of you had allowed yourselves to experience in a long time. And for the first time in years, you and In-ho weren’t discussing the games, the organization, or the next strategic move.

You were just two people who had lost themselves along the way, trying to figure out if there was still anything left worth saving.

——

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A/N: A bit of a short chapter today as I want to give my all on the last ones. I'm curious if y'all want a sad ending or a happy ending? Or do y'all want alternative endings? Please 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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CHAPTER 19 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)

>> MASTERLIST

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A/N: This chapter mostly consists of Gi-hun's point of view. I have another chapter ready to make up for more moments with In-ho and the reader. 🫶

——

Gi-hun sat in the dimly lit room, fingers drumming against the armrest of his chair. The call with Jun-ho had ended, but his mind was far from quiet. His gaze flickered to the glass of liquor on the table before him, untouched. He wasn’t in the mood to drink, at least for now.

Instead, his thoughts drifted away as he thought more about his plans, weighing down each every plan a and b, even up to c, down to the end of the alphabet.

Gyeong-seok had entered the games as Player 246. All for his daughter who was waiting for him in the hospital as the bills pile up, all to save her. Along Gi-hun, he endured the horrors alongside the rest. When the rebellion broke out, he had been shot, though not fatal. 

No-eul made sure of that. Instead of leaving him to die, she dragged him away, patching him up in secret.

Then, she had given him a new identity. 

With No-eul’s help, Gyeong-seok had been disguised as a circle guard, blending into the very system that had tried to kill him. It was dangerous, but it gave them eyes inside.

Gyeong-seok blended inside the system well. It was a good thing the system didn’t care much about the circle guards - they had the lowest ranks. In order to be up, they had to do their tasks diligently well or prove something that would make them worthy of a triangle. Gyeong-seok wasn’t interested at all in being a triangle guard — all for his daughter. He needed a way out of this place, his loyalty still on Gi-hun even when the rebellion played, trusting his plans as the Front Man.

No-eul walked with her head held high, her triangle mask disguising the quickened pulse hammering beneath her ribs. Beside her, Gyeong-seok, dressed as a circle guard, carried the package in his gloved hands - a small, unassuming box containing the pregnancy test.

The air between them was thick with tension, neither of them speaking. They couldn’t as the surveillance cameras watched their every move, but even beyond that, there was an unspoken understanding. If they hesitated or if they so much as faltered, it was over.

Gyeong-seok inhaled sharply, his fingers tightening around the box. “She doesn’t know yet, does she?” He whispered under his breath.

No-eul shook her head slightly. “Not for certain.” 

Gyeong-seok exhaled, his breath shaky. “Then we’re about to change her entire life.”

They reached the door as the guard stationed outside barely acknowledged them — just another routine delivery from a superior. No-eul knocked once.

Moments later, the door creaked open.

You stood there as you scanned their masks, a sigh of relief coming out of you as you recognized the same guards you approached. No-eul didn’t speak as she simply extended the small box forward.

You reached out hesitantly, fingers grazing the cardboard edges before taking it fully into your hands. Gyeong-seok saw the shift in your expression as your fingers trembled. You swallowed hard, your eyes darting between them.

You gave them a nod and closed the door. No-eul and Gyeong-seok turned without another word, walking briskly down the corridor, leaving you alone with the truth you were about to uncover.

As they rounded the corner, Gyeong-seok exhaled deeply. “That was nerve-wracking.”

No-eul shot him a sharp look. “We did what we had to do.”

“I know,” he muttered. “I just hope she’s ready.”

No-eul didn’t answer. Because the truth was — no one ever really was. 

Gi-hun walked down the dimly lit hallway, his footsteps slow and deliberate. When he turned the corner, he spotted them — Gyeong-seok and No-eul, stationed outside the Overseer’s private suite. They were standing stiffly, exchanging only the occasional glance. There was something tense in the air around them.

Gi-hun slowed his pace, eyes narrowing. He glanced up at the surveillance cameras overhead, their red lights blinking steadily. Too many eyes. With a subtle motion, he tilted his head towards a corridor to the right — one that led to a maintenance area, just outside the CCTV’s coverage.

No-eul caught on immediately. She tapped Gyeong-seok’s arm, and without hesitation, they followed him.

Once they were in the clear, Gi-hun crossed his arms and gave them both a pointed look. “Talk.”

Gyeong-seok hesitated for only a second before exhaling sharply. “We delivered a pregnancy test.”

Gi-hun’s expression didn’t change, but inside his mask, something twisted. He had expected as much, but hearing it confirmed sent a strange unease through him.

“She asked for it?” He questioned.

No-eul shook her head. “We noticed the signs. She was… avoiding it, but it was obvious.:

Gi-hun stared at them, his mind racing. This wasn’t part of the plan. None of this was. And now, she was carrying a child in this place, surrounded by danger, under In-ho’s control. 

His fingers curled into a fist at his side. For so long, revenge had been the only thing driving him forward. It had been simple. But now… now there was her. 

There was a baby. The thought of dragging an innocent life into this chaos made his stomach churn.

He didn’t speak for a long time. No-eul and Gyeong-seok exchanged glances, but they didn’t push him. They knew better.

Finally, Gi-hun exhaled. “You two did the right thing.”

No-eul relaxed slightly, but Gyeong-seok remained tense, watching Gi-hun closely. “What happens now?” He asked.

Gi-hun didn’t answer immediately. He looked past them, toward the suite, where you were. He thought about the plan, the rebellion, the revenge he had spent months working toward.

And for the first time, he hesitated. He turned away, staring at the floor. “I don’t know.”

Gi-hun wasn’t sure why he even came out of the balcony. Maybe it was instinct — the way he had always been drawn to the quiet moments before everything went to hell. Or maybe it was curiosity, watching you stand alone on the balcony, your arms wrapped around yourself, lost in thought.

He had planned this conversation in his head. He would press, prod, and look for the cracks forming in your resolve. A pregnancy in this place? It was a liability — something he could. 

But as he stepped onto the balcony, on the other side you were already there. He leaned against the railing on his balcony, silent for a moment as he let the cool night air settle. The iland was quiet at this hour, save for the distant sounds of the waves crashing against the shore. 

He had spent so much time trying to picture you as the enemy — someone who had chosen this life, to stand beside In-ho, to uphold the very system he despised.

“You should be more careful.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the exhaustion in your eyes. It wasn’t just physical. It was the kind of tiredness that settled deep in the bones, the kind that didn’t fade with sleep. He hesitated.

He knew that at this moment, he had lost whatever leverage he thought he had as he glimpsed onto your belly. No matter how much he wanted to see you as the enemy, he couldn’t ignore what was right in front of him.

Of course, you shot back, still trying to regain your composure. But Gi-hun already knew what you were feeling — what you were so worried about.

“You should tell him soon,” he murmured. “Secrets have a way of eating people alive. And something tells me that this isn’t one you can keep forever.”

A long silence stretched between you. Gi-hun wasn’t thinking about strategy or even thinking about how to manipulate the situation to his advantage. 

He was just looking at someone who was struggling to breathe under the weight of something far bigger than either of you. And for once, he didn’t want to be the one to make it worse.

Gi-hun let out a frustrated sigh as he lit up a cigarette, placing it in his mouth as he puffed a smoke. He had seen people adapt to survival before, but he would never want an innocent life to fight their way into this place, what more for someone who hasn’t even been born yet? 

For a moment, his mind drifted back to the previous game. The way Hyun-ju had stood amongst the players, her shoulders squared, her eyes fierce. She had fought with everything she had, carving her own path through the trials laid before her.

He remembered the sound of her ragged breathing, the way she wiped blood from her face and pushed forward, even when the odds were stacked against her. She had never begged, never pleaded. She had simply fought.

As the rebellion progressed, the rebels were outnumbered. She went back to the dormitory to find out where Dae-ho had been, seeing him shaking nervously as he was wrapped on the bed, his hands over his ears. Just when she was about to grab the ammos back, the guards had already entered the dormitory, their guns pointed at the remaining players inside.

She fought back, not wanting to back down from the system. Just as when she was about to pull the trigger, the square-masked officer entered and walked towards her.

“Come with us,” the guard said, much to Hyun-ju’s surprise. Reluctantly, she pulled the rifle down as she glared at the officer in front of her, not wanting to show weakness. But right then and there, she knew she wouldn’t survive at all.

Even In-ho was impressed, as he ordered the guards to offer him something more in the system. He knew she had no one to turn to in the outside world, knowing how the world treated trans people outside. At least in this place, she had a purpose.

From the moment she wore the square mask, Hyun-ju moved like she had always belonged. There was no hesitation in her step, no sign of unease as she patrolled the halls of the facility alongside the other guards. She carried herself with an ease that suggested she had been doing this for years.

Gi-hun watched from the monitors, arms crossed over his chest, a frown tugging at his lips. “She’s adjusting fast,” he muttered under his breath.

A part of him should have been impressed. It wasn’t easy to slip into this world and go unnoticed. The hierarchy was rigid, the rules were absolute. But Hyun-ju moved through it like water, slipping between the cracks, bending just enough to not break.

She had already learned the unspoken rules — how to keep her head down when necessary, when to speak, and when to stay silent. The other guards barely questioned her presence, accepting her as one of their own.

He watched as Hyun-ju passed by a group of guards, nodding in acknowledgment but never lingering too long. She was smart. She knew how to avoid drawing suspicion while still observing everything. It was almost frustrating how well she was doing as it meant she was slipping deeper into the organization.

And the deeper she went, the harder it would be to pull her out. 

As Gi-hun puffed another smoke, his heart felt heavier as his mind drifted over the fallen players — Geum-ja, Yong-sik, Myung-gi, Dae-ho, and… Jung-bae. 

The worst part was how he couldn’t do anything at that time, watching them through the monitors as In-ho trapped him in an isolated room, watching them die one by one.

He remembered how he watched them fall one by one, their faces and movements struggling as they progressed through the games. Their bodies still held a vivid memory in his mind, scattered across the arena like discarded pieces in a cruel game.

Except for Jung-bae, who was shot by In-ho himself right in front of his eyes with no hesitation.

Geum-ja’s laughter still rang in his ears, sharp and defiant even in the face of death. She had been the first to die, standing tall even as the bullet tore through her. She spat blood, wiped her mouth, and cursed the organization with her last breath.

They had shot her again just to shut her up. The fire in her gaze was still there, that unbreakable will even as her body hit the ground.

Yong-sik lasted longer than anyone expected, his hands trembling though his heart had been steady. He tried to shield a younger player, stepping in front of them without hesitation. But then, the bullet ripped through his back.

He fell to the ground, gasping for air, his fingers clawing at the dirt. The younger player he had tried to save didn’t even look back. He had known what was coming as he still let out a smile before his vision faded into darkness.

“Eomma, wait for me.”

Myung-gi had fought. He had always been a fighter. He didn’t go down easily even when Thanos and Nam-gyu threatened his life a lot of times. 

His screams echoed through the halls as he wrestled with Nam-gyu, blood staining his hands, his face, and his clothes. Nam-gyu didn’t stop, trying to avenge Thanos’ death.  He had beaten him into dirt, but he had still gotten up.

Even with a broken arm, and even with his ribs caving in.

He looked up at Jun-hee one last time, whose face watched in horror as she clutched her belly. He managed to give her a smile as he glanced at her belly.

“Please survive.”

Then with one last punch from Nam-gyu, he was knocked out dead. His body had finally dropped, as if all the fight had finally drained out of him.

Dae-ho was different. Even in the darkness of the games, he managed to keep everyone light. He was strong and resourceful — surviving longer than most. But even the strongest had their limits.

He made it to the final round as the last three players, him, Jun-hee, and Player 021, had been pitted against each other in a brutal endurance challenge, forced to fight until only one remained. 

Dae-ho had held on longer than anyone expected. He was wounded, exhausted, and barely able to stand, but he still fought with everything he had left.

But in the end, it hadn’t been a fair fight. 

He saw Player 021 about to attack Jun-hee, who was sleeping on the other side of the dorm. He immediately noticed the makeshift weapon on his hand — a piece of shattered glass. 

With one last courage he had, as if to redeem the failure of delivering the ammos to the rebels, he ran towards the player and knocked him down. He fought relentlessly, gripping the other player’s neck. Jun-hee opened her eyes, waking up from the grunts near her. She screamed, though she couldn’t move. She felt a sharp pain in her belly as she tried to move.

Dae-ho successfully removes the shattered glass from the other player’s hand, diving the glass into the player’s neck, the blood sputtering out of him. But then, the other player’s reflexes were much faster, gripping Dae-ho’s hand with the shattered glass as he pulled it out of him, much to Dae-ho’s shock.

Then, Player 021 shot the glass into Dae-ho’s neck, letting out an ear-piercing scream as Dae-ho stumbled, clutching at the wound, his hands slick with blood. He had looked up, locking eyes with Jun-hee. He wanted to say something, but the wound was so deep that even the last sign of life faded into him in a snap.

Gi-hun’s hands trembled as he reached for another cigarette in his pocket. The lighter barely caught flame as he lit the end, inhaling deeply, as if the smoke could fill the void their deaths had left inside him. 

Then, the memories shifted towards the closest people he had in the games.

Jung-bae’s last moments weren’t at the hands of the other players. It had been In-ho.

Gi-hun had been there, kneeling in front of the Frontman, forced to watch as Jung-bae knelt on the ground beside him. The moment stretched out endlessly, suffocating in its inevitability. 

Jung-bae stare still haunted Gi-hun as In-ho pointed his gun at him, muttering his name.

“Gi-hun…”

Then, a shot rang out.

Gi-hun flinched as another piece of his resolve splintered away, leaving behind nothing but raw, seething anger as he clutched Jung-bae’s body beside him. 

Jung-bae had died, just like Sang-woo had — in his arms. Another person who could have lived, if not for this cursed game.

But then, Gi-hun’s mind made a dangerous connection. 

It hit him all at once — how you reminded him of Sang-woo. The way you strategized, the way you moved through the games with ruthless efficiency. The way you fought to survive, no matter the cost. But even with that, there was something different. Something he had seen in you that Sang-woo had lost by the end.

Humanity.

You still had it, buried beneath the weight of power and love. You were blinded by it, but it was still there.

Gi-hun exhaled slowly, pressing his cigarette into the ashtray. The ember dimmed, turning to dust. He wasn’t sure if you could be saved.

But he knew that he wouldn’t let you be consumed by the same fate, even if it meant going against you too.

The plan was set in motion. The cracks were forming. Any time, the organization would fall. He just had to time it really well.

But now, there was you. You were a liability.

It was a cruel thought, one he hated himself for even considering. But it was the truth. Your pregnancy complicated everything. It made the plan fragile and uncertain. In-ho would never let anything happen to you. If he even suspected that Gi-hun was plotting against the organization, he would tighten security, make sure nothing touched you or the child growing inside you.

He had promised himself that he would tear his place down, that he wouldn’t let another batch of desperate souls be slaughtered like cattle. The next season of the games was set to begin soon as the selection process was already underway. If he wanted to stop it before it even began, he needed to act now.

But, could he risk it?

His hand moved to his temple, massaging away the headache that had been brewing all day. He thought about you — the way you stood on the balcony that night, staring into the dark horizon, lost in thought. He thought about the weight you carried, the uncertainty in your eyes. 

Would he be willing to put you through even more?

Would he be willing to put your child through it?

Gi-hun’s jaw tighteneed.

Damn it.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.

He had planned for everything — the guards, hierarchy, hidden tunnels, external leaks. But he didn’t plan for you to be carrying In-ho’s child, for you to be tangled in something so deep that he wasn’t sure he could pull you out without everything else collapsing.

Gi-hun closed his eyes, exhaling sharply through his nose. He needed to decide.

Time was running out.

——

You had lost count of how many times you had woken up on the couch, the ache in your back growing worse with each passing night. But tonight was different.

You were in bed.

Warmth surrounded you as the familiar scent of In-ho filled the air. Your body stirred as you felt something soft and lingering, a gentle press against your forehead. Then another, this time on your cheek.

A kiss.

Your eyelashes fluttered open, and in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, you saw him. In-ho was hovering over you, his expression soft in a way you hadn’t seen in what felt like forever. His fingers brushed against your hair, tucking a stray behind your ear as his lips ghosted over your skin again.

“In-ho…” your voice was hoarse from sleep, but before you could say more, he leaned down, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss.

It was different from the ones before. This one wasn’t desperate, fueled by frustration, or unspoken words. It was warm, reassuring, filled with quiet apologies neither of you had spoken aloud. When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet of your shared space.

“I missed you,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “I hated waking up without you beside me.”

Your chest tightened. The past few weeks had been unbearable, the distance, the fights, the silence between you. But here he was, holding you again, and you realized just how much you had missed him too.

“I missed you too,” you whispered back, your fingers reaching up to cup his face. “I was just… hurt.”

“I know,” he said softly, his eyes filled with regret. “I should’ve been there for you. I should’ve—“ He paused, exhaling shakily. “I don’t want to fight anymore.”

You curled into him, burying your face into his neck as his arms wrapped around you. For the first time in weeks, you felt at peace. The rise and fall of his chest soothed you, the steady beat of his heart anchoring you.

And then, you felt a small movement from him.

In-ho pulled back slightly, reaching for something on the bedside table. You frowned as he brought out a small velvet box, his fingers gripping it tightly. Your breath hitched.

“In-ho…?”

He exhaled sharply before opening the box, revealing a ring inside — a simple yet elegant band that shimmered under the soft light.

“I wanted to do this sooner,” he admitted, voice shaking every so slightly. “But everything happened so fast. And I know I’ve made mistakes. I know I hurt you. But please believe me when I say that I love you.” His fingers trembled as he took the ring from its box, holding it between you. “I love you more than anything. I want to spend the rest of my life proving that to you.”

Tears welled in your eyes.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he continued, his gaze searching yours, raw and vulnerable. “I don’t want to wake up without you ever again. So please…” He swallowed hard. “Marry me.”

A sob escaped your lips as you nodded, barely able to speak. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Yes, my In-ho.”

Relief washed over his face as he slipped the ring onto your finger, his hands shaking slightly. And the moment it settled in place, he kissed you again. This time, it was deeper, with more urgency, as if he never wanted to let go.

The world outside the suite was cruel, but here, wrapped in each other’s arms, the cruelty melted away. In-ho held you close, your bare skin pressed against his as the soft glow of the bedside lamp bathed you both in warm light. The silence between you wasn’t tense. It was comforting, filled with unspoken emotions, heavy with the weight of everything you had endured.

His fingers traced gentle patterns on your back, absentmindedly following the curve of your spine as you both lay tangled beneath the sheets. You stared at the ceiling, breathing in the lingering scent of him, of the night you had just shared.

It had been slow and tender — nothing like the desperate moments before, where anger or sorrow drove you into each other’s arms. This time, it had been about healing and love.

You sighed, a small smile ghosting your lips. “Do you remember the first time we met?”

In-ho let out a low chuckle. “Of course, I do. You threw a rock at me.”

You laughed, turning your head to face him. “You deserved it.”

He smirked. “I was just trying to get your attention.”

“You were annoying,” you teased, poking his side.

“And yet, you still fell for me,” he countered, his voice dropping into something softer. “Even after everything.”

You swallowed hard. “I never stopped.”

His hand reached up to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he stared at you, like he was memorizing every inch of you. “Neither did I.”

The room fell into silence again, but this time, it wasn’t peaceful. A lingering thought hung between you both, unspoken but present.

Jun-ho.

You shifted slightly, breaking eye contact. “I spoke to Jun-ho before,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “He… he gave me options, Told me I could turn you in or that I could live the rest of my life with a lie.”

In-ho stiffened beside you. His fingers tensed against your skin, but he didn’t pull away. He exhaled slowly. “And yet, here you are.”

You nodded. “I couldn’t do it. No matter what you’ve done… I couldn’t betray you.”

He was silent for a long moment, and then he sighed, running a hand through his air. “I’ve tightened security. No one gets in or out without me knowing.”

Your stomach twisted at that. You knew what he was implying. Jun-ho wouldn’t have a second chance at infiltrating this place. If he tried, he would be caught. And you knew what happened to those who got caught.

You turned onto your side, pressing your forehead against his chest. “In-ho…”

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer. “I know,” he murmured.

The warmth of his embrace soothed you, but the unease remained. Then, without thinking, you whispered. “What about Gi-hun?”

In-ho tensed again. You pulled back slightly to look at him, catching the flicker of something dark in his expression. “He’s been a problem,” In-ho admitted, voice low. “For a while now.”

You frowned. “A problem?”

He hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. “He’s not the same man who won the games. He’s dangerous. He asks too many questions, pushes too hard. He’s always watching, always waiting for something.”

You bit your lip. “Do you think he’s planning something?”

In-ho sighed, rubbing his temple. “If he is, it won’t matter. Not with the security we have in place.”

You nodded, but a strange unease settled in your chest. 

Neither of you knew it yet, anyway.

——

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A/N: For those reading this a bit early, I am currently editing the next chapter and will have it up in a few minutes. Please feel free to leave out your thoughts here, and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶

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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 (p.s. if i forget to you, please let me know)

CHAPTER 18 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)

>> MASTERLIST

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——

The weight of the silence between you was suffocating.

In-ho’s eyes were still locked on you, his gaze unreadable,  his body tense as if he were forcing himself to stay still. Then, his voice cut through the air.

“Since when?”

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling into your palms. “I… I don’t know exactly. I started feeling different a few days ago, but I confirmed it last night.”

You noticed In-ho’s jaw tightened. You could feel his mind racing, trying to piece together everything at once, but then his gaze sharpened, something dark flickering in his eyes. “And how does Gi-hun know?”

“He… noticed,” you hesitated. “He’s been watching me. He figured it out before I could even say anything.”

In-ho let out a sharp breath, almost a bitter chuckle. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his entire body becoming rigid, like a man standing on the edge of a breaking dam,

You took a careful step toward him, reaching out as you wanted to close the space between you. “In-ho, please—“

But the moment, your fingertips barely brushed against his sleeve, he jerked away. Without a word, he turned on his heel and stormed towards the exit.

“In-ho!” You called out, moving after him as you followed him down the halls of the facility as he marched toward your private suite. “Please just stop — talk to me!”

But he didn’t even glance back.

Then, the moment he entered the suite, the tension snapped. You barely had time to step inside before he grabbed the first thing within reach — an empty glass on the kitchen counter — and hurled it across the room. The sharp sound of shattering glass echoed against the walls. You flinched, your breath hitching.

But, In-ho wasn’t done. His hands gripped at the edge of the counter, his breath heavy and erratic.

“Where is it?” His voice was low, shaking with barely contained frustration.

Your stomach twisted. “What?”

“The test,” he snapped, his eyes burning into yours. “Where the fuck is it?”

You couldn’t answer. Instead, you felt your body tremble, overwhelmed by the sheer force of emotions crashing over you. In-ho let out a ragged breath, his frustration boiling over as he grabbed a nearby lamp and sent it crashing to the floor. 

Tears welled in your eyes, your chest tightening painfully. “In-ho, stop!” Your voice cracked.

But he wasn’t listening. His hands tore through the room, opening drawers, and shoving things aside as he searched. You felt a sob build in your throat, raw and aching.

Then, he stopped.

Your breath hitched as you watched him reach for your robe, the one you had worn the night before. His hands searched through the fabric, his movements slowing and becoming eerily calm. Then, his fingers curled around something inside the pocket, pulling it out.

The pregnancy test.

The room fell into a deathly silence. You could hear nothing but the shallow rise and fall of your own breathing, the erratic thumping of your heart inside your chest. In-ho just stared at it, but he didn’t move or speak. He just stood there, staring at the little piece of plastic in his hands as if it held the weight of the entire world.

His lips parted, his voice barely above a whisper. “This is real?”

Tears slipped down your cheeks as you nodded. His grip tightened around the test, his knuckles turning white. His shoulders trembled, his breath uneven.

You didn’t know what he was thinking. You weren’t sure if he was angry, if he was scared, or if he was mourning the life he had before this moment.

All you knew was that he was breaking in front of you.

In-ho’s grip on the pregnancy test trembled as his shoulders tensed, his breathing continued to be uneven and sharp.

But then, he broke down.

A shuddering breath escaped him, and before you could even react, his knees buckled slightly, forcing him to lean against the nearest wall for support. His fingers curled so tightly around the test that you thought he might break it in half. His head lowered, dark strands of hair falling over his eyes, but you could see the way his entire body trembled, the way his chest heaved as silent sobs wracked through him, the tears slipping down his face.

“I should have been the first know,” he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. “I should have been the first to know about this.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he wasn’t done. His mind drifted farther until his voice was no longer meant for you, but for someone who no longer existed.

In-ho had been running late that day. The hospital corridors felt suffocating, the air sterile and thick with antiseptic. The doctor stood in front of him, a clipboard in hand, a carefully controlled expression on her face.

“We ran more tests,” the doctor said. “And… there’s something else we need to inform you of.”

His stomach twisted. “What is it?”

“She’s pregnant.”

The words crashed over him, stunning him into silence. He felt his heart stutter, his mind scrambling to process and understand it. 

His wife. His love.

But the doctor’s expression remained grim. The weight of reality hit him before she even said the next words. “She didn’t want you to know… yet,” the doctor admitted softly. “She wanted to tell you herself, but… she didn’t get the chance.”

His breath caught in his throat, knowing she didn’t get the chance because she was already sick and slipping away. The time he had left with her was already running out.

In-ho’s breath hitched as he returned to the present, to the cold walls of the Overseer’s suite, to the woman standing before him — the one carrying his child now. 

But it wasn’t his wife this time.

It was you.

The one who had kept this from him. The one who had told Gi-hun before telling him.

“Why… why did I have to hear it from him?” In-ho’s voice cracked, raw with pain as the ache in his chest was unbearable. “Why did you let him figure it out first?”

You understood his pain. You understood why this hurt him so much. But that didn’t mean you weren’t angry.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, your own emotions bubbling to the surface. “That’s what you’re worried about?” Your voice shook, not from sadness, but from pure, simmering rage. “That you weren’t the first to know?”

In-ho flinched.

“You haven’t even asked how I feel, In-ho!” You took a step forward, your anger now burning hot in your veins. “You haven’t asked if I’m okay, if I’m scared, if I—“ your voice cracked, but you pushed forward. “All you care about is that someone else found out before you.”

His eyes widened, guilt washing over his face. “That’s not what I meant—“

“Then what did you mean?” You cut him off, your heart pounding against your ribs. “Because right now, it sounds like you’re more concerned about your own pain than what I’m going through!”

The words hit him like a bullet. He opened his mouth then closed it. For the first time, he had nothing to say. Your breath was heavy, your hands trembling from the sheer weight of your emotions.

In-ho reached for you, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry.”

But you took a step back.

Your voice wavered, but the fire in your eyes didn’t dim. “Do you even hear yourself, In-ho?” You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze despite the tightness in your throat. “Do you know how much it hurts to see you care more about when you found out than what this actually means for us?”

You noticed his jaw clenched, but you continued to speak, stepping back as the weight of everything crushed down on your chest.

“If you don’t want this child, just say it.”

In-ho’s entire body stiffened.

“I can live with that,” you continued, your voice thick with emotion. “I can raise this child on my own.”

Frustration bled into his expression, his brows furrowing deeply. “That’s not fair.”

“Now you want to talk about fairness?” You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. “You know what’s unfair? It’s unfair that I had to go through this alone because I was scared of how you’d react. It’s unfair that instead of asking if I was okay, you made it about yourself. It’s unfair that I had to hear you break down over the fact that someone else figured it out before you rather than you asking me how I felt about carrying your child.”

In-ho rand a hand through his har, his frustration bubbling over. “You don’t get it, Y/N.”

“No, I do,” you said, your eyes burning as you stared at him. “And maybe that’s the problem.”

A heavy silence fell between you. 

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, you asked the question that had been clawing at your chest for so long. 

“Do you see her when you look at me?”

In-ho stared at you, his breath hitching.

“Is that why you chose me?” Your voice trembled, but you forced yourself to keep going. “Because I remind you of her? Because I happened to walk into your life at the right time? Because I gave you something to hold on to?”

His eyes darkened with hurt. “That’s not—“

“Then prove me wrong.”

He stepped forward, his hands twitching as if he wanted to reach for you. “You’re not her,” his voice was low and insistent. “You never were.”

“Then love me for who I am, not because I remind you of someone you lost.”

“I do,” he said immediately, desperation clinging to every syllable. 

But you didn’t buy it. Your heart ached, your mind spinning, your emotions raw and exposed. And then, you turned on your heel and stormed out of the room.

You didn’t stop when In-ho called your name, even when you heard the sound of something slamming behind you, his own frustration boiling over. 

You just kept walking because, at that moment, you weren’t sure if you could bear to look at him anymore.

——

The next few days felt as if the air between you and In-ho had become suffocating, weighed down by everything left unsaid. You fell into an unspoken rhythm of avoidance — one that neither of you openly acknowledged, yet both of you adhered to. 

In the control room, you made sure to keep your focus on the screens, never lingering too long in the same space as him. If he walked in, you found an excuse to leave. If he spoke, you kept your replies clipped and professional, just enough to acknowledge his words without offering anything more.

During meetings, you sat across from him instead of beside him. Whenever he directed questions at you, you answered without looking at him directly. The once seamless coordination between the two of you now felt forced and fragmented.

You had been seeing the facility’s medical team more often — not because you wanted to, but because In-ho had made it happen. You overheard the rders he gave to the guards, low and firm.

“Make sure she gets regular checkups.”

The first time you caught wind of it, irritation burned in your chest. He wouldn’t talk to you, wouldn’t ask how you were feeling, but he was ensuring that you were being monitored.

You could have refused, but you knew better. The guards had their orders and there was no point in arguing with them. So, you endured it. You let the doctors examine you, take your vitals, and run tests — all while resentment simmered beneath your skin.

The nights were even worse. You’ve been sleeping on the couch, much to In-ho’s dismay.

The first night you did it, he stood by the bedroom door, watching you with an unreadable expression. He didn’t say anything or didn’t order you back into bed. But you saw the flicker of something in his eyes, something along the lines of hurt and frustration.

After that, it became a routine.

Every night, you would curl up on the couch and In-ho would hesitate. You could feel his gaze on you, heavy with things he wanted to say but never did. More than once, he lingered in the doorway, debating whether to wake you or at least sit with you. But you always made sure to finish your tasks early, retreating to the couch before he had a chance to do anything. 

The small gestures didn’t stop though. You started to notice the little things.

A warm blanket draped over you when you woke up. Your favorite tea was placed near your work station everyday. A chair subtly pulled out for you before meetings. A selection of nutritious meals appeared on your desk, all tailored for pregnancy.

In-ho never mentioned them or even took credit. But you knew. Yet each time, you dismissed it. 

Because kindness wasn’t what you needed from him right now.

Then one night, everything shifted. You had been working late, caught up in monitoring the latest developments in the games. By the time you finished, exhaustion clung to your limbs like a heavy fog. You made your way back to the private suite, your steps slow, your mind clouded with fatigue. When you pushed open the door, you froze.

In-ho was already there, but he wasn’t in the bedroom.

He was on the couch, his long frame stretched out, one arm draped over his eyes. His breaths were steady and deep, indicating the quiet rhythm of sleep.

Your chest tightened at the sight of him already falling asleep there. For a moment, you just stood there, taking it in. It wasn’t like him to fall asleep outside of bed. He was always composed and controlled. Yet here he was, exhaustion pulling him under in the very place you had chosen to isolate yourself.

And for the first time in days, you wondered if this hurt him just as much as it hurt you.

——

The phone rang twice before a quiet click sounded on the end. Gi-hun leaned against the desk in his private quarters, staring at the closed door as he lowered his voice.

“It’s me.”

A beat of silence. Then, the voice came through, hushed but sharp. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?”

Gi-hun smirked dryly. “I could say the same to you. You’re the one still breathing in their walls.”

A sharp exhale can be heard on the other line. “I don’t have a choice.”

“No,” Gi-hun agreed. “You don’t.” 

The silence between them was thick, stretching over the static hum of the secure line they had managed to establish. A stolen moment in the middle of a war they had yet to declare.

“What do you have for me?”

Gi-hun hesitated. Then, in a voice lower than before, he finally spoke. “She’s pregnant.”

“What?!”

“You heard me,” Gi-hun leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling. “He already knows. Things are going to change. We can use this.”

“You’re not going to use her as leverage.”

“I don’t plan to,” Gi-hun muttered. “But you and I both know she complicates things.”

“Gi-hun—“

“Listen,” Gi-hun cut him off, his voice sharp. “I’m not heartless. I’m not going to put her in harm’s way. But don’t act like this doesn’t change everything,” he paused for a moment, then continued. “She’s carrying his child. That’s a weakness whether he admits it or not.”

Another exhale can be heard on the other line as Gi-hun sensed the conflict in it. “I need you to swear to me, Gi-hun. No matter what happens, you don’t kill her.”

Gi-hun closed his eyes. “I swear.”

“They’ve increased security in the lower sectors. I think In-ho knows something is off. We need to move carefully.”

“I know,” Gi-hun’s grip tightened around the phone. “We need proof. Something undeniable. When we strike, it has to be final.”

“Then we wait.”

Gi-hun nodded to himself. “We wait.”

----

The city was suffocating. After months of breathing in the sterile, artificial air of the island, stepping back onto the grimy, bustling streets of Seoul felt almost foreign. The neon lights blurred through the car’s tinted windows, the chatter of pedestrians muffled by the hum of traffic.

Gi-hun sat in the backseat, his gloved fingers gripping the mask resting on his lap.  He hated it, but it got him here. It got him past the organization’s watchful eyes long enough to set things in motion.

The car came to a stop in front of a dimly lit alleyway. He exhaled slowly, reaching for the handle, stepping out into the cold night air. 

Jun-ho was waiting. He was dressed in civilian clothees, the detective lingered near the entrance of an abandoned shop, his cap pulled low over his eyes. The moment he saw Gi-hun, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“Thought you were dead,” Jun-ho muttered.

“Thought you were smarter than that,” Gi-hun shot back, stepping closer. His voice was quieter now. “We don’t have much time.”

Jun-ho leaned in, trying to listen.

Gi-hun took a deep breath. “I have a plan.”

Jun-ho raised a brow. “A plan?”

“I need you on the island,” Gi-hun said. “Inside. Getting evidence.”

Jun-ho’s jaw tightened. “You want me to go back? Are you out of your mind?”

“You were there once,” Gi-hun pushed. “You know how things work. I can get you in. But this time, you’re not sneaking around blind.” He leaned in slightly. “This time, we do it right.”

Jun-ho crossed his arms, skepticism clear in his sharp gaze. “And what’s your role in this? You’re their damn Frontman now.”

Gi-hun’s stomach twisted at the title. “I’m playing the long game,” he admitted. “I take orders. I follow protocol. I act like I belong.” He exhaled sharply. “And I wait for the moment we can tear them down from the inside.”

Silence stretched between them as Jun-ho searched his face, looking for any sign of hesitation. “You sure you’re not just becoming one of them?” He finally asked, voice laced with warning.

Gi-hun’s blood ran cold. He knew he wasn’t and he couldn’t. 

But before he could answer, Jun-ho sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “You already have a way to get me in, don’t you?”

Gi-hun nodded.

“Fine,” Jun-ho muttered. “Let’s do this.”

The island was just as Jun-ho remembered as he stood stiffly in the corner of a dimly lit locker room, adjusting the red jumpsuit over his body. The mask in his hands felt heavier than before.

He glanced at the reflective surface of his mask, a hollow, empty shape staring back at him. He was one of them now. Gi-hun stood beside him, already back in his Frontman uniform, the dark mask covering his face.

“This is your only chance,” Gi-hun murmured lowly. “Get what you need. Photos. Documents. Recordings. Anything.”

Jun-ho nodded once, slipping the mask over his face. They stepped into the facility’s endless halls as they made their first step into their plan — taking it all down.

——

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A/N: What did you think about the turn of events of this series? I'm very excited to see where this series is going. Now, I'm already plotting the epilogue as I've finished drafting the remaining chapters. Please 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 @theredvelvetbitch @cherryheairt @voxslays @thebluehair23 @coruja12345 @alliyah-ll @spiritualgirly444 (p.s. if i forget to you, please let me know)