Chapter Text
The evening chill gnawed at Jun-ho’s skin as he walked briskly away from the hospital, his hands shoved deep into the worn pockets of his jacket. The ache in his feet from hours of standing and pacing in his mother’s room didn’t compare to the deeper, gnawing pain of his thoughts.
150 million Won.
That number had burned itself into his mind like a brand. His debt had spiraled out of control, swelling with each passing month, each new bill for his mother’s endless treatments. No matter how many corners he cut or loans he took, it was never enough. The hospital’s antiseptic-scented halls, the mechanical beeps of life-support machines, and Dr. Min-Soo’s neutral, measured tones had become his second reality.
He adjusted his pace as he neared the subway station. The faint rumble of passing a car echoing through the streets, and Jun-ho glanced at his phone. 7:47 p.m. He was late—again. The chief had already been on his case about his recent absences, and Jun-ho knew he couldn’t afford to push his luck any further. He quickened his steps, ignoring the hollow ache in his stomach. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but hunger felt like a luxury he didn’t have time for.
As Jun-ho approached the subway entrance, a figure seated on a nearby bench caught his eye. At first, he barely noticed the man—just another commuter, clean-cut and dressed sharply in a tailored suit. His polished leather shoes gleamed even under the dull glow of the streetlights, and a sleek briefcase rested at his side. But something about him didn’t fit.
The man’s posture was too relaxed, his head tilted slightly as though he were watching the world with amusement. And his eyes—dark and sharp, almost predatory—tracked Jun-ho with a disconcerting precision. When their gazes met, the man smiled.
Not a polite smile. Not a casual, passing smile. It was something else entirely: too wide, too knowing, as if he’d been waiting specifically for Jun-ho.
“Rough day?” the man asked casually, as if they were old friends.
Jun-ho slowed, frowning. His eyes darted over the man, searching for any sign of recognition. Did he know him? No, he was sure he’d never seen this man before. The man’s smile widened, showing teeth that were white and unnervingly even.
Jun-ho glanced over his shoulder, his instincts flaring. The street behind him was mostly empty save for a few hurried pedestrians and a couple of food delivery scooters zipping by. He looked back at the man. “Do I know you?”
The man chuckled softly, a rich, almost musical sound. “Not yet,” he said, his tone casual, as though they were old acquaintances catching up after years apart. “You look like someone carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.”
Jun-ho’s frown deepened. What was this guy’s angle? He looked like a typical businessman, but there was something off about him, like the slight tilt of his head or the way his gaze never seemed to waver.
“I’m fine,” Jun-ho said curtly, brushing past him. He didn’t have time for cryptic strangers, not when his mind was already drowning in worry.
“I can help, you know,” the man called after him.
Jun-ho froze. The man’s words sliced through the noise in his head like a knife. Slowly, he turned back, narrowing his eyes. “What did you just say?”
The man stood, moving with an unsettling grace. He brushed invisible lint from his suit before picking up his briefcase. “I said I can help,” he repeated, his smile never wavering.
Jun-ho’s stomach churned with suspicion. “Help with what?”
The man didn’t answer immediately, standing up and brushing invisible dust from his suit. He reached down for his briefcase and with deliberate care, he opened it to reveal two brightly folded squares of paper, one blue and one red, and stacks of cash.
“Ddakji,” the man said, holding up the squares for Jun-ho to see.
Jun-ho blinked, his brow furrowing. “You’re kidding.”
The man’s smile seemed to grow.
“Not at all,” the man said smoothly. “One round. If you win, you get 100,000 Won.”
Jun-ho almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Almost. But something about the man’s unflinching gaze stopped him.
“And if I lose?” Jun-ho asked, his voice edged with skepticism.
“You pay me 100,000 won,” the man replied, his smile sharpening.
Jun-ho scoffed. “I don’t have that kind of money.”
The man’s expression didn’t falter. In fact, his smile seemed to deepen, as though he’d been expecting that response. “Then you pay with your body.”
Jun-ho’s stomach twisted at the words. His mind immediately jumped to the worst possible conclusion, and his disgust must have shown because the man let out a soft chuckle. “Not like that,” he said, shaking his head. “If you lose, I slap you. Simple as that.”
The sheer absurdity of the offer almost made Jun-ho walk away. But then his phone buzzed in his pocket, the familiar notification sound that always heralded another reminder of his debts. His mind flashed to his mother’s hospital room, to the stack of unpaid bills sitting on his desk.
One round.
“What’s the catch?” Jun-ho asked, narrowing his eyes.
“No catch,” the man replied, holding out the squares. “Blue or red?”
Jun-ho stared at the squares, then back at the man’s face. Something about his calm demeanor, his too-perfect smile, made Jun-ho’s skin crawl. But 100,000 won … Jun-ho needed that money.
He clenched his jaw. “Blue,” he said, snatching the square from the man’s hand.
The man stepped back, gesturing to the ground. “You first.”
Jun-ho crouched down, gripping the paper tightly. He felt the weight of the man’s gaze as he lined up his strike. With a sharp motion, he slammed his square against the red one. It stayed on the ground, unmoving.
The man smiled, kneeling to retrieve a square. His movements were practiced. In one swift motion, he flipped Jun-ho’s square.
“Well,” the man said, rising to his feet, “a deal’s a deal.”
Before Jun-ho could react, the man’s hand came down hard across his cheek. The slap was sharp, ringing in his ears and stinging his skin. He stumbled back, clutching his face, his heart pounding with humiliation and anger.
“Care for another round?” the man asked lightly, as though this were all a friendly game.
Jun-ho glared at him, anger bubbling in his chest. Every fiber of his being told him to walk away, to leave this strange man and his ridiculous game behind. But the thought of 100,000 won—of the medication it could buy—kept him rooted in place. He clenched his fists.
“Fine. One more.”
–
The game dragged on, each slap burning hotter than the last, until finally, miraculously, Jun-ho’s square flipped. The man clapped his hands together in mock celebration, holding a crisp 100,000 bill out for Jun-ho to take.
“You’ve earned it,” the man said, handing it over.
Jun-ho stared at the money, his hands trembling. “Is this some kind of scam?”
“Not at all,” the man replied, reaching into his pocket. He produced a small brown card, printed with a triangle, circle, and square, and a number on the back.
“If you’re interested in earning more,” the man said, handing Jun-ho the card, “call this number.”
Jun-ho hesitated before taking the card. Something about all of this felt wrong, but the money in his hand told a different story.
The man tipped his head in farewell, his smile lingering as he walked away, leaving Jun-ho alone. Cars roared in the distance, and the cold wind bit at his skin, but he barely noticed.
For a long time, Jun-ho didn’t move. Finally, he slipped the card into his pocket and headed down into the station, the idea of the games burrowing into his mind like a splinter.
Notes:
This Chapter has been Edited :)
Chapter Text
For the next few days, the card felt like a weight in Jun-ho’s wallet. He tried to ignore it, but its presence loomed like a silent accusation. Every time he opened his wallet—to pay for coffee, groceries, or a bus fare—it stared back at him, a reminder of the man on the bench and the game they’d played.
The whole situation had reeked of manipulation. The way the man had handed Jun-ho the card, the slick confidence in his too-wide smile, and the cryptic promise of more money—it was almost textbook. Every instinct in Jun-ho’s gut screamed that something about it wasn’t right. And as a detective, he knew better than most how predators worked, dangling bait in front of desperate people, coaxing them closer until they were caught in a trap they couldn’t escape.
Yet here he was, still thinking about that damn card.
The promise of money was tempting. It tugged at him with every new notification on his phone, a constant assault of red numbers and overdue warnings. Your balance is past due. Final notice before collections. Payment required immediately. Each alert felt like a blow.
He’d tried everything. Cut expenses to the bone, sold anything of value he had left, and taken on shifts so long they left him stumbling home in a haze, only to come back to the station an hour later. But no matter how hard he worked, the debt only grew.
“Poor guy,” someone muttered once when they thought he couldn’t hear. “Must be tough.”
“Yeah, but you know how his brother ended up,” another voice chimed in. “Watch him crack.”
Jun-ho felt his stomach tighten. The mention of his brother was a dagger. That was a wound he didn’t dare reopen. Worse, though, were the uglier whispers.
“Bet he’s taking bribes too. That whole family’s a mess.”
The words stung more than they should have. Jun-ho wanted to snap back, to yell that he’d done nothing wrong, that he was doing everything he could to stay afloat. But shouting wouldn’t change their minds. To them, he wasn’t the competent, respected detective he used to be. He was just another man with a shadow hanging over him.
That morning, Chief Kim had called him into his office. The chief’s eyes had been heavy with concern as Jun-ho had sat down, and his voice had carried an almost fatherly tone.
“Jun-ho,” the chief had begun, “you’re slipping. You used to be one of the best on the force. Now I can barely recognize you.”
Jun-ho had sat silently, staring at the stack of files on the chief’s desk.
“I know it’s difficult,” the chief had continued, his tone softening, “but you’ve got to shape up. We can’t have any problems right now.” He had paused, leaning forward slightly. “You’ve been gone too long. Twenty days, Jun-ho. You didn’t call, text, or let anyone know what was going on. I’m trying to save your ass here, man.”
Jun-ho had bit his tongue, holding back the urge to lash out. The chief meant well—he always had—but words weren’t going to pay hospital bills. They weren’t going to make his mother’s condition miraculously improve.
“I understand, Chief,” Jun-ho had said finally, his voice flat.
The chief had studied him for a moment longer, as if trying to decide whether to push further, then had sighed. “Get it together, Jun-ho. That’s all I’m asking.”
—
Jun-ho leaned back in his chair, staring at his phone’s cracked screen. His eyes flicked to the card lying on the table. It was absurd. How could something so small feel like it had the power to reshape his entire life?
He tapped his fingers against the edge of the table, his mind racing. On one hand, he knew better. He’d seen too many people spiral into ruin because they trusted the wrong person or took a deal that seemed too good to be true. If this was some elaborate scam, he’d be walking straight into it.
But on the other hand…
Jun-ho’s gaze drifted to the pile of unopened envelopes on his coffee table. They towered over everything else in the room. And then there was his mother, lying in a hospital bed, her every breath dependent on machines and medications he couldn’t afford.
He rubbed a hand over his face, his mind a whirlwind of guilt and exhaustion. If there was even a chance, just a sliver, that the promise of money was real, could he really afford to ignore it?
The detective in him screamed that it was a bad idea, that he was walking into something he didn’t fully understand. But the son in him—the damned desperate, broke son—couldn’t let it go.
Jun-ho stared at the card for what felt like an eternity. His hand hovered over it, his thoughts spiraling. The logical part of his brain told him to tear it up, to throw it away and forget it ever existed. But his heart, his gut whispered something else.
What if this was the break he’d been waiting for?
His thumb trembled as he dialed the number.
It rang once. Twice. Then-
Click.
“Do you wish to participate in the games?,” a calm, disembodied voice said on the other end. “If you wish to play please state your name and date of birth”.
Jun-ho hesitated. His throat felt dry. “What is this?”
“An opportunity,” the voice replied smoothly. “A chance to change your life”. The voice on the other paused for half a second, but then repeated, “please state your name and date of birth if you wish to join”
Jun-ho glanced at the pile of bills on his table. His mind flashed to his mother, frail and silent in her hospital bed.
“Hwang Jun-ho, the fifth of August, 1991”.
There was a brief pause. Then the voice returned. “Good. The password is Red Light, Green Light. You will receive further instructions shortly. Please wait.”
The line went dead.
—
The following night, Jun-ho stood on a dimly lit street corner in Ssangmun-dong, his breath visible in the cool night air. Anxiety clawed at his chest as he shifted from foot to foot, glancing nervously at the shadows around him.
A van pulled up, its windows tinted black.
This was stupid. The stupidest thing he’d ever done. He was about to climb into a van with strangers—people he’d never met—and for what?
Money from what was likely some human trafficking scheme?
Shit. What was he doing?
The driver rolled down the window just enough to speak. “Hwang Jun-ho?”
Jun-ho nodded, his throat tightening.
“Password,” the driver demanded.
“Red Light, Green Light,” Jun-ho replied, eyes darting around the darkness of the van.
The door clicked open, and Jun-ho hesitated before climbing in.
The air inside was cold and the dim interior lights revealed rows of slumped bodies, other passengers who were unconscious or asleep. His stomach lurched as he scanned their faces.
Before he could process the situation, there was a faint hiss. Gas. His vision blurred, and the world tilted on its axis. Then, nothing.
–
When Jun-ho woke, the antiseptic smell hit him first, sharp and bitter, like the entire room he was in had been doused in cleaning solution. His head throbbed with a dull ache that pulsed behind his eyes, and every muscle in his body felt heavy, as though he’d been unconscious for hours—or days. Blinking through the haze, he sat up slowly, his movements sluggish.
His gaze swept over his surroundings. The room was cavernous, its high ceilings and stark white walls making it feel more like a factory than the dormitory it obviously was. Metal bunk beds stretched in rows around the entire room, stacked six high. Hundreds of people milled about, each wearing the same green tracksuit, their faces a mixture of confusion and guarded curiosity.
Jun-ho looked down at himself and saw the same green fabric clinging to his body. His chest was marked with a white patch bearing the number 009. The simplicity of it was unnerving, as if his identity had been reduced to this three-digit code.
Jun-ho sighed. Definitely human trafficking.
Climbing down carefully from his bunk, he landed on the cold concrete floor, his legs slightly unsteady. The murmur of voices filled the air, punctuated by occasional shouts. His eyes scanned the room, cataloging every detail: the lack of windows, the impossibly high walls, the faint hum of fluorescent lights overhead. It was a prison disguised as a dormitory.
A commotion nearby drew his attention. A crowd had gathered, their tense whispers buzzing like static. Jun-ho moved closer, weaving through the mass of people, his detective training sharpening his focus.
In the center of the room, a tall, broad-shouldered man with the number 101 stitched onto his chest and a snake tattoo curling around his face loomed over a smaller woman, who had 067 stitched on her tracksuit. Another man stood across from 101, with the numbers 456 on his uniform. 101’s posture was aggressive, his voice cutting through the murmurs like a blade.
“Ssangmun-dong shit,” 101 sneered, his lip curling in contempt. “I wasn’t finished talking to her.”
The 456 flinched under his glare, his hands clenching at his sides, while 067, slowly removed herself from the fight.
Jun-ho’s jaw tightened, a familiar spark of anger igniting in his chest. He’d seen this kind of behavior too many times before—bullies preying on the vulnerable, testing the limits of their power. Without thinking, he stepped forward.
“Hey!” he barked, his voice cutting through the tension. “If you’ve got problems, leave them outside the game venue.”.
“101’s head snapped toward him, his eyes narrowing. His towering frame radiated hostility, but Jun-ho held his ground, his gaze steady.
Before 101 could respond, another voice broke through.
“Yeah!” The man marked 456 chimed in, stepping forward with surprising confidence. His face was sharp, lined with exhaustion, but his tone was bold. “I bet you’re some thug who preys on girls. Well, leave that outside, asshole!”
101’s expression darkened further, his hands curling into fists as he took a menacing step toward 456. The tension was palpable, the crowd holding their breath.
Jun-ho prepared to intervene, his body instinctively shifting into a defensive stance. But before anything could escalate, a loud metallic clang echoed through the space.
Masked figures entered the room. Dressed in pink suits and masks adorned with simple geometric symbols, circles and squares, they exuded authority.
Beside him, 456 let out a low whistle, leaning slightly toward Jun-ho.
“Thanks for the backup,” he muttered, his grin faint but genuine. “You always this good at defusing situations?”
Jun-ho allowed himself a small, dry smile, though his gaze remained fixed on the masked figures. “Comes with the job,” he replied simply.
But the sense of accomplishment was fleeting. As he watched the pink guard, a wave of unease washed over him.
Notes:
This be where the edits end
Chapter Text
Jun-ho fell into line with the other participants as the ushured out of the dormitory, his mind racing. His instincts told him to observe, to stay quiet and blend in.
Ahead of him, a man in his late 40s with tired eyes and a worn face turned to glance back. It was Player 456, and despite the tension in the air, he offered a faint, almost apologetic smile.
“You okay back there?” 456 asked.
Jun-ho blinked, caught off guard. “Yeah. You?”
The man gave laugh. “Not really, very confused, but I guess that’s obvious.” He paused, then stuck out his hand. “Seong Gi-hun. Didn’t tell you my name earlier. What about you?”
Jun-ho hesitated for a moment before shaking his hand. “Hwang Jun-ho.”
Jun-ho paused for half a second, then said, “You’re from Ssangmun-dong, right? Heard you mention it earlier.”.
Gi-hun looked back at him, giving a bright smile. “I am! What about you? ”
Gihun smile was infectious and Jun-ho grinned back at him.
“Same. Grew up there.”
Gi-hun’s grin widened. “No way! Small world, huh? I knew you looked like you knew your way around a fight; Ssangmun-dong breeds ‘em tough, doesn’t it?”
Jun-ho couldn’t help but chuckle, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Something like that.”
Their conversation was interrupted as they approached a station.
“Please look into the camera. Smile”, said a woman's voice over the PA system.
Gi-hun gave Jun-ho one last smile and moved through the photo station.
“Please look into the camera. Smile”, the voice droned again over the PA.
Jun-ho moved forward, and gave a slight grin as the photo was snapped. He still felt very wary about all of this. Kidnapping rang all of the wrong bells, but the chance to get money, and having met someone else who seemed to be genuinely nice, eased his nerves.
They entered a giant stadium. The space was surreal, a bizarre and almost skin-crawling combination of a child’s playground and a prison yard
At the far end of the field stood a giant mechanical doll with black eyes that seemed to twitch slightly, tracking every person as the entered. Its presence was to say in one word, unnerving; only made worse by the cheerful attitude most everyone seemed to have.
“Attention all players, please stand behind the white line drawn on the field”, the same voice instructed.
Jun-ho looked around trying to spot Gi-hun, but wasn’t able to spot him in the growing crowd.
He looked back forward.
The PA system spat out more instructions.
“You will be playing Red Light, Green Light”.
He tilted his head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Red Light, Green Light? The simplicity of it caught him off guard. It was a children’s game, something he hadn’t played or even thought about in years.
“Seriously? This is what we’re playing?” he muttered to himself.
The rules were straightforward, no hidden traps, no convoluted schemes. Just listen, move, and stop.
His mind flickered back to the last time he had played Red Light, Green Light.
He’d been a kid then, back in the narrow alleys of Ssangmun-dong, running barefoot with In-ho and the other neighborhood kids. In-ho had always been the fastest, darting across the finish line before anyone else could even move.
Jun-ho’s smile softened. Those memories, faint as they were, gave him a sense of happiness.
If I could win back then, I can win now.
“Green Light”.
Jun-ho took a couple of steps forward, feeling a sense of calm that he hadn’t had since being kidnapped.
“Red light”.
That peace was shattered. A gunshot, and then Jun-ho could see the player in the front fall down.
“Green Light”.
Jun-ho strained his eyes trying to confirm that the man in front had been shot.
“Red Light”.
Another shot and chaos erupted. Screams came from every direction. Players scattered in panic. The doll’s head spun wildly, its sensors locking onto the chaos. Gunfire filled the air.
A woman in front of Jun-ho’s head exploded as she trembled inching backwards.
He could feel her blood on his face.
The doll’s head swiveled back to neutral.
“Green Light”.
Jun-ho’s brain screamed at him to move, but his legs felt like jelly. For a split second, he was frozen, his eyes darting to the bodies littering the ground.
“Move, dammit,” he whispered to himself. His first step felt like it took an eternity, but then he forced himself into motion. He focused on the doll’s head, ignoring the cries and the distant sound of gunfire behind him.
“Red Light.”
He stopped abruptly, his muscles screaming from the sudden tension. A man ahead of him wobbled on his feet, his balance failing him. The sound of the shot that followed was deafening.
Jun-ho clenched his fists, bile rising in his throat. He didn’t dare to move. The only thing he could do was survive.
“Green Light.”
He moved faster now, his strides longer but still measured. Every second felt stretched out, his focus narrowing to the finish line in the distance.
“Red Light.”
This time, he stopped so sharply that he nearly toppled over. His chest burned with every shallow breath, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He couldn’t block out the sound of bodies hitting the ground around him, the cries of those too afraid to move.
This wasn’t just a game. It was an execution dressed up in childhood innocence.
—
Back in the dormitory, when the chance to leave was offered, Jun-ho didn’t hesitate. He pressed the red button along with nearly half of the other contestants.
As he rode home in silence, tied and gagged; unable to see his surroundings, he told himself he would never think about the games again. He would find another way.
But when he returned to his apartment, he found something he hadn’t expected. Receipts were on the table where the hospital bills had previously been laid out. His mother’s hospital bills were paid in full. The loans, gone.
Jun-ho sat on his couch, staring at the receipts in disbelief. Someone had taken care of everything.
And the card... it was sitting on his kitchen counter.
He hadn’t left it there.
Notes:
Hope the chapter is enjoyed!
:D
Chapter Text
The Front Man sat in his dimly lit viewing room, the rhythmic hum of machinery filling the silence, as he poured himself a glass of whiskey. His eyes scanned the monitor in front of him displaying every inch of the arena, capturing the desperate faces and fearful movements of the contestants.
That’s when he saw him. His brother, standing in about the middle of the group of contestants, fear plain on his face. In-ho’s hand, which had been idly holding his drink, tightened its grip until the glass cracked.
“Player 009,” he whispered to himself, his voice heavy with disbelief.
For a moment, In-ho’s carefully constructed facade cracked. He leaned forward, staring at the screen where Jun-ho’s face appeared among the other players. His younger brother stood rigid.
In-ho felt a pang of something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years.
Guilt.
His mind raced. How had Jun-ho ended up here?
In-ho kept tenuous contact with his family at best. It would’ve been better to nip it at the bud and cut off all contact, but.. he couldn’t. They were all he had left.
It had been over a year since he’d last seen them, but he occasionally texted.
Had Jun-ho somehow accumulated enough debt to attract the attention of recruiters? Or had he found the invitation card In-ho had left behind in his apartment?
He shouldn’t be here, In-ho thought, his stomach twisting. He was never supposed to get involved in this.
His brother was better than the rest of the trash that surrounded him now.
“Focus,” In-ho hissed to himself, pushing back the wave of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. He had a role to play. Everyone was watching, from the VIPs to the guards to the other players. Any sign of weakness or hesitation would unravel the authority he commanded as the Front Man.
But his mind refused to stay quiet.
What if he dies in the first game? He was already a monster, but a brother killer as well?
The thought sent a jolt of panic through him. He knew how ruthless the games were, he had overseen them for years. He’d watched hundreds of people fall, their lives reduced to nothing more than pawns in a cruel spectacle.
But Jun-ho? His own brother?
He forced himself to breathe. He couldn’t falter now.
He was too far in.
—
In-ho couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen that displayed Jun-ho. The doll called “Green Light”, and Jun-ho moved forward cautiously.
Then came “Red Light”.
Shots rang out as bodies hit the ground, but Jun-ho stayed perfectly still. In-ho clenched his fists as he watched Jun-ho’s face harden.
When Jun-ho finally crossed the finish line, In-ho let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Relief washed over him, but it was short-lived.
This is only the first game, he reminded himself. It’s going to get worse.
—
Back in his private quarters, In-ho paced the room. The mask felt suffocating now, an unbearable weight pressing down on him.
Does he know I’m here? The thought gnawed at him.
If Jun-ho had joined the games to investigate, it could jeopardize everything. But even worse was the possibility that his brother was just another desperate player, here because life had left him no other choice.
In-ho stopped pacing, feeling resolve. He couldn’t let his personal feelings interfere with the integrity of the games, or with his role as the Front Man. But he also couldn’t let Jun-ho die.
“Player 009…” he muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with regret.
He would watch over Jun-ho, subtly, from a distance. Ensure he had a fighting chance, without drawing attention to their connection. But he knew Jun-ho, his stubbornness, his sense of justice. If Jun-ho realized the truth, if he found out who was behind the mask…
In-ho’s chest tightened.
Far away from the island, Jun-ho stepped into his brother’s apartment.
Notes:
Yassss!!! Finally getting into what I really wanted to write!!!!!
I headcanon that In-ho hasn’t seen his family in awhile but tries to keep contact as to not arouse worries. I also headcanon that In-house is a bit of a dumbass.
Anywhoo…
Chapter Text
Jun-ho stepped into the dim, musty confines of his brother’s apartment. The air was stale. Dust covered the furniture like a shroud, and the faint scent of neglect lingered. He closed the door behind him quietly, as though afraid to disturb the ghost of his brother’s presence.
The last time he had had his debt paid by an anonymous source, it had been In-ho. His sister-law had died in the hospital, In-ho had gone missing, and little by little they hadn’t had enough money to pay the bills. And then the debts had all been paid and In-ho’s bribe taking had been exposed by other police at the station.
It had all fallen down the drain so quickly. Jun-ho missed his brother, like his right arm had been chopped off. But-
Maybe it was In-ho again this time. Maybe In-ho had finally come back and helped to pay off the bills.
“In-ho…” Jun-ho murmured under his breath, his voice thick with unresolved emotions. He hadn’t seen his brother in over a year, and hadn’t been to his apartment for even longer.
In-ho had made it clear long ago that he didn’t want to see his family ever again, after they had sided with the rest of the police. He cut off contact, and Jun-ho only now saw him once every one or two years.
The small apartment felt even smaller now, its silence almost oppressive. He ran his fingers over the cluttered desk, brushing away a thin layer of dust. Old notebooks, a cracked photo frame with a picture of their family, and stacks of unorganized papers lay scattered across the surface. Jun-ho looked at one of the photographs, a picture of him and In-ho smiling.
—
The summer air had been thick with the sounds of life, the persistent hum mingling with the distant laughter of children. The sun had hung low in the sky, painting the streets of their small neighborhood in golden hues.
A young Jun-ho, no older than eight, had sprinted down the narrow alley, his laughter echoing off the brick walls. Behind him, his older brother had chased him, a mischievous grin plastered across his face.
“Yah! Jun-ho! You can’t just steal the ball and run!” In-ho had shouted, pretending to be angry as he sped after his brother.
Jun-ho turned his head to look back, clutching a worn-out soccer ball tightly to his chest. “If you were faster, maybe you could catch me!” he taunted, his face glowing with playful defiance.
In-ho picked up his pace, his longer legs closing the gap. “You’re asking for it!”
After a while, the two brothers had flopped down onto the dirt, panting from exertion. The sky above them had been a deepening shade of orange, stars beginning to peek through the dusk.
“Hyung,” Jun-ho said after a moment, his voice soft.
“Hmm?”
“Do you think we’ll always be together?”
In-ho turned his head to look at his younger brother. Jun-ho’s face was serious now, his playful energy replaced by a look of quiet seriousness.
“Of course we will,” In-ho said, his voice firm. He reached over and ruffled Jun-ho’s hair again. “You’re stuck with me.”
Jun-ho smiled, his worries melting away. “Good. I don’t want to be alone.”
“You won’t be,” In-ho promised, staring up at the stars. “No matter what happens, I’ll always be your hyung.”
—
Jun-ho sighed and turned away from the photo before the memories of the past overwhelmed him.
Then his eyes fell on something that didn’t belong.
A box with a pink ribbon on it, resting conspicuously on the desk. The ribbon gleamed faintly in the muted light. His heartbeat quickened as he picked it up, his hands trembling slightly.
The box looked similar to the one that he had seen the corpses of other players being tossed into before the living had been herded out of the game venue like cattle.
Jun-ho opened the box.
The now-familiar geometric shapes on an innocuous card stared back at him: a circle, a triangle, a square.
It was the same card that had been given to him by the Man in the subway. The same card that had led him to the games.
“In-ho… what the hell were you doing with this?”
The pieces of a puzzle began to form in his mind, though they refused to fit together just yet. Was his brother a player, like Jun-ho? Jun-ho felt his heart race.
Had his brother been with him in the game venue all along, and he simply hadn’t noticed.
Or worse…
“No.” He shook his head, refusing to entertain the thought. “He’d never…”
Jun-ho searched the apartment thoroughly, his movements frantic but methodical. Every drawer, every cabinet, every hidden compartment he could think of. But there was no sign of his brother. Only more questions.
A suitcase lay untouched in the corner, half-packed with clothes and essentials, as though In-ho had planned to leave in a hurry but never returned to finish. His bed was unmade, and the refrigerator was empty save for expired food.
“In-ho, where the hell are you?” Jun-ho muttered, frustration lacing his voice.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, the weight of his exhaustion pressing down on him.
The card lay on the desk, a silent taunt, daring him to confront the truth.
Jun-ho would go to the Chief with the card. Get his help.
Find his hyung.
—
Jun-ho gripped the card tightly in his hand as he stepped into the police station. Conversations buzzed around him, officers discussing petty crimes, missing persons, and routine paperwork.
He made a beeline for the Chief’s office, ignoring the questioning glances from his colleagues. He could feel the weight of their eyes on him. It wasn’t uncommon these days; ever since his mother’s hospitalization and his unexplained absences, rumors had started to swirl. But Jun-ho didn’t care.
His mind was consumed by one thought: the games.
“Chief,” Jun-ho said, pushing the office door open without knocking.
Chief Kim looked up from a stack of papers, his face creasing in irritation. “Jun-ho, you can’t just barge in—”
“This is urgent,” Jun-ho interrupted, shutting the door behind him. He stepped forward and placed the card on the desk.
Kim glanced at the card, then at Jun-ho. “What’s this?”
Jun-ho leaned forward, his voice low and intense.
“This card… it’s connected to something dangerous. A… a death game.”
The Chief raised an eyebrow. “A death game?” His tone was skeptical, almost amused.
“I’m serious,” Jun-ho insisted, his voice rising. “I was there. I saw it. People being gunned down like animals in some kind of sick game. And my brother—” He cut himself off, clenching his fists. “My brother might be involved.”
The Chief leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Jun-ho, do you have any idea how this sounds? A ‘death game’? Do you have proof? Photos? Witnesses?”
Jun-ho’s jaw tightened. “I don’t have photos, but I saw it with my own eyes. The card—”
“The card is just a piece of paper,” Kim said, cutting him off. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands. “This could be an advertisement, a prank, or even a scam. It doesn’t prove anything.”
Jun-ho slammed his hands on the desk, startling the Chief. “I’m telling you the truth! I don’t know how, but this is real. People are dying, and someone is behind it. We need to investigate.”
Chief Kim sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jun-ho, I know you’ve been going through a lot lately with your mother and everything. But this…” He gestured to the card. “This sounds like a conspiracy theory. You’ve barely been at work, and now you come in here talking about death games?”
Jun-ho stared at him, disbelief etched on his face. “You think I’m making this up? You think I’m losing it?”
Kim’s expression softened slightly. “I think you’re under a lot of stress. And stress can make people see things that aren’t there. Take some time off, Jun-ho. Get your head straight. We’ll talk about this when you’re ready.”
Jun-ho’s hands curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms. He wanted to scream, to shake the Chief until he understood the gravity of the situation. But he knew it was useless.
Without another word, he grabbed the card off the desk and stormed out of the office.
—
As he walked out of the station, despair settled over him. No one would believe him. Not without proof.
But he didn’t need their belief. He needed answers.
Jun-ho pocketed the invitation card, his jaw set. If In-ho had been involved in the games, there was only one way to find him.
He didn’t know what awaited him in the next round, but he was sure of one thing: he would find his brother, no matter what it took.
Chapter Text
Jun-ho immediately set to work as he returned to his apartment.
If he was going back, Jun-ho wasn’t going unprepared this time. He rummaged around, searching for something small enough to hide but useful enough to tip the scales in his favor.
He stopped for a second considering a metal ballpoint pen he had revived for outstanding service at work. He hesitated for asecond, hand reaching out for it, it could be used as a weapon for protection..but…no. It was too big and really he only wanted to take one thing into the games. Taking anything more, was too risky.
Then his eye fell on it.
It had been gifted to him by his brother on his tenth birthday. He’s been into photography at the time, asking to borrow his mom’s phone every other second so he could capture a scene of a river, or a building at sunset, or his brother smiling down at him as In-ho helped Jun-ho with his homework.
His camera key-chain.
It was a tiny crappy keychain camera, that took worse photos that even the earliest cameras but—The Chief’s words came to mind again. Jun-ho needed evidence, and as bad as the photos on this camera were—
He looked around his apartment again, finding a battery for the camera, testing it out a couple of times, and then pocketed it.
Perfect.
Next, he did one last sweep of his apartment, pulled out his phone, and hesitated as his finger hovered over his mother’s number.
He’d give her an excuse, if she ever woke up to listen to it.
“With a sharp inhale, Jun-ho dialed his mother’s number. Her voicemail picked up after a few rings, her warm voice offering a prerecorded, “You’ve reached Park Mal-soon. Please leave a message after the tone.”
The beep sounded sharp and final.
Jun-ho closed his eyes. “Hey, Mom… it’s me.” His voice was low, almost a whisper. “I—I just wanted to check in. I know you might not see this, and I haven’t been by to visit the past couple of days. Work’s been… busy.”
He ran a hand through his hair, his throat tightening. “I know I should’ve called sooner. I’ve been thinking about you a lot. I hope you’re doing okay, and that the hospital is taking good care of you.”
His free hand clenched into a fist.
I, um… I’m gonna be out of town for a bit. A big case came up, and it might take me a while to finish. Don’t worry about me, though. I’ll be fine.” He swallowed hard. “And when it’s done, I’ll come see you, okay? I’ll bring your favorite rice cakes. We’ll sit and talk, just like we used to”.
He paused, listening to the silence on the other end of the line. “I just… I just wanted to tell you that I love you. You’ve been through so much, and you’ve always been strong. I’ll try to be strong too.”
The phone beeped, signaling the end of the recording.
Jun-ho lowered the phone slowly, stomach twisting, and put down his phone. Better for the phone to be left here in his apartment if his mission failed.
Finally, he brewed a pot of strong coffee, drinking it black to stave off the exhaustion threatening to pull him under. He wouldn’t be caught off guard this time.
—
Jun-ho stood at the designated pick-up point, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. A black van pulled up, its windows darkened. The back door slid open, revealing a masked man in a pink jumpsuit.
“Get in,” the man said, his voice flat.
Jun-ho climbed inside, the doors slamming shut behind him. He settled into one of the seats, his heart pounding as he glanced around. A faint chemical smell filled the air, and a chill ran down his spine as he recognized it.
The gas.
He leaned back in his seat, feigning relaxation as he let his eyes droop halfway. His pulse quickened as the hissing sound began, the gas pouring into the cabin.
This time, he was ready.
Jun-ho held his breath, pulling his jacket up, slightly over his nose, and taking shallow sips of air while counting in his head. The bitter taste of coffee still lingered on his tongue, sharpening his focus. He slumped slightly, mimicking the unconscious players around him while keeping his mind alert.
When the van stopped, Jun-ho cracked his eyes open just enough to see. The vans door slid open and one of the masked guards came in sorting through the other unconscious players, holding what Jun-ho realized must be some sort of scanner, up to the side of their heads.
Jun-ho's jaw tightened, his stomach churning with rage. What the hell were they doing? Scanning them like cattle?
They were people!
He watched as another guard scanned the next unconscious person, his mind racing now. Were they cataloging them? Tracking their identities? Checking for weaknesses or health issues? The dehumanization of it all made his blood boil.
These people were desperate, at their lowest point, and now they weren’t even being treated as human beings.
The guards moved closer to his position, and Jun-ho forced himself to stay still, his fists clenched against the van floor. His mind screamed at him to leap up, to grab the scanner and smash it, to yell at them for treating people like this.
But he couldn’t.
A guard approached him, scsnner at the ready.
Jun-ho felt his determination to end this disgusting game skyrocket.
The guard exited the van, and Jun-ho felt his camera lay like a weight in his pocket. He’d almost forgotten; they’d taken their personal belongings last time and would without a doubt do it again.
He cracked an eye open, looking around and checking for guards. Spotting none, he took out the camera, sending up a prayer that water damage wouldn’t be caused he put it in his mouth.
seeing a pink guard returning to the van again, he laid limp, playing the unconscious player
—
Jun-ho had kept his eyes sealed shut, torn between wanting to collect evidence and not be discovered.
The lights changing brightness had been one of the only cues that he was changing rooms. Finally he cracked an eye open. Jun-ho was back on his bunk bed, but there were still guards loading other players into their beds. Jun-ho stayed still, his breaths steady and shallow. When the guards finally left, he cracked one eye open again, scanning the room.
He was back in the dormitory.
Jun-ho sat up slowly, his head throbbing from the lingering effects of the gas. Around him, other players were beginning to wake, groaning and rubbing their eyes.
He looked around checking for surveillance, and spotted a blind spot.
If he faced the wall, he couldn’t be seen. Working to look natural, Jun-ho climbed down from his bunk, spat out his camera, and hooked the keychain part to the strap of his sweatpants.
This time, he wouldn’t just survive. He would gather evidence. He would find his brother. And when the time came, he would bring this entire operation crashing down.
Where are you, hyung?
Notes:
Ahhhh Angst I love you soo :)
Chapter Text
“Jun-ho!”
The familiar voice cut through the noise. Jun-ho turned, already recognizing it. Sure enough, Seong Gi-hun was jogging toward him, his wide smile completely out of place in the grim setting.
“You’re came back too?!” Gi-hun said, coming to a stop in front of Jun-ho. His hands rested on his knees as he caught his breath, his face lighting up despite the dire situation. “I can’t believe it!”
Jun-ho’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. “Gi-hun, why the hell did you return?”
Jun-ho felt disappointed, he thought that maybe Gi-hun would be smarter.
Gi-hun straightened, still grinning despite the edge in Jun-ho’s voice. “Same as you, I guess. Debt collectors breathing down my neck, nowhere else to turn. And then… this.” He gestured vaguely to the room, his smile faltering as the reality of their surroundings seemed to catch up to him.
Jun-ho’s expression darkened. “People are dying here, Gi-hun. This isn’t a game.”
Gi-hun flinched slightly at Jun-ho’s tone but recovered quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know, I know. I saw it too—Red Light, Green Light was…” He shuddered. “It was insane. I thought I was gonna drop dead just from the stress. But we made it, didn’t we?”
Jun-ho crossed his arms, his voice low. “Barely. You shouldn’t be here. You should’ve walked away the second you realized what this was.”
Gi-hun’s face fell, his usual humor replaced by something more serious. “And go where? What would I even do out there, huh? They’d take everything. My mom’s already sick, and my daughter… Jun-ho, I don’t have any options left.”
Jun-ho’s fists clenched. He hated how much Gi-hun’s words hit home. He was here for the same reasons, for family, for survival, for the desperate hope that maybe this madness would buy him some time to fix his broken life.
“I didn’t have a choice either,” Jun-ho muttered, his voice barely audible.
Gi-hun’s eyes softened. “Yeah… I figured. You wouldn’t be here if you did.”
For a moment, they stood in silence, the weight of their shared circumstances pressing down on them.
“So,” Gi-hun said, breaking the tension with a weak attempt at a smile, “guess that means we’re in this together, huh?
Jun-ho gave him a hard look but sighed, relenting slightly, and gave Gi-hun a slight smile.
“Stick close. And don’t do anything stupid.”
Gi-hun’s grin returned, though it was smaller this time, more subdued. “You got it. Partners, right?”
Jun-ho didn’t respond directly, but he gave a small nod
Jun-ho!” Gi-hun suddenly said a spark in his eye, as he turned and started to walk away, “Come here for a second. I want you to meet some friends.”
Jun-ho arched an eyebrow but followed Gi-hun crossing his arms as he approached.
“We’re gathering the dream team over here. Thought you’d want in”, Gi-hum said, voice light.
Jun-ho followed Gi-hun to a part of the dormitory where several players were seated on one of the lower bunks.
“This is Cho Sang-woo,” Gi-hun said, gesturing to a serious-looking man with neatly combed hair. Sang-woo glanced up from where he sat, his posture stiff, his expression unreadable. “We grew up together in Ssangmun-dong. Real smart guy, top of his class back in the day”.
Jun-ho nodded curtly.
“Hwang Jun-ho.”
As he introduced himself, Jun-ho could swear that the older man's eyes widened at his name, but looking at him Player 001 only smiled.
Sang-woo gave a small nod in return, his eyes briefly scanning Jun-ho before returning to the floor. “Nice to meet you.”
“And this,” Gi-hun continued, gesturing to the older man sitting beside Sang-woo, “is Player 001.”
Player 001 looked up, a kind smile on his wrinkled face. “Nice to meet you young man”.
“And you,” Jun-ho said, a soft smile on his face.
“Jun-ho’s a good guy,” Gi-hun said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Stood up for me and everything before the first round.”
There was a pause in a conversation, before Sang-woo stared directly into Jun-ho’s eyes.
“You’re a police officer, aren’t you?” Sang-woo asked suddenly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Jun-ho.
Jun-ho’s stomach tightened, but he kept his expression neutral. “Does it matter?”
Sang-woo raised an eyebrow. “No”, he said, not pressing further. Gi-hun, sensing the tension, quickly changed the subject.
“Anyway, we should all stick together, right? Safety in numbers and all that.”
Another contestant walked up to them.
“Hey, good sirs!”, Player 199 greeted, smiling widely.
Go-him turned slightly, and seeing Player 199, smiled brighter than Jun-ho thought was humanly possible.
“Oh, hey”, Gi-hun said, “it’s my angel”.
Sang-woo raised an eyebrow. “Angel?”
“It’s true,” Gi-hun said, his voice tinged with exaggerated reverence. “He’s a saint. I’m happy to see you alive. I really hope we make it through this.”
Player 199 blushed slightly, and turned to Sang-woo.
“Sir, thanks for the bus fare. It meant so much to me.”
Jun-ho’s eyes flicked between them. “Bus fare?”
Player 199 nodded toward Sang-woo. “Yeah, he gave me money for the bus before the games. Can you believe it? He saw me about to walk from Yeouido to Ansan and saved me from myself.”
Snah-woo’d face turned slightly pink, and he gave a small smile. “It was nothing. You looked like you really needed help.”
Gi-hun slapped Player 199’s shoulder playfully. “See? That’s our guy. We’re like soldiers at a training camp, huh?”
Jun-ho gave Gi-hun a skeptical look. “A training camp?”
“Yeah, you know, like the army,” Gi-hun said, mimicking the motion of holding a rifle. “Shooting guns, running drills, all of that.”
Player 199’s face lit up with understanding. “Oh! Soldiers all training together!”.
“Exactly!” Gi-hun said, grinning.
Song-woo sighed, clearly unimpressed with the analogy. “This isn’t a camp. It’s a slaughterhouse.”
“Maybe,” Gi-hun said, his tone light but his eyes serious. “But that’s why we should stick together. Form our own team. Watch each other’s backs.”
Player 001 nodded eagerly. “He’s right. We don’t know what the next game will be, but if we’re together, we have a better chance.”
Jun-ho hesitated, his instincts warring with his pragmatism. Trust was dangerous in a place like this, but going it alone was even more so. Besides he liked these people he decided, and more allies to help him take down this place was all the better for him.
“Okay,” he said. “But if we’re doing this, let’s make sure we help each other with all the games.”
“Attention. Your mealtime begins now”, droned the same female voice from the first games over the PA system.
“Deal,” Gi-hun said, holding out his hand.
Jun-ho grabbed it and leveraged himself off the bunk frame, walking a few paces ahead.
—
Jun-ho walked purposefully toward the food line. The scent of the room mingled with the faint aroma of rice and kimchi as the contestants shuffled forward, grabbing their trays. His mind wasn’t on the food, though, it had now shifted to gathering evidence.
He kept one hand in his waist, his fingers brushing the edges of the tiny camera he’d managed to smuggle in. He would need to use it sparingly.
Though it was nice enough to fit an SD card, it had no display, and little battery life, despite him changing it back in his apartment.
As Jun-ho grabbed a tray and moved through the line, his eyes darted around the room, scanning the faces of the players. Hundreds of desperate people, each with their own reasons for being here. Any one of them might know something, anything, that could lead him to his brother.
As Jun-honpproached the back of the line, Gi-hun caught up to him, grinning as he placed a hand on his shoulder. “You alright, Jun-ho? You look like you’re about to interrogate someone.”
“Maybe I am,” Jun-ho replied, giving Gi-hun a slight grin, but his tone leaving no room for further questions.
Gi-hun raised an eyebrow but didn’t press, instead turning to lead the way back to where the group was gathering.
Jun-ho took a seat next to Ali, who was already halfway through his meal, and Sang-woo, who ate slowly, his calculating gaze always roving the room.
As they ate, Jun-ho leaned closer to Gi-hun, keeping his voice low. “Have you talked to any of the other players? Learned anything about them?”
Gi-hun shook his head. “Not much. Why?”
Jun-ho set his tray down. “I’m looking for someone. My brother. Hwang In-ho. Has anyone mentioned that name?”
Gi-hun blinked, surprised by the sudden intensity in Jun-ho’s voice. “Your brother? You think he’s in here?”
“I don’t think,” Jun-ho said firmly. “I know. I just need to find someone who’s seen him.”
Ali looked up from his food, curiosity flickering across his face. “What does he look like? Maybe I’ve seen him.”
Jun-ho hesitated, then gave a brief description. “Tall, lean build, sharp features. Probably wouldn’t talk much. He’s… reserved.”
Sang-woo frowned, his brow furrowing as if he were thinking hard. “Hwang In-ho…” he muttered. “The name doesn’t ring a bell, but I’ll keep my ears open.”
“Thanks,” Jun-ho said dejectedly.
On the bunk across from him, Player 001 chuckled softly, his voice barely audible over the din of the room. “You’re not the only one here looking for something,” he said cryptically, his smile distant.
Jun-ho didn’t reply, his attention already shifting back to the rest of the room.
The rest of his group was starting to theorize on what the future games might be. Jun-ho tapped Gi-hun on the shoulder. “I’m going to go ask other players about my brother”, he said smiling and stood up.
As Jun-ho walked away back toward his bunk area, Jun-ho checked for surveillance again and slipped his camera into the palm of his hand. He angled it subtly, making sure that the guards and the players would be included in the photo.
Then turning in a circle, trying to make it seem like he was in awe of his surroundings, he took a few more for good measure.
As he returned to the bunk he’d claimed, he began striking up conversations with nearby players, asking them the same question: “Have you met someone named Hwang In-ho?”
Most shook their heads, their expressions confused or wary. One woman laughed bitterly. “I can’t even remember the names of half my family members. What makes you think I’d remember someone else’s?”
Frustration gnawed at him as the Evening wore on.
By the time lights-out was announced, Jun-ho had already gone back to lay in his bunk, staring at the ceiling. The sound of players shifting in their beds filled the darkness, but his mind was racing.
Gnawing fear clawed at the edges of his thoughts. What if his brother was already gone? The games were ruthless, and Jun-ho had witnessed the bloodbath of the first round—faces struck with terror, bodies crumpling to the ground. The possibility that In-ho could have been among those faceless victims made his chest tighten.
His brother might have just been another face in the crowd, and he hadn’t realized.
He clenched his fists against the coarse blanket beneath him, his pulse thudding in his ears. The idea of finding his brother's body instead of answers—
Jun-ho felt like his eyes might start tearing up. as pressure rose in his chest. He turned over.
What if I’m too late?
Jun-ho banished the thoughts and tried desperately to fall asleep.
—
The Front Man stormed into his private quarters, the sharp clack of his boots echoing off the cold, metal walls. He ripped off his mask, tossing it onto the desk with a heavy thud, and paced furiously. His jaw clenched as he raked a gloved hand through his hair, his breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts.
"Damn it, Jun-ho!", he spat, slamming his fist against the wall. The impact sent a dull ache through his knuckles, but he welcomed the pain, it was better than the angry frustration raging in his chest.
He had done everything to make sure his brother was safe. The anonymous donation, the erasure of his debts, it had been a silent promise, a way of saying, You’re free. Stay out of this. And yet here Jun-ho was, back in the games, defying logic and every ounce of precaution In-ho had taken.
He sank into the chair at his desk, burying his face in his hands. “Why couldn’t you just stay away?” he muttered, his voice muffled but laced with frustration and anguish.
The monitor in front of him flickered, showing the players settling into their bunks. There, somewhere in the middle of the chaos, was Jun-ho still determined, still the same stubborn brother In-ho had always known.
In-ho’s fists tightened at the sight. He wanted to rage at him, to demand why he was here, to tell him to leave before it was too late. But he couldn’t. Not now. Not without jeopardizing everything.
The Games would always come first.
Always.
He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince.
The thought of Jun-ho dying in this place—the same place that had consumed In-ho—was unbearable. He could see flashes of it in his mind: his brother’s lifeless body among the others, eyes forever closed, voice silenced.
In-ho stood abruptly, his resolve hardening. He wouldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t. Even if it meant bending the rules, even if it meant risking everything he had built as the Front Man, he would ensure Jun-ho survived.
But anger still simmered beneath the surface, mixing with guilt and fear. "You shouldn’t have come back, Jun-ho," he whispered bitterly, staring at the screen.
He had to be careful.
Notes:
The beginning of a beautiful alliance that could never ever be broken 🥹
:)))))
Chapter Text
Jun-ho stirred awake, the sound of raised voices cutting through the silent tension of the dormitory. Blinking groggily, he propped himself up on one elbow and squinted toward the commotion.
Player 212 stood near the entrance, arguing loudly with the masked guard stationed behind the door that led out to the rest of the facility they were in.
"You don’t think I’ll go pee right here and now?" she barked, her voice shrill and insistent.
Jun-ho frowned, his sleep-addled brain slowly piecing together what was happening, and quickly deciding that he should go with.
He would be able to get more photos and evidence.
Jun-ho slipped out of his bunk, making sure that his camera was attached to the waistband of his sweatpants; he walked towards the door just as the triangle guard opened it, motioning for player 212 and another player 067, to come with him.
He approached the door quickly doing his best to appear casual.
“I gotta go as well”, Jun-ho said.
Player 212 gave him a nasty look, before turning to the rest of the dormitory at large.
“Anyone else hoping to freeload off of my work”, she shouted.
No other players made to go to the bathroom, and the triangle guard motioned again for the group of now three to follow him.
The hallway outside the dormitory was bright with vivid pink paint covering the walls, a sharp contrast to the darkness of the main room. The air felt colder here, more oppressive. Jun-ho looked around as he walked, carefully noting the details around him: the layout of the hall, the direction of the guards’ movements.
067 glanced back at him, her expression unreadable. There was a flicker in her eyes, as if she was sizing him up. Jun-ho kept his face neutral, not wanting to start any fights.
Player 212, however, was oblivious, chattering away to no one in particular. “You’d think they’d treat us better, considering we’re humans just like them,”she muttered, shooting a glare at the guard trailing behind them.
“Bunch of shits”.
Jun-ho let her words wash over him, his focus on the camera. His fingers itched to capture anything, any detail that could be used as evidence.
As they approached the restroom, Jun-ho’s mind raced. He needed an excuse to lag behind or position himself somewhere inconspicuous.
“Hey,” Jun-ho said, his voice low but steady as he turned to the triangle guard who was leading them as they approached a door at the end of a long hallway to what could only be the restroom.
“I don’t think I actually think I have to go. Nervousness makes you hallucinate things that don’t exist, you know?”.
Jun-ho gave a weak chuckle, eyes suddenly drawn to the sub-machine gun the guard was cradling, like it was his child.
The triangle guard stared at Jun-ho, the guard’s posture unchanged, before motioning for Jun-ho to stand next to him.
067 gave him a side glance staring at him for a second, before entering the restroom, while 212 barged right in.
As 212 and 067 entered the restroom, Jun-ho positioned himself near the doorway, pretending to stare blankly at the wall in front of him. In reality, his attention was on the hallway. He discreetly pulled out the camera, angling it toward the corridor.
He snapped a few photos: the intersection of hallways, the colorful doors that filled most of the halls they had walked through, and the surveillance cameras that seemed to be everywhere.
Jun-ho sighed, trying to remember how they had gotten from the dormitory to the bathroom.
This place was a maze.
The sounds of exaggerated agony from inside the restroom caught his attention. He strained to listen.
“It hurts a lot! it’s like trying to push out a kid!”
Jun-ho wrinkled his nose and the guard shifted behind him. Jun-ho quickly pocketed the camera, turning to offer a tight smile. The guard didn’t react, standing stoically as ever.
More noises emanated from the bathroom.
“Why won‘t it come out?!?”
“You need to go back. Come out now,” the modulated voice of the guard intoned, as he banged on the restroom.
More screams and the running of water now echoed from the bathroom.
Jun-ho swore the guard sighed, before the guard motioned for Jun-ho to follow him into the restroom
The screams of agony were much louder in the restroom.
As the guard approached to stall that the noises were now coming from, he paid no attention to Jun-ho..
Jun-ho seized the moment, pulling the camera out once more. He angled it toward the restroom entrance, capturing the inside layout, the position of the cameras, and the guard’s presence.
As the guard slammed open the stall door, Jun-ho quickly pocketed the camera trying to look bored; crossing his arms and leaning casually against the wall.
The guard shifted uncomfortably at the scene before him, his attention focused entirely on 212, before slamming the door shut.
Jun-ho snorted.
Moments later, 067 and 212 emerged, 067’s expression unreadable, while 212 looked smug.
“Done?”, Jun-ho asked, keeping his voice casual. The two other players had definitely been up to something.
067 gave him and the guard a slight nod. “Let’s go”.
—
“So, what did you see?”, Jun-ho asked 064 softly, as they walked back to the dormitory.
She finally glanced at him, her expression guarded.
“What are you talking about?”
“In the bathroom,” he pressed. “You were in there longer than necessary. You found something, didn’t you?”
212 approached as well hearing the conversation.
“Yeah, what did you see, I didn’t do all that work for nothing”, she said, pointing a finger at 067.
067 glanced at the guard, and held up a finger.
The message was clear.
The expression on 212s face soured, but she stayed silent until the group arrived back at the dorm.
As the door closed, and the guard was out of sight once more, 212 rounded on 067 again, pointing a finger in her face.
“Come on. What did you see?”, 212 said pressing 067.
067 hesitated as if unsure on whether she should share, but then shrugged.
"They were melting something sweet. Sugar, I think. I could smell it, even through the vent. Then they mixed it with something white—looked like powder."
Jun-ho's eyes narrowed. "Sugar and powder? What does that even mean? Candy? Drugs?"
212 started to ask hushed questions of 067, but both 067 and Jun-ho ignored her.
"Thanks for telling me," he said, his voice low.
067 gave him a sharp look. "Don’t think this makes us allies. I told you because you asked, not because I trust you. Watch yourself."
Jun-ho nodded and walked back to his bunk. He had a lot to think about.
—
The following morning went by quickly as Jun-ho mulled over the information he had received last night.
The room was stiflingly quiet as the players filed into the next game area. Jun-ho's heart thudded in his chest as he observed the giant playground set before them—bright colors painted across the walls, and slides giving the illusion of innocence.
It reminded him distinctly of the playground near his neighborhood back when he had been young.
Gi-hun stepped closer to him, his tone light but tinged with worry. "Hey, Jun-ho. Any idea what this is? I don’t wanna screw up here."
Jun-ho looked around.
In front of the players stood multiple doors all with different shapes on them.
Triangle, circle, star, umbrella.
“Players, before the second game begins, choose one of the four available shapes you see on the wall. Once you’ve chosen your shape, please stand in front of it.”
Then the answer to what this game was clicked into place.
Jun-ho turned towards his allies, his voice was sharp but low, cutting through the confusion swirling amongst them.
“It’s Dalgona.”
Gi-hun furrowed his brows, stepping closer to Jun-ho. “Dalgona? You mean that candy we used to eat as kids?”
Jun-ho nodded, his jaw clenched. “Yeah. You carve the shape out of the candy without breaking it. If it cracks, you lose.” His eyes swept over the wall, lingering on the umbrella.
“The simpler the shape, the better your chances.”
Ali, standing to Jun-ho’s right, tilted his head, his expression puzzled. “Carve it? Why would we—”, He stopped as realization dawned on him.
“Oh”.
Gi-hun let out a nervous laugh, trying to mask his fear. “So, uh… what shape should we pick? The circle looks easy, right?”
Player 001 chuckled softly, surprising the group. “When I was a boy, the triangle was always the easiest. Just straight lines. No tricky curves”.
Sang-woo crossed his arms, his gaze analytical.
“He’s right. The triangle has the least risk. The circle’s simple too, but one slip and you’ll crack it. And the umbrella...” His voice trailed off as they all stared at the intricate lines of the umbrella.
“It’s practically a death sentence,” Jun-ho said grimly, his eyes narrowing.
Gi-hun hesitated, glancing between the star and the triangle. “What about the star? It’s not as bad as the umbrella, right?”
Jun-ho frowned. “The star’s tricky. It’s better than the umbrella, but every point is a risk. One bad move, and you’re done”.
Gi-hun sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I’ve always liked stars. Might as well stick with what I like.”
Jun-ho grabbed his arm before he could step forward. “Gi-hun, listen to me. This isn’t about what you like. This is survival. Pick something safe.”
Gi-hun looked conflicted, his gaze bouncing between Jun-ho and the shapes. “I get it, but if we all choose the easiest shapes, won’t that make them suspicious? They’re watching us, remember?”
Gi-hun gestured toward all the pink guards lining the walls.
Sang-woo scoffed. “Suspicious or not, it’s about staying alive. You don’t win games by taking unnecessary risks”.
“Choose a shape and stand in front of it immediately”, the women’s voice on the PA interjected.
Ali, still looking uncertain, quietly asked, “What are you going to choose, Jun-ho?”
Jun-ho hesitated for a moment, his eyes scanning the wall again. “The triangle. It’s the smartest choice.”
Gi-hun gave Jun-ho a small smile, and stepped toward the star, standing resolutely in front of it. The Gi-hun turned to face the group, smiling.
“I’ll take the star”.
Jun-ho clenched his fists, biting back a frustrated retort. He followed Ali and Sang-woo to the triangle, while Player 001 shuffled beside them, chuckling under his breath.
All the players lined up in front of their chosen shapes, receiving tins that were rolled out on carts, piloted by the pink guards
“The second game is Dalgona”, the women over the PA announced.
Jun-ho could feel his heart pounding.
“The shape you have chosen is the shape you must remove”.
When he picked up his tin and opened it, Jun-ho took a long look at the triangle Dalgona candy. The needle felt heavy in his hand as the timer on the wall began to count down.
He glanced once more at Gi-hun, who was bent over his star, muttering to himself.
Jun-ho gritted his teeth and began carefully tracing the triangle’s edges with the needle. His hands shook slightly. Every crack of candy breaking across the room made him flinch.
He glanced up, watching the guards. Their guns were trained on the players, waiting for any sign of failure. He saw a man accidentally snap his candy in half and beg for mercy before a deafening shot echoed through the room.
He looked up watching the man’s corpse fall down the slide, leaving a red blood trail.
Jun-ho's stomach churned.
He shifted his focus back to his own task, but his needle slipped, nicking the edge of the triangle. His breath hitched. He inspected the crack; it wasn’t deep enough to ruin the candy, but it was a warning. One wrong move, and he was done.
The time was ticking down. Five minutes. Four. Three. Jun-ho worked furiously, scraping, until finally, with a careful push of his needle, the triangle came free.
He held it up, breathing a sigh of relief. A guard stepped forward, inspecting it. When the masked figure gave a slight nod, Jun-ho felt a wave of triumph—he’d survived.
But there wasn’t time to celebrate. He scanned the room, checking for his allies. Gi-hun was the only one in his group in the room; he was still on the floor scraping away at his star.
The guard motioned for Jun-ho to exit the room, and with one last look at Gi-hun, Jun-ho left.
Stay alive, Gi-hun. Don’t make me regret not dragging you over to the triangle group..
Chapter Text
The darkened control room was a haven of technology and surveillance, glowing monitors displaying every corner of the arena and dormitory.
The Front Man’s jaw tightened as he watched his broth- Player 009.
Player 009 had just been returned to the dormitory, and it was a miracle that he had somehow figured out the second game, based only on seeing the shapes they were presented with.
Player 009 was seated on his bunk, his back straight, his eyes scanning the room with the same sharpness In-ho remembered from years ago. It was infuriating—and heartbreaking.
The looming danger of the next challenge faced In-ho, and he wasn’t sure how he would keep Jun-ho alive. He looked at the main screen, showing a wide shot of the dormitory; They had started serving the limited dinner of an egg and a glass bottle of soda, a small meal that was intended to create tension between the players. A fight would inevitably break out, as planned, and Jun-ho? There was almost nothing In-ho could do to protect him from up here. Players would be killing each other randomly and In-ho had no control over.
In-ho turned to the guards manning the controls, his mind racing. He couldn’t openly protect Jun-ho. If the VIPs or guards suspected anything, it would mean death for them both. But there were ways, subtle ways, to keep his brother alive.
"Station 5," he said, his voice calm and authoritative. "Increase surveillance around Player 009. No slip-ups."
The reply came swiftly. "Understood, sir."
In-ho leaned slightly on his heels, his eyes narrowing. That wasn’t enough. Surveillance alone wouldn’t save Jun-ho if he ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He walked over to station five, dismissing the guard from his station. The guard looked at him hesitantly, not moving.
In-ho tone hardened, “Do not question a superior’s orders. Move”. He reached down with his hand, touching the revolver in his pocket.
The Guard quickly stood up moving so his back was to In-ho, waiting for the Front Man to reinstate him to his position.
In-ho sat down. Switching to another screen, he pulled up the database of player files. He quickly flagged Jun-ho’s number, ensuring the system would alert him of any changes to his brother’s status.
He scanned the upcoming game schedule. The next challenge was tug-a-war; a game of physical strength, in which there were yet again no guarantees that his brother would be on the right team. In-ho leaned forward, his mask catching the glow of the monitor.
He froze for a moment, mind racing, before an idea came to him.
In-ho would take a page out of Oh Il-nam’s book, threaten some guards' families, and ensure that Player 009’s handcuffs were unlocked. That would ensure that Jun-ho survived the next game no matter the outcome of his team. But that still didn't solve the prblem of the inevitable riots tonight.
The Front Man stood up, motioning for the guard to retake his spot, and looked back at the main screen, observing the dormitory yet again.
Ah, someone had finally died.
It happened in almost every game, sooner or later, less food would be given or anger rose between the contestants. All the players showed their true colours.
In the end they would all kill for their greed.
In-ho leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he watched Player 456 step forward in the dormitory. The man’s voice carried over the sound feed, filled with fury and disgust as he condemned the murder.
“A man just died! We shouldn’t be killing each other like this!”, 456 shouted, his voice echoing in the tense silence of the dormitory.
The other players remained silent or muttered among themselves, unwilling to risk being next on the chopping block. In-ho studied their faces. Fear, exhaustion, greed—it was all laid bare in their expressions. But 456’s indignation stood out.
A moral compass, In-ho thought filled with contempt and fascination. In a place like this?
The Front Man gestured his hand to one of the stations to play the announcement.
“Player 271, eliminated”.
456 stood frozen as the piggy bank above the dormitory filled with more money.
In-ho shifted his gaze to Jun-ho. His brother hadn’t joined in on 456’s speech, but he wasn’t ignoring it either. Jun-ho’s body language was stiff, his jaw clenched as if suppressing his own thoughts. In-ho knew that look. It was the same expression Jun-ho used to wear when he was holding back from confronting bullies or fighting for something he believed in.
"You’re thinking of standing up, aren’t you?" In-ho murmured. His hand tightened into a fist.
"Don’t. Not here. Not now."
The feed switched briefly to another angle of the dormitory, showing the guards standing stoically near the entrance. In-ho’s eyes flicked to Player 101, the instigator of the latest elimination. The man was reveling in the chaos, his group laughing and eating while others looked on in fear.
In-ho knew how this night would unfold. It wouldn’t take much now to spark a full-blown riot.
Switching to a private channel, In-ho called the guard captain overseeing the dormitory. “I want Player 009’s position monitored closely tonight. Ensure he’s not killed”.
The only thing to do now was watch and enjoy is the revelry of the chaos and death.
–
Jun-ho stared at the bottom of the bunk on top of him, heart thumping in his chest.
They had all agreed to meet up by Gi-hun’s bunk if–when his mind whispered to him–a riot broke out.
The dormitory plunged into darkness, the only sounds the rustling of bodies and the occasional creak of a bunk. Nobody would be sleeping tonight.
"Stay calm," Jun-ho whispered to himself. His fingers grazed the small camera hidden on his person, a reminder of his purpose. But tonight wasn’t about evidence.
He slid out of his bunk as quietly as he could, his bare feet making no sound against the cold floor. He crouched low, moving carefully through the shadows toward Gi-hun’s bunk.
Suddenly, a scream pierced the air, followed by the wet tearing sounds of muscle being ripped apart. Jun-ho whipped his head toward the sound, his heart hammering.
Chaos erupted.
The dormitory exploded into motion as players turned on one another, fists and makeshift weapons swinging wildly in the darkness. The lights started strobing, creating a stop-motion effect, and Jun-ho caught sight of 101’s gang moving like predators, targeting weaker players. The screams grew louder, mingling with the sickening thud of flesh hitting flesh and the metallic clang of a bunks being shoved over, and falling to the ground.
Jun-ho ran. But he didn’t make it far.
Jun-ho’s foot caught on something soft and heavy, sending him sprawling to the ground. His palms scraped against the concrete as he landed hard, his chest heaving with the sudden impact. A body, a player, lifeless and already forgotten in the chaos, lay at his feet. The strobing lights cast fleeting glimpses of the blood pooling beneath them.
Before he could scramble to his feet, someone grabbed him by the collar of his jumpsuit and yanked him backward.
Jun-ho’s head snapped back, and he caught a flash of the attacker’s face, a man with wild eyes and a predatory grin. The man raised a broken bunk bar above his head, ready to swing.
Jun-ho twisted desperately, bringing his arms up just in time. The bar came down with a metallic thud against his forearms, pain radiating through his bones. The force of it knocked him back onto the floor.
“Get off me!” Jun-ho growled, kicking out. His foot connected with the man’s shin, causing him to stumble.
But the attacker recovered quickly, throwing himself onto Jun-ho with a snarl. The weight of the man pinned Jun-ho to the ground, and his fingers closed around Jun-ho’s throat.
Jun-ho gasped, clawing at the man’s hands as his vision blurred. The lights strobed, and for a moment, everything seemed to freeze, screaming players, blood-slick floors, and the fuzzy dark that was starting to invade the edges of his vision.
With a surge of adrenaline, Jun-ho reached down, pulled out his camera keychain, and slammed it into the eye of his attacker as hard as he could. The attacker howled in pain, his grip loosening just enough for Jun-ho to shove him off. Gasping for air, Jun-ho scrambled to his feet, clutching his ribs.
The man staggered but didn’t fall, his eyes blazing with fury. He lunged again, but this time, Jun-ho was ready. He sidestepped and shoved the man hard, sending him careening into a nearby bunk.
Jun-ho didn’t wait to see if the man would get up again. He turned and bolted, his breaths ragged and his heart pounding in his ears.
Notes:
I have never written fight scenes before, so hope its enjoyable.
:)))))
Chapter Text
Jun-ho leaned heavily against the cold metal frame of his bunk.
He hadn't even made it to Gi-hun's bunk.
Somewhere along the way, he'd lost his sense of direction, the disorienting flashes of the strobe lights making every shadow a potential threat.
He remembered running, the feel of his bare feet slipping on something wet. Blood. It was everywhere, on the floor, smeared across bunks, splattered on the walls. He had stumbled, trying to regain his footing, only to realize he had somehow gone in a circle and ended up back near his own bunk.
That was when he slipped. His legs shot out from under him, and he hit the concrete floor hard. The back of his head collided with a sickening thud. For a moment, the world spun, his vision darkening at the edges. The sounds of the riot faded into a relieving silence.
When his vision returned, everything was blurry, like looking through frosted glass. He blinked rapidly, trying to focus, but the pounding in his skull made it hard to think.
The lights had snapped back on as guards flooded into the room with their guns raised. The sharp sound of a gunshot had rung out, as a warning, causing players to freeze where they stood.
Jun-ho’s head throbbed with every heartbeat, and his thoughts were jumbled. He wiped at his face, his hand coming away streaked with blood. Whether it was his own or someone else’s, he couldn’t tell.
The blaring sound of the alarm and the crack of more gunfire snapped him back to reality.
Guards continued to storm into the room.
"Drop your weapons," the square guard ordered, his voice distorted.
The sound of metal hitting concrete filled the room as metal bars clattered to the ground and contestants surrendered.
"Turn around," another guard demanded.
The subdued players complied, their heads hanging low.
Jun-ho, crouched near his bunk, his hands trembled as he felt the camera pressed securely against his palm. He hadn’t dared to let go of it. He needed the evidence.
The guards moved through the room, scanning each dead player.
The dispassionate voice of the PA system began listing the casualties of the riot.
“Player 277, eliminated. Player 74, eliminated. Player 198, eliminated”.
Jun-ho’s jaw clenched as the tally of players on the board above fell to a damning 80. His gaze swept the room spotting Gi-hun who stood near Player 067, both standing rigidly.
Jun-ho’s heart pounded in his chest as he watched the guards fan out across the dormitory. They were patting down the other players, checking for other weapons that they might be hiding on their person.
Jun-ho’s fingers tightened around the hidden camera in his palm. He cursed under his breath. The guards were thorough. If they found the camera, all of his efforts would be for nothing. Jun-ho opened the camera, carefully feeling for the sd card tucked into the camera. His fingers brushed the edge of it, and he exhaled silently.
Think fast. Stay calm.
The guards began patting down the players closer to him. One player who protested received a hit to the side of the head with butt of one of the guards guns and fell onto the floor with a gasp. Jun-ho knew his time was running out.
In a fluid motion, he slid the sd card free from the camera, folding it into his palm. He tossed the camera as lightly as he could, and it fell under a bunk next to him. His fingers curled tightly around the card as he quickly shifted his hand to his side.
He wouldn’t be able to take any more photos, but hopefully what he had now was enough.
A guard approached him, rifle raised slightly. Jun-ho felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple as the guard’s visor tilted towards the hand he was holding the sd card in.
"Hands up”.
Jun-ho raised his arms slowly, keeping his face as neutral as possible. His heart hammered as the guard patted him down. But his clenched hand, holding the small card, went unnoticed.
The guard paused, staring at him for a long moment. Jun-ho forced himself to meet the gaze, his jaw tight but unreadable.
Finally, the guard moved on. Jun-ho released a slow, controlled breath, keeping his hand pressed against his thigh to hide the card.
He stared blankly at the ceiling, his chest heaving from the close call. His camera might have been compromised, but the card was still safe.
–
The guards exited the dormitory, their boots echoing against the concrete as the doors slammed shut behind them. The tension in the room remained thick, but the players began to move again, cautiously picking themselves up and tending to their wounds.
Jun-ho waited a moment longer, his head pounding and his body aching. He had to get to Gi-hun and the others. Clutching the tiny SD card in his palm, he pushed himself up from the floor, swaying slightly. The room was spinning, and the air reeked of sweat, blood, and fear. He staggered forward, weaving through the scattered players.
When he finally reached Gi-hun’s bunk, he found the group huddled together. Gi-hun was sitting on the edge of the bed, a smile on his pale face. Sang-woo stood nearby, his expression unreadable, while Player 199 was nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot. Player 067 leaned against the bunk frame, her eyes scanning the room.
“You made it,” Gi-hun said, his voice filled with relief. “Are you okay? You look like you’ve been through worse than hell.”
Jun-ho nodded, not trusting his voice just yet. He slid down to sit on the floor beside the bunk, his back pressed against the cold metal. He opened his clenched fist and slipped the SD card into the waistband of his pants, securing it.
The group fell silent for a moment, the weight of the night pressing down on them. Then Gi-hun broke the tension.
“We should know each other’s names,” he said, his voice regaining some vigor. “Why don’t we go around and tell each other our names now”.
Gi-hun grinned, “I only know who some of you are”.
Player 199 smiled cheekily. “I know your name sir. Ssangmun-dong”.
Gi-hun chuckled, “Ssangmun-dong is just my hometown. The name is Seong Gi-hun”.
Player 199 nodded eagerly, his warm smile a small light in the grim atmosphere. “I’m Ali Abdul,” he said. “I’m from Pakistan.”
Gi-hun grinned, clapping Sang-woo lightly on the shoulder. “And this guy here? He’s the pride of Ssangmun-dong.”
Sang-woo crossed his arms, his tone measured but firm. “Cho Sang-woo,” he said, nodding slightly before turning his attention to Player 067. “And you?”
“Kang Sae-byeok,” she replied curtly, her voice as sharp as ever.
Gi-hun tilted his head, clearly unimpressed by her brevity. “That’s a pretty name,” he said snarkily. “Though, honestly, I’m not sure how well it fits.”
Sae-byeok shot him a cold glance but didn’t bother replying.
The group’s attention shifted to Jun-ho, who leaned heavily against the bunk frame, still pale and clearly exhausted from the riot and the blow to his head. He let out a resigned sigh, rubbing his temple. “Hwang Jun-ho,” he muttered, his voice low and even.
Ali, ever the warm presence in the group, turned toward Player 001 with a kind smile. “And what about you, sir? What is your name, if you don’t mind sharing?”
Player 001 blinked, looking momentarily lost. His gaze wandered as if searching for something in the air. Finally, he chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Ah, my name…” He paused, his wrinkled brow furrowing.
“It’s-”.
The group exchanged glances, a mix of unease and sympathy passing between them.
Gi-hun leaned forward slightly, his voice softer now. “Hey, old man, you must be really shook up today. You know when I’m stressed, my home address slips right out of my head”.
The old man tapped the side of his head lightly, smiling faintly despite the apparent frustration. “No, I… I think it’s in there somewhere. It just… slips away sometimes.” He laughed quietly, though the sound carried a touch of melancholy. “But what’s in a name, anyway? Call me whatever you like.”
Gi-hun gave him a small, reassuring nod. “All right, old man. Don’t stress about it. We just need rest.”
The group lapsed into silence.
“We need to stick together,” Gi-hun said. “Whatever’s coming next, we can’t face it alone.”
The others nodded in agreement, even Sae-byeok, though she looked less convinced. Jun-ho leaned his head back against the bunk, closing his eyes for a brief moment. The pounding in his skull persisted, but he focused on the tiny card hidden against his skin.
–
The air in the control room was cold, the hum of monitors the only sound as In-ho stood with his hands behind his back, his dark mask reflecting the glow of the screens. The dormitory riot had just ended, the chaos quelled by the guards’ intervention, but the delay was unacceptable. His brother had almost died.
A square-masked guard stood at rigid attention in front of In-ho, the faint trembling of his posture betraying his fear. He had been the one overseeing the dormitory during the riot, the one who had hesitated to act.
“Explain yourself,” The Front man said, his voice low and icy.
The guard swallowed hard, his voice faltering as he replied, “I— I thought it best to wait until the riot escalated further. To let the situation... manage itself. We intervened at the previously arranged moment.”
In-ho’s head tilted slightly, the hollow eye sockets of his mask staring into the guard. “Manage itself?”
The guard flinched. “Yes, sir. I believed that stepping in too early might—”
“ —end the game to early?” In-ho interrupted, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. He stepped closer, the soft thud of his boots reverberating in the room. “You hesitated. You let Player 009 get attacked.”
The guard stiffened at the mention of Player 009. His gaze darted to the side for a moment, realizing too late that the Front Man’s anger wasn’t just about his orders not being followed to a tee.
“I wasn’t aware—”
“No”, In-ho’s voice was sharp and final. “You should have been aware and because of you Player 009 nearly died.”
The room fell into a tense silence. The other guards standing nearby exchanged uneasy glances but remained silent, their heads bowed.
The guard stammered, inching back towards the door.
In-ho reached into his coat, his movements deliberate. His gloved hand emerged holding his revolver.
The guard’s breathing quickened. “Sir, I—”
The gunshot echoed through the control room, a single, deafening crack that silenced the guard’s protests. He crumpled to the floor, his square mask tumbling off and clattering against the cold metal.
The other guards didn’t flinch, trained to remain impassive in the face of such executions. But the tension in the air was palpable.
In-ho lowered the gun, his voice calm but steely. “This is what happens when you fail me.” He turned to the remaining guards, who stood at attention, their faces hidden behind their masks. “You will not hesitate again. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Front Man,” they replied in unison, their voices firm but tinged with fear.
In-ho’s gaze lingered on the lifeless body for a moment before he holstered his weapon and turned back to the monitors. His eyes found Jun-ho's figure, slumped on a bunk, still alive. Barely.
In-ho let out a slow breath.
He straightened, his voice carrying authority as he addressed the room. “Clean this up. Get back to your stations.”
Without another word, In-ho exited the control room, his footsteps echoing down the sterile corridor.
Chapter Text
Jun-ho sat on the edge of a bunk, the metal frame pressing into his thighs as he rubbed the back of his head. The bruise from his earlier fall throbbed dully.
The dormitory's harsh lights cast a low glow over the bloodstains that marred the floor as they flickered on. The stains had dried now, crusting into dark reminders.
Jun-ho’s eyes were red-rimmed and heavy, but he hadn’t slept a moment. Every time he tried to close his eyes, the screams from the riot replayed in his mind, followed by flashes of shadowy figures lunging at each other in the strobe lights.
He had spent the night sitting upright, his back against the cold metal, his muscles tense. Every creak of a bunk or rustle of fabric made him flinch, his eyes darting to the source.
Not far from where he sat, Jun-ho noticed Player 001 also awake. The old man sat upright on the stairs leading down from the higher bunks, his expression unreadable. Despite his frail appearance, his gaze wandered the room, alert.
Gi-hun was sitting beside Player 001, his posture more relaxed as he slowly woke up. He leaned forward slightly, talking in hushed tones to the old man. Jun-ho strained to catch snippets of their conversation, though his pounding headache made it hard to focus.
“Hey old man.” Gi-hun’s voice was soft, but there was a persistent worry in his tone, “Did you stay up all night?”
The old man chuckled weakly, shaking his head. “I thought they would attack again or something”.
Jun-ho tilted his head, observing the interaction.
“Old man, but you must be so exhausted already”, Gi-hun pressed gently, his brow furrowing.
The old man’s gaze shifted to Gi-hun, his tired eyes gleaming faintly under the harsh lights. “It’s all right. You don’t really need that much sleep when you’re old”, he said sighing, “and–I didn’t help when they went after everyone, but keeping a night watch, well, I can do that”.
Gi-hun’s shoulders slumped as he rested his elbows on his knees, muttering something Jun-ho couldn’t quite hear. The old man gave another faint smile, patting Gi-hun’s hand like a grandfather comforting a troubled grandson.
Jun-ho leaned back against the wall, letting out a slow breath. Whatever the next game was, he needed to be ready.
Classical music echoed through the room, and the giant doors creaked open. Guards filed in, their masked faces unreadable as they herded the players into a line. The PA women resonated through the speakers.
“Attention, players. The third game will begin momentarily. Please follow the staff’s instructions and swiftly make your way towards the game hall.”
–
Jun-ho crouched near the edge of his group, observing the unfolding panic as other players continued to scramble to form teams. The clock above the doorway ticked down, now at around two minutes, each second lost, amplifying the frantic energy.
His head still throbbed.
Next to him, Gi-hun was visibly flustered as he counted their team members. “One, two, three, four... nine?” he muttered, glancing around in confusion. His gaze landed on Sae-byeok, who stood stiffly near the group, her arms crossed defensively. “Wait, did someone not bring anyone?”
The old man, Player 001, gave a small shrug, his voice apologetic. “It was me. I didn’t.”
Sang-woo’s frown deepened as he turned his sharp gaze to Player 240. “What about you? Who brought you here?”
240 shrugged. “Her.” She nodded toward Kang Sae-baeyok, who smirked, looking far too pleased with herself.
“I said to bring only men back here, didn’t I?” Sang-woo muttered under his breath, his tone clipped and irritated.
240’s expression soured instantly. “ You want me to go? Fine, I’ll go.” She made to stand up, her voice dripping with disdain.
“No, wait,” Gi-hun cut in quickly, his hands raised in a calming motion. “Hold on.” He shot Sang-woo a look of exasperation. “It’s okay. Stay where you are. We don’t even know what we’re doing yet, and the time’s almost up. At this point, let’s just focus on finding one more person and be done with it”.
Sang-woo didn’t reply, but the tension between him and Gi-hun was palpable.
Before anyone could speak again, a high-pitched laugh cut through the air, grating enough to make Jun-ho wince. Player 212 sauntered over, her wide grin unsettling as her gaze swept across the group. “Nobody kicked me out of a team, okay?” she declared loudly, ignoring the uncomfortable glances she was getting. “I’ll play with you as a special deal here.”
Without waiting for permission, she plopped down into the loose circle the group had formed, her movements confident. Her eyes flitted toward Sae-byeok and Player 240, a mocking smile curling her lips. “Yikes! I’ll be way more help than either of these wimpy little girls.”
Gi-hun looked like he wanted to argue, but the ticking clock made him hesitate. He threw a pleading glance at Sae-byeok, who responded with an irritated roll of her eyes.
Jun-ho pinched the bridge of his nose, the migraine he’d been nursing spiking under the bright fluorescent lights and the obnoxious sound of Player 212’s laughter.
The sharp buzz of the timer reaching zero cut through the room. Guards marched forward, their movements efficient and unyielding as they began ushering players toward the doors. Those who hadn’t managed to form teams were corralled into groups without ceremony, their protests falling on deaf ears.
“Teams, please proceed to the game arena,” the PA system announced.
–
Jun-ho’s eyes widened. The room they entered had to be the biggest he’d ever seen. Two platforms stretched across a dizzying chasm, the bottom shrouded in darkness. A thick, heavy rope lay across the two platforms, its middle draped taut between them. A flag hung from the center, fluttering ever so slightly.
Jun-ho’s stomach dropped. The game wasn’t hard to guess after seeing the room.
Tug-a-War.
The square masked guard in front of them raised a hand.
“I would now like to welcome you all to the third game. Today’s game is Tug-of-War”.
Jun-ho sighed. He hated how calm the guard sounded, as if the life-or-death stakes of the game were trivial to him.
Gi-hun, had gone pale, his face drawn tight with worry. While Sang-woo’s jaw was set, his eyes narrowing as he took in the details of the arena. Sae-byeok, was ever the silent observer, but even she couldn’t suppress the flicker of concern that passed through her eyes.
The guard continued, his voice clinical, devoid of any empathy for the players.
“In order to win, you must pull the rope towards your platform in an attempt to drop your opponents down below”
"Now, I will draw numbers to decide which two teams will play first," the guard continued, unfazed by the mounting anxiety in the air.
One of the circle guards next to the square guard reached into a sleek black box, pulling out a ball with a number on it.
“Team One will play on the left tower”, the guard said dispassionately.
Jun-ho's gaze shifted to Player 101, who stood up with a smug grin plastered on his face. His crew followed suit, some chuckling among themselves, exchanging low words with their teammates. They looked like they were already celebrating, as if the game were a mere formality. Jun-ho clenched his fists, frustration bubbling inside him. He couldn't stand that smug look on their faces.
A guard reached for another ball, this time pulling it from a yellow box placed on the opposite side of the square guard. The sound of it scraping against the box was painfully loud in the silence that had fallen over the room.
“Team Four will play on the right tower,” the guard said, his voice as indifferent as ever.
Jun-ho felt his throat tighten, and his heart skipped a beat as the realization hit him.
Shit, that was them.
–
Jun-ho gripped the coarse rope, his hands already sweating.
The countdown began.
“Three.”
He adjusted his stance. They had gone over strategy in the elevator up to the platform. Jun-ho was racing over the old man’s instructions on what he knew about tug-of-war strategy.
“Two.”
Gi-hun glanced back, his eyes meeting Jun-ho’s. “We’ve got this,” he said, though his voice betrayed his nerves.
“One.”
The whistle blew.
101’s team pulled with all their strength, the rope tightening like a steel vice. Jun-ho’s muscles screamed in protest as he leaned back, digging his heels into the platform. 101’s team yanked viciously, the sheer strength of their members making the platform under Jun-ho’s feet tremble.
“Hold steady!” Sang-woo shouted, his voice cutting through the panic. “Don’t stop, leaning back!”
Jun-ho obeyed, shifting his weight back. The rope burned against his palms as he strained against the pull. The sound of their collective grunts and the rattle of the rope filled the air.
“We’re losing ground!” 212 yelled, her voice frantic.
Jun-ho’s heart raced as their team inched toward the platform’s edge. He caught sight of the chasm below, its depth seeming to go on forever. His mind screamed at him to let go, runaway, and save himself, but his hands refused to obey.
“Wait!”, Sang-woo shouted suddenly. “Step forward! All at once!”
It was counterintuitive, but the team followed his lead. The sudden shift in force caught 101’s team off guard, their rhythm faltering.
“Lean back! Pull!” Sang-woo commanded.
Jun-ho dug in with everything he had, his vision tunneling as the rope groaned under the strain. Slowly, agonizingly, the tide began to shift.
101’s team stumbled, their formation breaking. Their feet slid closer to the edge, panic setting in. One of their members lost their grip and tumbled forward, dragging another with him.
The sound of their screams as they fell was deafening, cutting through the adrenaline-fueled haze.
Finally, with one last pull, all of 101’s team toppled over the edge, screaming as they fell.
Jun-ho collapsed onto the platform, his chest heaving as his hands throbbed with pain. Around him, his teammates were in various states of exhaustion and disbelief.
The guards stepped forward, unlocking the survivors and herding them back toward the elevator.
Jun-ho staggered to his feet, his legs shaky beneath him. As they shuffled back, he couldn’t shake the image of the falling players. Their bodies twitching on the floor below.
–
Oh Il-nam might have been old. He might have had a tumor eating away at his brain, but he wasn’t stupid. His eyes, though clouded with age, were still sharp enough to notice the details others missed. Amidst the chaos of the tug-of-war game, he’d seen it.
As planned, every contestant was padlocked to the rope, their survival hinged on the collective effort to avoid a deadly fall. Except for one.
Jun-ho.
Oh Il-nam had looked again checking.
There—Jun-ho’s padlock wasn’t secured in place. It hung loosely, the latch left open. The gap was so small it might have been overlooked by anyone else, but not him. No, he saw it clearly, a deliberate oversight hidden in plain sight.
He was disappointed. Il-nam’s suspicions had been growing ever since Jun-ho uttered that name. A brother. Family. An unpredictable element in an otherwise meticulously controlled environment. He’d recognized the possibility that cheating might occur the moment Hwang Jun-ho had said his name.
In-ho had done it. He’d broken the integrity of the game.
Now back in the dormitory Il-nam fought to steady his breath. The idea that someone—In-ho, of all people—had tampered with the sanctity of the game sent a bitter taste rising in his throat. It wasn’t just a breach of protocol; it was a betrayal, a crack in the foundation.
But-
In-ho’s actions, while unacceptable, weren’t entirely surprising.
What stung was the betrayal of it all. Il-nam had taken In-ho under his wing, molded him into someone capable of upholding the ideals of the game.
Il-nam would forgive In-ho. He had to.
There was no one capable enough to keep the games running, and Oh Il-nam knew his death was drawing near.
But forgiveness didn’t mean forgetting.
Il-nam sighed deeply, his frail chest rising and falling as though the weight of the world pressed against it. He needed to confront In-ho—not to punish him, but to remind him of their shared purpose. There could be no more room for sentimentality.
Not now.
Chapter Text
The oppressive air of the dormitory greeted the players as they trudged back from the tug-of-war game. The sense of victory among the group was subdued, the haunting screams of the fallen players still ringing in their ears. Exhaustion clung to everyone like a second skin.
Gi-hun looked around at his companions—Ali, Sae-byeok, Sang-woo, Player 001, and Jun-ho—and spoke up. “Before the lights go out, we should create a barricade. It might be good to make sure that we have cover.”
Sang-woo nodded, his analytical mind already surveying the room for materials. Ali immediately began helping, carrying makeshift barricades of metal bed frames. Even Player 001, despite his frail appearance, offered assistance by passing smaller pieces.
Jun-ho silently observed, then stepped in to help. His hand brushed against a twisted piece of metal from the riot the night before, and he quickly kicked it aside, not wanting to remember.
The team worked in tense silence, their movements efficient but heavy with exhaustion. Sae-byeok silently passed frames to Ali, who lifted them effortlessly, his strength an unspoken comfort to the group. Sang-woo directed the placement of the barricade, focusing on the structure's stability. Player 001 contributed where he could, his hands trembling slightly as he helped brace the frames.
More players from the other tug-of-war winning teams trickled into the room, their expressions hollow, their bodies visibly worn down. Some watched as Gi-hun’s group fortified their corner; others ignored them entirely, retreating to their own spaces to rest or strategize.
Jun-ho adjusted one of the frames to balance it better, then straightened up. “I’ll take the first watch tonight,” he said, voice quiet.
Gi-hun, who had been placing down a mattress, looked up. His face was drawn, but he gave a bright smile. “I’ll join you”.
–
Later that night, after the others had settled into uneasy sleep, Jun-ho and Gi-hun sat near the edge of the barricade. The dormitory was eerily quiet, save for the occasional murmur or shift of a restless player.
Jun-ho sat with his back to the barricade, his arms resting on his knees. His eyes scanned the room methodically, every movement cataloged in his mind. Gi-hun sat beside him, his posture slouched but his gaze alert.
Jun-ho broke the silence first. “You’ve got a knack for keeping people together.”
Gi-hun chuckled softly. “Not sure if it’s a knack or just desperation. You do what you have to, right?”
Jun-ho nodded, his gaze fixed on the cold, blood-stained floor. “Survival does strange things to people. Sometimes, it makes them more human… and sometimes, a lot less.”
Gi-hun’s expression grew distant, his shoulders sagging as though the weight of his memories was pressing down on him. “You know,” he began, his voice quiet and strained, “I wasn’t always like this.”
He gestured vaguely at himself, the weariness etched into every line of his face.
“The last time I built a barricade…” His words faltered, and his eyes glassed over.
Jun-ho, noticing his hesitation, placed a hand gently on Gi-hun’s shoulder. “You don’t have to talk about it if it’s too much,” he said softly.
Gi-hun gulped, shaking his head as if to clear the hesitation. “No,” he said firmly, though his voice wavered. “I need to.”
He drew in a shaky breath. “I was in a strike once. Used to make parts for cars. They fired a bunch of us, good people, just to cut costs. So we fought back. Set up barricades, like this one, to hold our ground. But… they didn’t care. They sent people to break us apart.”
Gi-hun paused, his hands trembling slightly as he stared into the distance. “A friend of mine, closer than a brother, he was killed. Right there, in front of me. All because we dared to ask for what was right.” His voice cracked, the rawness of the memory cutting through the air of the dormitory. “After that, I told myself I’d never let anyone depend on me again. I couldn’t handle failing someone like that… not again.”
Jun-ho glanced at him, his own expression softening. There was no pity in his gaze, only understanding. “You didn’t fail him. The system did.”
Gi-hun smiled faintly, though his eyes were watery. “Maybe. But you carry it anyway, you know?”
For the rest of their watch, they sat in comfortable silence.
–
The next morning, the PA system blared, jolting the players awake. Guards entered the dormitory, guns raised, ushering them out.
“Players, please proceed to the game hall,” the PA’s voice commanded.
Jun-ho fell into step with the group, his mind racing as he carefully mulled over what the next game might be. He stayed close to Gi-hun and the others as they entered the sterile, white game hall again.
“Players, welcome to the fourth game. For this game, you will be playing in teams of two. Please look around and find someone you wish to play with” the PA system instructed.
“When two people agree to play together, shake hands to show you have become partners.”
The contestants froze, the words sinking in. The instructions seemed simple enough, but simplicity often masked danger. Uneasy murmurs began spreading through the room as players looked for someone they could trust, or at least rely on to survive.
Sang-woo turned to Ali almost immediately, his expression unreadable but his movements decisive. “Ali,” he said firmly, as though the decision had already been made. Ali, ever earnest, nodded with a trusting smile and extended his hand. The two clasped hands, sealing their partnership.
Jun-ho, watching the interactions around him, hesitated for a moment before stepping toward Gi-hun. The man, still rubbing sleep from his eyes, looked up in mild surprise as Jun-ho approached.
“Gi-hun,” Jun-ho said, his voice calm but firm. “Let’s team up.”
Gi-hun blinked at him, caught off guard. “You sure? I mean, wouldn’t you be better off with someone younger? Someone stronger?”
Jun-ho shook his head. “I trust you. And here, that counts for more than strength.”
Gi-hun’s lips curved into a faint smile, touched by the sentiment but also clearly burdened by the unspoken weight of being relied upon. He extended his hand, and Jun-ho clasped it firmly.
–
When the pairs were finalized, one player was left without a partner: Player 001.
The frail old man stood in the center of the game hall, his slight figure dwarfed by the surrounding players. He looked around, his expression unreadable, though there was a faint glimmer of something in his eyes—acceptance, perhaps, or something deeper and more complex.
A hush fell over the room as two guards approached him, their movements mechanical and unyielding. They stopped just short of him, towering over his hunched frame. One of them gestured, a sharp motion that left no room for negotiation.
“Player 001,” the PA system announced, the voice detached and impersonal. “You do not have a partner. You are now eliminated.”
The players looked on, some relieved that yet another contestant was gone, others disturbed.
Jun-ho and Gi-hun both watched with a pained expression.
–
Now behind the scenes, Oh Il-nam sat in a private room with In-ho. The Front Man stood before the old man, his mask hiding his unease.
“Oh Il-nam,” In-ho began carefully, his voice as measured as he could make it. “What is it you want?”
Il-nam leaned back in his chair, his hands trembling slightly, though his gaze was sharp. “Your brother. He’s still in the game.”
In-ho stiffened at the words, though he kept his voice steady. “What about him?”
Il-nam’s frailty seemed to fade as he leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “You’re compromising the games,” he said bluntly. “That cannot happen. It’s bad for business, bad for everything we've worked so hard to create.”
“I’ll take him out of the games,” In-ho replied quickly, his voice firm, almost pleading. “Quietly. No one will notice. He doesn’t have to die.”
Il-nam chuckled, a dry, rasping sound that seemed to mock In-ho’s desperation. “Ah, sentimentality,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “It’s almost endearing. Almost. But no, that won’t do. That’s not enough.” He leaned back, his hands clasping one another as he regarded In-ho like a chess piece he was about to move. “Let me make you a deal.”
In-ho’s jaw tightened beneath the mask, his fists clenching at his sides. “What deal?”
Il-nam’s smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. “If Player 456 wins this next game, I’ll allow you to remove your brother from the competition. Quietly. Discreetly. But…”
The pause lingered, heavy and suffocating, before Il-nam continued. “…if Gi-hun loses, your brother stays. And he plays. Until he wins, or until he dies.”
In-ho froze. His breath hitched, and for a moment, he felt the walls of the room closing in on him. Beneath the mask, his face twisted in anguish, though he kept his body rigid, his voice devoid of emotion as he responded. “That’s not balance,” he said evenly. “That’s cruelty.”
“It’s fairness,” Il-nam corrected, his tone calm but unyielding. “You know the rules, In-ho. The integrity of the game must remain intact. You can’t rewrite the script because of… personal attachments.” He emphasized the last two words as though they were a disease. “So, what will it be?”
In-ho’s shoulders rose and fell with the weight of his labored breathing. His mind raced, helplessness tearing through him. He wanted to lash out, to scream, to rip the deal apart and refuse, but he knew Il-nam held all the power.
His brother’s life was a fragile thread, dangling precariously in the old man’s hands.
“Fine,” In-ho said finally, his voice low and hoarse, each word laced with bitterness. “We have a deal.”
Il-nam smiled, satisfied.
“Good”.
Chapter 13
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Jun-ho and Gi-hun stepped into the new game area, their footsteps crunching softly on the uneven ground. The space before them was eerily surreal—like a memory pulled from someone’s distant childhood. Pastel-colored walls enclosed the area, their hues warm oranges to gentle purples, mimicking the colors of a setting sun. Small structures lined the sides, some resembling tiny houses with weathered doors and cracked windows, while others were just walls and arches that served no real purpose.
The ground beneath their feet was rough, a mix of dirt and scattered pebbles that crunched softly as they moved. In some spots, weeds sprouted defiantly through the gravel, adding to the illusion of a forgotten, miniature neighborhood. A few narrow paths wound between the structures, their edges fading into patches of dried grass.
One of the triangle mask guards approached the pair, motioning for the pair to follow him.
Jun-ho walked around, taking in every detail.
Nostalgia hit him. If he tried desperately to forget where he was now, this area looked like it could be his child-hood neighborhood. He caught himself lingering on the details: a small bench shaded by an overgrown tree, the cracked window of a squat little house, the way the artificial sunlight dappled the gravel paths. The familiarity was disarming, as though he had been thrown back decades to a simpler time when the world seemed boundless, not caged like it was now. He felt a pang in his chest, a faint ache for simpler times.
Jun-ho and Gi-hun stopped, as the triangle guard turned around to face them, holding out two bags.
"Players, please take one bag each, from the staff member before you", the PA system instructed.
The objects inside of the bag clinked as Jun-ho and Gi-hun both grabbed one.
"There should be a set of ten marbles in each bag. Please check to confirm the number".
Gi-hun turned to Jun-ho with a tentative smile. “Marbles,” he said, a hint of nostalgia creeping into his voice. “We must be playing marbles!” He reached out, clasping Jun-ho’s shoulder briefly.
Jun-ho opened his own bag and counted silently, his hands moving methodically as he forced himself to focus.
The PA system crackled to life again. “In this game, using your set of ten marbles, you will play the game of your choice with your partner. The player who manages to take all ten marbles from their partner wins.”
Jun-ho’s stomach dropped. His eyes darted to Gi-hun, whose expression mirrored his own shock and disbelief.
“Wait,” Gi-hun stammered, stepping forward as though to protest. “No, no, no—this isn’t right! We were supposed to be a team!”
The guard said nothing, his silence more unnerving than if he had spoken. Instead, he gestured once more toward the painted walls of the makeshift neighborhood, as if encouraging them to begin.
Jun-ho placed a steadying hand on Gi-hun’s shoulder, though his own heart was pounding. “Gi-hun,” he said quietly, his voice low enough for only him to hear. “It’s the rules. There’s nothing we can do.”
Gi-hun turned to him, his eyes wide with desperation. “This… this isn’t fair. They didn’t say we’d have to go against each other!”
Jun-ho took a steadying breath, his chest tight as he fought to maintain his composure. His voice cracked.
“I’m sorry... truly.”
The alley they had positioned themselves in felt impossibly small now, the air thick. Jun-ho and Gi-hun stood there for a moment longer, the weight of what they were about to do pressing down on them.
“Let’s just get through this,” Jun-ho said quietly, his voice carrying a mix of weariness and regret.
Gi-hun swallowed hard, nodding. “Yeah. Let’s… let’s just get through this.”
They walked together to a corner of the alley, each holding their pouch of marbles. Neither spoke as they sat down on the dusty ground, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words.
Jun-ho poured his marbles into his hand, watching the light catch on their glass surfaces. He glanced at Gi-hun, who was doing the same, his hands trembling slightly.
“What game should we play?” Gi-hun asked, breaking the silence, though his voice was soft, almost hesitant.
The silence between them hung heavy as the reality of the situation settled. Jun-ho stared down at the marbles in his hand, their smooth surfaces catching the artificial sunlight. Finally, he broke the quiet, his voice calm but tinged with something Gi-hun couldn’t quite place.
“Gi-hun,” Jun-ho said softly, “let’s make this more than just a game. Let’s play marbles… with a twist.”
Gi-hun furrowed his brow, his hands clutching his bag of marbles as though holding onto something far more precious. “A twist?”
Jun-ho nodded, his gaze steady. “For every round, let’s share something about ourselves. Something real. If we’re doing this—” his voice faltered for a moment, then regained its strength, “—if one of us has to walk away… I want to know more about you.”
Gi-hun blinked, surprised. For a moment, he said nothing, then nodded slowly. “Alright,” he murmured. “Alright. I can do that.”
The uneven gravel crunching under them as they positioned themselves across from each other. The narrow corner they chose was quiet, the only sound the faint murmurs of other players in the distance.
Jun-ho held up a marble between his fingers. “ Every round we play, we share something about ourselves. A truth for a truth.”
Gi-hun considered this, then gave a small, hesitant smile. “Odd or even and a truth. Alright. Let’s do it.”
–
Jun-ho held a hand out to Gi-hun. “Odd or even?”
“Odd,” Gi-hun guessed, his voice cautious.
Jun-ho opened his hand, revealing a single marble. “You win this round,” he said, sliding the marble toward Gi-hun. Jun-ho took a deep breath, then spoke quietly. “My mother had a stroke not long ago. She’s been in a coma ever since.”
Gi-hun’s expression softened, his nervousness giving way to genuine sympathy. “That’s terrible. I’m... sorry.”
Jun-ho nodded slightly but didn’t reply. Instead, he gestured for Gi-hun to take his turn.
Gi-hun held a small cluster of marbles in his hand, shaking them gently as if to measure their weight. “Odd or even?” he asked.
Jun-ho studied his face, trying to read the subtle shifts in his expression. “Even,” he guessed.
Gi-hun opened his hand: four marbles. “I lose,” he said with a wry smile, handing over the winnings. He hesitated for a moment before speaking. “My daughter. She’s part of the reason I’m here. Her mom is taking her to the States, and I can’t even afford to visit. And my mother…” His voice faltered, and he looked away, his hands tightening into fists. “She’s diabetic. If I don’t get her treatment soon, I might lose her too.”
Jun-ho nodded, taking in his words with quiet understanding. Both of their mothers needed or still needed urgent medical care. “She sounds like she’s lucky to have you there for her,” he said softly.
Gi-hun’s face twisted, as guilt flooded his expression, for some reason Jun-ho didn’t understand.
They sat for a moment, before Jun-ho looked back up at the time.
The game went on.
–
Each round seemed to erode an invisible wall between them. The dusty alley felt more like a confessional than a battleground, the marbles in their hands now tokens rather than their only lifeline.
Jun-ho hesitated before breaking the silence, his eyes fixed on the glass spheres in his palm. His voice, when it came, was low and laden with unspoken pain. “My brother,” he began, his words careful and deliberate. “I’m sure he joined these games by now.”
Gi-hun’s brow furrowed, his grip on his own marbles tightening as he listened.
Jun-ho continued, his tone growing bitter. “After I went back home following the first round, all my debts were suddenly paid off. Anonymously. And I thought… maybe it was him. And then I found the card, the same one that was given to us, in his apartment. So I came back. I thought... maybe I could find him here.”
Jun-ho’s voice wavered, and he swallowed hard, as if trying to keep himself from unraveling. “But I think he’s dead. I think he died in the first round. And I didn’t even get to see him.”
The words lingered in the air, heavy with grief. Gi-hun stared at him, his expression stunned. “You came back here willingly?” he asked, his voice quiet.
Jun-ho nodded, his gaze distant. “I had to. I needed to know.” He exhaled shakily, his bitterness softening into something closer to resignation. “But now? What’s the point? My mother’s being cared for in the hospital, and my brother’s gone.”
He turned his gaze back to Gi-hun, his tone gentler now. “Meanwhile, you… you have people who still need you. Your daughter. Your mom. They’re worth fighting for, Gi-hun. Don’t forget that.”
Gi-hun swallowed hard, a weight settling on his shoulders. His throat tightened, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. He nodded slowly, though his heart felt heavy.
“Player 199, eliminated”
The announcement rang out, sharp and final, like a death knell. Gi-hun’s hand faltered as the marbles in his palm slipped through his fingers and clattered to the ground. He flinched at the sound, his body tensing as though he’d just been struck.
Jun-ho felt his stomach drop, and he met Gi-hun’s eyes.
“That was Ali,” Gi-hun whispered, his voice breaking. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.
Jun-ho shifted uncomfortably, the pit in his stomach deepening.
“Gi-hun,” Jun-ho said softly, drawing the other man’s attention back to the grim reality in front of them. “We have to finish this.”
The game resumed, but every round felt heavier. Gi-hun scooped up a handful of marbles and shook them lightly in his palm. “Odd or even?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly.
“Odd,” Jun-ho guessed.
Gi-hun revealed his marbles: three of them. “You win,” he said, sliding more of his dwindling marbles toward Jun-ho. His hands trembled as he handed them over, feeling his own life slip away as they dropped into Jun-ho’s palm.
Jun-ho hesitated, watching the subtle shake of Gi-hun’s hands. His own chest tightened, guilt and helplessness warring within him. He wanted to say something, to offer comfort, but words felt meaningless.
Instead, Jun-ho reached into his pocket, pulling out a small SD card. “Here,” he said, holding it out to Gi-hun. “If you make it out of here, use this. It’s everything-", He glanced at the guard near them who was looking of into the distance, "-I’ve managed to record. Show the world what’s happening here.”
Gi-hun stared at the card, then back at Jun-ho. “Why would you give this to me?” he asked, his voice laced with confusion and guilt. ”It could be you who makes it out of here?”
Jun-ho shook his head, resolve strengthening, as a smile tugged at his lips. “No. I won’t. My family will be fine. My mother’s in a hospital—she’ll be cared for. And if she ever wakes up… she’ll move on. My brother is gone.”
He placed the SD card and the last of his marbles in Gi-hun’s trembling hands, closing his fingers around them. “But your family—they still need you. They deserve to have you back.” His voice softened. “Win this game. Win the whole thing. For them.”
Gi-hun stood up, his legs unsteady as he clutched the marbles and SD card tightly. Jun-ho grabbed his hand before he could turn away, his grip firm.
“I’m sorry,” Jun-ho said, his voice barely audible.
Gi-hun looked at him, his eyes wet with unshed tears. “Me too,” he whispered.
As Gi-hun walked away, Jun-ho stood alone, the faint crunch of gravel beneath Gi-hun’s steps growing fainter with each moment. He turned to the guard standing a few feet away, his expression calm, almost defiant.
“I lost the game,” Jun-ho said, raising an eyebrow. “Are you going to kill me now?”
The guard lifted his gun, firing a shot into the ground near Jun-ho’s feet. Before Jun-ho could react, the guard stepped forward, raising the butt of his rifle. The strike landed hard against Jun-ho’s temple, and he crumpled to the ground. Blood trickled down his temple as he lay there, motionless.
“Player 009, eliminated”.
Notes:
:))))))))
Chapter 14
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Why was he not dead?
The thought echoed in Jun-ho’s mind, as his battered body was hauled through the corridors of the compound. Every step the guards took jostled him, sending fresh spikes of pain through his skull. His head throbbed in rhythm with his pulse, and the sticky warmth of blood trickling down his temple only added to the fog enveloping him.
He tried to focus, to ground himself, but everything around him blurred into indistinct shapes and colors. The pastel hues of the walls blending together in his swimming vision.
He blinked rapidly, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but the dizziness refused to abate.
Jun-ho’s mind raced despite his disorientation. He should be dead. By all rights, he should be dead. The guard’s rifle had been aimed at him, the intent clear. He’d braced himself for death, wondering what it might be like. Would it hurt? Would it be quick? What would come next?
But instead, he’d woken up—alive, aching, and utterly confused.
Why? Why was he alive and not Ali, or the hundreds of other players?
Jun-ho felt like he’d been punched in the gut, and he choked back a sob, his throat tight with grief and guilt.
Was his survival meant to be a punishment? A cruel joke? He couldn’t understand it. Couldn’t fathom why the bullet he’d resigned himself to had never come.
He tried to piece it together, but the pounding in his head made it hard to hold on to any coherent thought. His memories of the last moments before he blacked out were fractured, like shards of broken glass. He remembered the guard raising the rifle, the sharp crack of the shot, the searing pain as the butt of the gun struck his head. After that… nothing. Just a void.
Jun-ho groaned softly, the sound barely audible over the rhythmic march of his captors. His legs felt like lead, dragging uselessly behind him as the guards half-carried, half-dragged him. He hated the helplessness of it, the way his body refused to obey his will. He hated the way his mind kept circling back to that single, gnawing question: Why am I still alive?
Finally, they stopped in front of an ominous black door. A guard that Jun-ho hadn’t noticed, stepped out from behind him walking up to the door. The guard tilted their head toward a camera embedded above the door frame, a red light blinking to life as it scanned the mask the guard wore. A soft beep echoed through the corridor, followed by a click as the door unlocked and opened.
Jun-ho blinked, his weary mind struggling to comprehend the sight before him. The door opened to a corridor that was lavish, starkly different from the minimalism of the compound. The walls were black, polished to a mirror-like shine that reflected the light from above.
The guards dragged Jun-ho through the corridor before entering a room.
A massive desk dominated the center of the room, its sleek surface spotless. Behind it stood a figure cloaked in grey, the shapes of the black mask the figure wore forming a geometric face.
Jun-ho’s heart sank into his stomach.
He hadn’t braced himself for this, a confrontation with the architect of this nightmare, the monster pulling the strings.
He was shoved forward into the room, his knees nearly buckling from exhaustion.
The man with the black mask motioned for the guards to let go of Jun-ho.
“Guard the door”, came a distorted voice from the figure in front of him.
The guards stepped back, moving so that the exit was blocked on both sides.
The figure stood still, radiating an aura of calm authority that made Jun-ho’s skin crawl. Then, with a deliberate slowness that stretched the moment into an eternity, the figure reached up and removed his mask.
Jun-ho’s breath hitched.
The face beneath the mask was one he knew better than his own. A face he had spent months searching for, mourning, and replaying in his mind. His brother. In-ho.
Jun-ho stared, unable to process what he was seeing. “In-ho?” he rasped, his voice cracking. “It’s… it’s you?”
In-ho met his gaze, his expression unreadable. He looked older, colder. The soft warmth Jun-ho could faintly remember in his brother’s eyes had been replaced with something harder, more calculating.
“In the flesh,” In-ho said simply, his voice steady but devoid of emotion.
The words hit Jun-ho like a physical blow. Rage and relief warred inside him.
“In the flesh?” Jun-ho repeated, his tone incredulous. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as his shock gave way to fury. “So it’s true that you’re running this... this slaughterhouse? That you’ve been watching people die for sport?” He lunged forward, his vision blurring with rage and pain. “How could you—”
The guards moved before he could reach In-ho, grabbing him and pulling him back. Jun-ho thrashed against the guards, his strength ebbing, but determination unwavering. “You’re my brother!” he shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. “How could you do this? How could you let this happen?”
In-ho’s face remained impassive as he took a measured step closer. For the first time, his mask faltered, his expression softening ever so slightly. His voice, when he spoke was like a parent addressing a tantruming child. “Jun-ho, stop. You don’t understand.”
“Understand?” Jun-ho spat, his breath ragged as he struggled to break free. He fixed his brother with a look of pure disbelief, his voice cracking under the strain of his emotions. “Hyung... why?”
In-ho held his gaze, and for a fleeting moment, something flickered in his eyes—guilt, regret, or perhaps the faint shadow of the brother Jun-ho had once idolized. But the moment passed, and the cold, detached mask slipped back into place. “It’s a necessary evil,” he said softly, the words almost gentle, but filled with conviction.
Jun-ho let out a bitter laugh, his voice thick with tears.
“Necessary? That’s the excuse you’re going with?”
In-ho stepped back, his face unreadable once more. His gaze lingered on Jun-ho for a moment longer, the room heavy with unspoken words. “Don’t come looking for me again,” he said finally, his tone devoid of warmth.
Jun-ho’s heart twisted at the cold finality of those words. He opened his mouth to speak, to scream, to beg—but before he could utter another word, In-ho turned to the guards.
“Take him out,” In-ho ordered, his voice flat and emotionless.
Jun-ho barely had time to register the command before one of the guards moved behind him. There was a brief, sharp crack as something hard connected with the back of his head. The room tilted violently; Jun-ho still staring into his hyung’s eyes looking for a semblance of regret, before darkness claimed him.
–
Jun-ho awoke in a room bathed in dim, uncertain light, the shadows flickering and shifting like something alive. His head throbbed with a dull, insistent ache, and his limbs felt leaden, as if gravity itself had increased its pull on him. He blinked slowly, his vision swimming as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.
The air smelled faintly of antiseptic, mingled with something metallic—blood, maybe his own. His mind was a foggy mess, and for a moment, he couldn’t tell if he was awake or dreaming.
Then he saw him.
In-ho sat beside him, the imposing grey coat he had worn draped neatly over the back of a chair. His mask was gone, revealing the face Jun-ho had so desperately searched for, only to find it now in the last place he expected.
His brother’s face was thinner than Jun-ho remembered, his features sharper, as if carved from stone. Dark circles shadowed his tired eyes, and faint lines creased the corners of his mouth and brow—subtle evidence of the years of strain he had carried. His jet-black hair, once casually messy, was now carefully combed back and gelled, though a stray lock fell forward over his forehead.
The face Jun-ho remembered as warm and open was now hard to read, but in that moment, it was unguarded. His dark eyes, deep and piercing, shimmered with something raw—an emotion Jun-ho couldn’t quite name. Sadness? Regret? Guilt? Whatever it was, it made In-ho look almost human again, stripped of the cold mask and authority he had used to separate himself from the world.
Jun-ho tried to move, to sit up, but his body didn’t obey. He could only watch as In-ho leaned closer, his every motion deliberate yet hesitant, as though unsure of his place. Slowly, he reached out, his gloved hand brushing against Jun-ho’s temple. He removed the glove with a soft tug, and his bare fingers gently smoothed back the disheveled strands of Jun-ho’s hair. The gesture was so achingly familiar that Jun-ho’s chest tightened.
“Dongsaeng I’m so sorry,” In-ho murmured, his voice low and rough, as though the words had been dragged from a place buried deep inside him. “ You have no idea how sorry I am.”
The sound of his brother’s voice, so raw, sent a shiver through Jun-ho.
He’d never heard a person sound so broken.
Jun-ho tried to open his mouth to speak, to shout, to demand answers to the questions burning in his mind, but his throat felt dry, his voice caught somewhere deep inside him. His lips twitched, but no sound came.
His brother’s face, framed by the dim light, blurred in and out of focus as Jun-ho’s head pounded.
Was this real? Or just some cruel hallucination?
He couldn’t tell anymore.
Jun-ho stared, trying to commit every detail of In-ho’s face to memory. The sharp jawline, the slight hollows in his cheeks, the way his hand trembled ever so slightly before he withdrew it. He wanted to believe this was real, to believe the apology wasn’t a figment of his imagination.
But the lines of reality blurred as his body betrayed him, dragging him back into unconsciousness. His eyes fluttered shut, though he fought to keep them open. The last thing he saw was In-ho’s face, etched with sorrow and something that might have been love, before the world faded to black once again.
Notes:
:))))))))))
Chapter Text
When Jun-ho woke again, it was in his own apartment.
The first thing he noticed was the stillness. The oppressive air he’d come to associate with the compound was gone, replaced with the faint hum of the city outside and the soft whirring of his old refrigerator. His cramped, cluttered home was exactly as he’d left it, yet it felt foreign, like he was an intruder in his own life.
He sat up slowly, every movement accompanied by a dull ache radiating through his body. His head throbbed, his limbs were stiff, and his chest felt heavy, as though the weight of the past weeks had lodged itself permanently within him. How had he gotten here?
He reached up to brace his head as the pain in his head grew, feeling rough gauze underneath his fingers.
Jun-ho tried to piece together the fractured memories—In-ho’s face, the cold words, the sharp pain of betrayal, the strike to the back of his head. Then... nothing. The gap in his memory gnawed at him, but he couldn’t summon the energy to pursue it.
—
The days that followed passed in a surreal blur. Jun-ho went to work, though he might as well have stayed home. He filled out reports mechanically, the words blurring on the screen as he typed. His colleagues shot him concerned glances, their whispered questions lingering just out of earshot.
Even the chief’s explosive demands—“Where the hell have you been, Jun-ho?!”—barely registered. He muttered something vague and evasive, and the chief eventually stopped asking, though the frustration lingered in his eyes.
He ate when his body demanded it, choking down bland meals that tasted like ash. The food sat heavy in his stomach, like a punishment for surviving when so many hadn’t. Sleep was no refuge, either. Each night brought dreams that weren’t quite nightmares but left him drenched in sweat all the same: flashes of blood-streaked arenas, the hollow faces of the players, and, always, In-ho.
His brother’s face loomed over him, shifting between expressions of regret, indifference, and something Jun-ho couldn’t name.
The world outside seemed muted, as though someone had drained the color and sound from it.
The vibrant, bustling life of Seoul now felt like a dull echo of itself. People moved around him, talking, laughing, living, but none of it reached him. It was as though he were a ghost, haunting a life that no longer belonged to him. His once-burning drive, to uncover the truth, to seek justice, felt like it had been snuffed out, extinguished by the weight of In-ho’s betrayal and the horrors he’d witnessed.
Every night, Jun-ho sat at his kitchen table, staring at the small card the Salesman had given him all those weeks ago. The black geometric symbol shining faintly under the weak light of the kitchen bulb, mocking him. He traced its edges with his finger, the embossed numbers beneath his thumb feeling simultaneously familiar and alien. This card had been the key to everything. It was a reminder of how it all started, and the question that had plagued him since: Why?
Some nights, he thought about destroying it, but the thought never lingered long. It was the last tangible connection to everything that had happened, proof that it wasn’t just a fever dream. Without it, the line between reality and delusion blurred even further.
And so, Jun-ho sat in silence each night, his thoughts circling endlessly like a bird trapped in a cage. The weight of his brother’s actions, the lives lost, and his own helplessness pressed down on him. Outside, the world continued, oblivious. Inside, Jun-ho remained frozen, trapped in a liminal space between the past and the present, unsure of how—or if—he could ever move forward.
–
The morning was crisp, the kind that made Jun-ho pull his coat tighter around himself as he trudged toward the station. He didn’t feel the chill, though; the emptiness that had consumed him these past weeks dulled everything, even the bite of the air. His feet moved on autopilot, carrying him forward while his mind remained elsewhere.
It wasn’t until he reached the crosswalk near the elementary school that something pierced through the fog. A flash of movement, a familiar silhouette among the crowd of parents waiting for their children. Jun-ho stopped in his tracks, his heart skipping a beat.
There, standing across the street, was Kang Sae-byeok.
She was alive.
For a moment, Jun-ho thought he might be imagining it. She looked so ordinary, wearing a plain black jacket and jeans, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail. She seemed worlds away from the desperate, hardened woman he’d seen in the games. But then she turned, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd, and their gazes locked.
Her expression froze.
Jun-ho’s breath caught in his throat. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Sae-byeok was the first to move, striding across the street toward him, her face a mixture of shock and wariness.
“Hwang Jun-ho?” she said quietly, her voice tinged with disbelief.
“Sae-byeok,” Jun-ho whispered, his own voice shaky. “You’re… alive.”
“So are you,” she replied, tilting her head slightly as if trying to figure him out. “I thought—” She cut herself off, glancing around. “Look, this isn’t the place. There’s a café near here. Meet me there at four o’clock. I’ll explain.”
Without waiting for a response, she turned and disappeared into the crowd.
–
The café was small and quiet, tucked away on a side street. Jun-ho arrived early, his nerves buzzing with anticipation and dread. He chose a seat in the back corner, his back to the wall, and ordered a black coffee that he barely touched. He kept his gaze fixed on the door, rehearsing what he might say, though nothing felt right.
When Sae-byeok walked in, she paused briefly to scan the room. Her eyes landed on him, and she strode toward his table, her movements brisk but unhurried. She sat down across from him, setting a small bag on the floor beside her. Her expression was guarded but not unfriendly, her sharp features softer than he remembered from their time in the games.
“You look like hell,” she said by way of greeting, tilting her head slightly.
Jun-ho gave a humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t look so great yourself.”
She smirked faintly, though the humor didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, well, surviving a death game isn’t exactly good for your complexion.”
Jun-ho nodded, a shadow of a smile tugging at his lips. “Guess not.”
For a moment, the two sat in silence, the faint clatter of dishes and murmured conversations around them filling the space. Jun-ho found himself studying her, noting the changes since he’d last seen her. She looked healthier, her face no longer gaunt, but there was still a tension in her posture, a wariness in her gaze that spoke of battles fought and scars carried.
“How are you doing?” he asked cautiously.
Sae-byeok shrugged. “I’m alive. That’s something, right?”
“It is,” Jun-ho said, his voice quiet.
She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “What about you? You don’t exactly look like you’ve been thriving either.”
Jun-ho exhaled sharply, glancing at his untouched coffee. “I’ve been… getting by. Barely.”
“Yeah, I get that,” she said, her tone softening. “It’s weird, isn’t it? Being back in the real world. Feels like none of it ever happened… but also like it’s all you can think about.”
Jun-ho looked up at her, surprised by her honesty. “Exactly. Every time I close my eyes, I’m back there. And when I open them, it’s like… nothing’s changed, but everything’s different.”
Sae-byeok nodded slowly, her gaze distant. “It’s hard to explain to people who weren’t there. They don’t get it. How could they?”
A silence settled between them again, not uncomfortable but heavy with unspoken understanding.
After a moment, Jun-ho gestured toward her bag. “What’s in there?”
She blinked, then glanced down at the bag. “Oh, just groceries. Milk, bread, the usual. Needed to pick them up.”
“Groceries,” Jun-ho repeated, a faint note of disbelief in his voice.
She raised an eyebrow. “What? You thought I’d be carrying some kind of spy gear or something?”
“No,” he said quickly, then hesitated. “Maybe.”
She let out a short laugh, the sound unexpected but genuine. “Sorry to disappoint. I’m just trying to live a normal life, you know? One day at a time. My brother needs me now.”
He nodded, though the idea of normalcy felt foreign to him. “You seem to be doing better than I am.”
“Looks can be deceiving,” she said with a shrug, her smirk returning briefly.
They lapsed into silence again, but this time it felt lighter.
“You drink coffee?” Jun-ho asked, gesturing toward the counter.
Sae-byeok raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. Why?”
“Let me get you one. It’s the least I can do.”
She studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Sure. Black. No sugar.”
Jun-ho stood, heading to the counter. As he ordered, he couldn’t help but feel a small flicker of something unfamiliar—connection. It was fragile and tentative, but in a world that felt so empty, it was enough.
When he returned with her coffee, she accepted it with a quiet “thanks” and took a sip, her expression softening slightly.
“So,” she said, setting the cup down. “Are we going to dance around it all day, or do you want to ask me questions?”
A silence stretched between them until Jun-ho finally broke it. “What happened to Gi-hun?”
The question was out before he could stop himself, and the weight of it settled heavily between them. Jun-ho braced himself, dreading the answer. If Sae-byeok was here and Gi-hun wasn’t…
Sae-byeok’s expression faltered. She looked down at her hands, gripping the edge of the table. Her voice, when it came, was unsteady. “He… he got caught with an SD card or something.”
Jun-ho’s heart sank.
“I don’t know what he was thinking, honestly. The dumbass probably thought he could smuggle it out.” Her voice cracked, her composure slipping. “They found it during a random search after another fight broke out in the dorms. Said it was contraband. They shot him.”
Jun-ho felt the words like a physical blow. He gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white. “Shot him?” he echoed, his voice barely audible.
Sae-byeok nodded, her jaw tight as she fought back tears. “Right there, in front of everyone. No trial, no explanation. Just… gone.”
Jun-ho closed his eyes, his head bowing as the weight of her words crushed him. He could barely breathe.
“I… I gave him that SD card,” he admitted hoarsely, his voice trembling. “I thought he’d have a better chance of getting it out than me. I—” He broke off, his chest tightening painfully.
Sae-byeok’s eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t say anything.
“I killed him,” Jun-ho whispered. “I got him killed.”
“You didn’t kill him,” Sae-byeok said quietly, though her voice lacked conviction. “That place did. Those monsters did.”
But her words did nothing to ease the guilt tearing through him. Jun-ho stared at the table, his mind spinning. He had trusted Gi-hun with that card, thinking it was the only way to expose the truth. And now Gi-hun was dead because of his choice.
Jun-ho buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. “I thought… I thought he’d make it out. That he’d get it to someone who could stop them. I was wrong.”
Sae-byeok reached across the table, placing a hand over his. “He wanted to do the right thing,” she said softly. “We all did. But you can’t blame yourself for their actions.”
Jun-ho didn’t respond. He couldn’t. All he could think about was Gi-hun, imagining him dead, blood pooling around his limp body. Gi-hun’s hope, his determination, and the way it had all ended in blood and silence.
Jun-ho sat there as Kang Sae-byeok, held his hand, and was left with nothing but the crushing weight of his failure and the knowledge that the truth was still buried, hidden behind the walls of that accursed place.
Chapter 16: Interlude
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
On an island far away, the sea roared against jagged cliffs, its fury matched in the relentless downpour that lashed the compound.
The distant rumble of thunder, and lightning split the sky, could almost be heard from where Inho sat in his quarters. If he only closed his eyes, he could hear the drumming of the rain, his thoughts were miles away.
His gloved hands rested lightly on a table next to his mask, fingers twitching unconsciously. It was an old habit—one his brother used to tease him about. "You fidget when you’re thinking too hard," Jun-ho would say, his lopsided grin impossible to forget. That grin haunted In-ho now, more vivid than the lightning flashing across the horizon.
A memory came unbidden now, pulling him back to a simpler time.
He saw himself and Jun-ho as children, huddled together in their tiny apartment. The power had gone out during a particularly violent thunderstorm, and young Jun-ho had been terrified. In-ho, barely older but already carrying the weight of responsibility, had wrapped his arms around his little brother and pulled him close.
“You’re okay,” he’d whispered, his voice steady despite the fear clawing at his own chest. “I’m here. Nothing’s going to hurt you while I’m around.”
Jun-ho had clung to him, his small body trembling with every crack of thunder. “Promise?” he’d whispered, his voice muffled against In-ho’s shirt.
“I promise,” In-ho had said, holding him tighter.
That promise now felt like a cruel irony, a bitter reminder of all he had failed to protect.
In-ho’s jaw tightened as the memory faded, replaced by the cold reality of his present. He had made choices—choices that had taken him far from that boy who swore to shield his brother from the storm. He had become the storm instead, a force of destruction, tearing through the lives of others. And in doing so—
In-ho had torn his own life apart as well.
The thunder outside grew louder, as if mocking him. In-ho stood up, walking away from the table, pacing the room like a caged animal. The silence of his quarters felt suffocating, broken only by the occasional crackle of the storm. He wanted to scream, to tear off the mask that had come to define him, to feel something other than this aching void.
But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.
His gaze fell on the desk in the corner of the room. On it sat a single photograph, the only personal item he allowed himself to keep. It was a picture of him and Jun-ho, taken long before life had driven them apart. They were smiling, arms slung around each other, their faces radiating the unshakable bond of brothers.
In-ho picked up the photo, his gloved thumb brushing over the image of Jun-ho’s face. His chest tightened, and for a moment, he felt like that boy again, clutching his little brother in the dark and promising to keep him safe.
“I miss you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. The words felt too small to carry the weight of his grief, but they were all he had.
Outside, the storm raged on, its fury unabated. In-ho closed his eyes, letting the sound wash over him. The thunder was the same as it had been all those years ago, but this time, there was no one to hold, no one to comfort, no one to protect.
Just the empty echo of promises broken and a life that could never be reclaimed.
Notes:
Thank yall so much for commenting so much!!!! I love getting to read all the comments and your thoughts.
Also Updates have changed to once a week as school has picked up!
:))))))
Chapter Text
Jun-ho leapt out of bed with a gasp, sweat clinging to his skin as his chest heaved. For a fleeting moment, he was back in the games—staring into the lifeless eyes of Seong Gi-hun, blood pooling beneath him. He blinked hard, his vision adjusting to the darkness of his apartment. But the shadows lingered, the ghosts of the past refusing to dissipate.
He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to shake off the nightmare. But the dreams came every night now. The screams, the shots, the voice of the PA system—it all followed him into his waking hours, lurking in the back of his mind, ready to spring forward when he closed his eyes.
The world didn’t stop for Jun-ho.
The sun rose and set with merciless consistency, each day blending into the next, a haze of gray mornings and sleepless nights. The faces around him changed—colleagues, strangers on the subway, suspects in interrogation rooms—but he stayed the same. He avoided mirrors as much as he could. When he did catch a glimpse of his reflection, he barely recognized the man staring back at him, the hollowed eyes and the faint lines of exhaustion etched into his face.
His badge still hung from his neck. His desk at the precinct remained untouched in its chaos, cluttered with case files, empty coffee cups, and a small picture of him and In-ho as children, taken long before life had pulled them in opposite directions.
Work provided a distraction, a small reprieve from the gnawing guilt and haunting memories. The cases made sense in a way that his life didn’t anymore. A string of robberies, a domestic dispute gone wrong, a missing person who didn’t want to be found. These were puzzles Jun-ho could solve, problems he could fix.
But no matter how much he buried himself in work, the guilt refused to loosen its grip.
And then there was In-ho.
The memory of his brother’s face, calm and impassive behind that damned mask, burned in Jun-ho’s mind like a brand. In-ho orchestrating the entire games. The brother he had spent years searching for had been standing right in front of him, close enough to touch, and Jun-ho had been powerless to do anything about it.
Jun-ho clenched his fists at his desk, his knuckles turning white.
Then he sighed, the fury ebbing, replaced by the ache of loss
The precinct hummed around him, the faint sound of phones ringing, keyboards clacking, and colleagues murmuring. He could feel their eyes on him, fleeting glances of concern and curiosity. They’d noticed, of course. How could they not? The nights he didn’t come back to the precinct, the way his gaze would drift into the distance during briefings, his increasingly erratic behavior.
Detective Park, his partner, had even tried to ask once.
Detective Park had always been sharp, a quality that made her an exceptional investigator and, much to Jun-ho’s irritation, incredibly perceptive. She wasn’t the type to miss a detail, no matter how small. And lately, Jun-ho had been giving her plenty of details to notice.
One evening, as the precinct had settled into the familiar hum of late-night work, Park had approached his desk. Her demeanor had been casual, but Jun-ho had recognized the intent behind it. She had leaned against the edge of his desk, crossing her arms and tilting her head slightly, her dark eyes scanning him.
“Jun-ho,” she’d started, her voice calm but with an edge of concern, “you’ve been off lately.”
He hadn’t looked up from the file he was pretending to read. “Just tired, Park,” he’d replied, his tone curt. “It’s nothing.”
She hadn’t bought it. He had felt her eyes on him, dissecting every word, every movement. Park wasn’t just his colleague; she was one of the few people in the precinct who actually cared. Her concern wasn’t superficial, and that made brushing her off all the more difficult.
He was grateful no one else had asked. He couldn’t explain it, not without sounding insane; Jun-ho had tried and nearly gotten fired.
Every now and then, Jun-ho would catch himself reaching for his phone, his thumb hovering over the contacts. He’d scroll to his mother’s name, or Sae-byeok’s, or Detective Park’s number, but he never pressed call.
Instead, he buried his thoughts.
He buried them in the grind of paperwork, the methodical questioning of suspects, and the endless cups of coffee that tasted like ash in his mouth. He buried them in the quiet nights spent alone in his apartment, the TV playing reruns of shows he wasn’t watching, his mind replaying every terrible moment of the games.
But no matter how deep he tried to bury them, the guilt and the memories always found a way to resurface.
Jun-ho gritted his teeth, forcing his focus back to the case file in front of him. It didn’t matter how he felt. The world didn’t stop for him, and he couldn’t stop for it.
–
Before the games Jun-ho had made it a habit to visit the hospital every evening to see his mom. No matter how late his shift ran or how drained he felt, he always made time to see his mom.But after the games, after everything, the thought of facing her had been too much. He hadn’t gone by in weeks
So when the hospital called, telling him that she had woken up, that she was asking for him, Jun-ho hadn’t hesitated. He dropped everything, grabbed his coat, and rushed out the door. The guilt that had kept him away now propelled him forward, each step toward the hospital feeling heavier than the last.
–
The fluorescent lights buzzed softly as Jun-ho entered the familiar hallway leading to his mother’s room. The scent of antiseptic hung in the air, mixing with the faint aroma of wilted flowers from a cart near the nurses’ station. He knew the hallway well—the scuffed linoleum floors, the peeling posters reminding visitors to sanitize their hands.
When he pushed open the door to her room, his heart clenched. She was sitting up in bed, her frail frame dwarfed by the crisp white sheets. Her hair, now streaked with more gray than he remembered, framed her face like a fragile halo. Despite her evident weakness, her eyes lit up when she saw him.
“Jun-ho,” she greeted him with a warm, if tired, smile.
“Eomma,” he said softly, taking a seat by her bedside. He reached out, his hand covering hers. “How are you feeling today?”
“Better,” she replied, her voice thin but steady. “The doctors say my progress has been good. And I don’t have to worry about those bills anymore, thanks to you.”
Jun-ho’s stomach twisted. He hadn’t told her the truth, couldn’t bear to. “I’m glad,” he said instead, forcing a small smile.
His mother tilted her head, studying him with the piercing intuition only a parent could have. “You look tired. Have you been sleeping?”
“I’m fine,” he lied quickly, avoiding her gaze.
She didn’t press him, but her expression didn’t soften. After a moment, she squeezed his hand. “Jun-ho, you’ve done so much for me already. You don’t have to carry everything on your own.”
He swallowed hard, his throat tightening. “I’m not.”
“Hmm.” She didn’t look convinced but let it drop. “And your brother? Any word from him?”
Jun-ho hesitated, the familiar ache rising in his chest. “I found him,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
Her eyes widened. “You did?”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding slowly. “He’s... okay. But he’s far away, doing something important. He can’t come back right now.”
A soft smile touched her lips, relief shining in her eyes. “That’s good to hear. I’ve prayed for him every night, you know.”
Jun-ho forced a smile, anger, guilt, and regret swirling in his gut. “He’ll be okay, Eomma. I promise.”
–
Later that week, Jun-ho found himself walking through a narrow, tree-lined street in a quieter part of the city, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his jacket. Jun-ho and Sae-byeok had made a habit of going to a cafe together at least once a week.Sometimes they talked, sharing bits and pieces of their lives. Other times, they simply sat together in comfortable silence, sipping their drinks until the staff kicked them out.
The soft hum of conversation and the faint aroma of coffee greeted him as he stepped inside.
The space was small, with mismatched furniture, wooden chairs that creaked when you sat down, tables with chipped paint, and a bookshelf overflowing with second hand novels.
By the window, Jun-ho spotted Sae-byeok at their usual table. She was leaned back in her chair, one elbow propped on the table as she cradled a mug in her other hand. Her gaze was fixed on the bustling street outside, but she turned as soon as she saw him, offering a small smile of acknowledgment.
Beside her sat a boy Jun-ho hadn’t met before but instantly recognized: Cheol, her younger brother. The boy was utterly engrossed with a plate of waffles in front of him, stacked high with whipped cream, and strawberries. Cheol was digging into the dessert with fervor, a dollop of cream smeared across his cheek.
“Jun-ho!” Sae-byeok greeted, waving him over. She looked radiant, a stark contrast to the bruised and guarded woman he had met by now months ago. She was dressed warmly, her face free of the tension.
“Hey,” Jun-ho said, managing a faint smile as he slid into the seat across from her.
Cheol looked up, his face lighting up with curiosity. “Is this your friend, noona?”
“Yeah, this is Jun-ho,” Sae-byeok said, ruffling her brother’s hair. “He’s... a detective. A pretty good one, I think.”
Cheol paused mid-bite, glancing up at Jun-ho with wide eyes. “Hi,” he said, his voice muffled by a mouthful of waffle. He quickly swallowed and added, “I’m Cheol. You’re noona’s friend?”
Jun-ho chuckled softly. “Yeah, I guess I am. Nice to meet you, Cheol. Those waffles look pretty good.”
“They’re amazing!” Cheol exclaimed, his face lighting up. “Do you want some? They’ve got chocolate ones too.”
“I’m good, but thanks,” Jun-ho said, amused by the boy’s enthusiasm.
Sae-byeok shook her head, clearly trying not to laugh. “Cheol thinks everyone should eat waffles all the time.”
“They’re the best,” Cheol insisted, his tone matter-of-fact. “Way better than the gross food at the group home.”
At that, Jun-ho’s smile faltered slightly, his gaze flickering to Sae-byeok. She met his eyes briefly, her expression guarded but not unkind.
“It’s better now,” she said quietly. “We’re figuring things out.”
Cheol nodded, oblivious. “Yeah, noona’s taking care of everything. She’s the best!”
Jun-ho watched as Sae-byeok reached over and ruffled her brother’s hair, a rare softness in her demeanor. “You’re just saying that because I brought you waffles.”
“Maybe,” Cheol said with a grin, returning to his plate.
After finishing, Cheol excused himself to explore the café’s small book corner, Sae-byeok turned to Jun-ho, her expression softening.
“You don’t look so good,” she said bluntly.
Jun-ho shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee. “I’ve been busy.”
“That’s not it,” she said, her gaze unwavering
He didn’t respond, staring down at the steam rising from his cup.
“You helped me,” Sae-byeok said finally, her voice quieter now. “When I needed it the most.” She glanced toward Cheol, who was now sitting cross-legged on the floor with a book in his lap, completely engrossed. Her lips pressed into a thin line before she continued, “If there’s something you need... you can tell me.”
Jun-ho looked up, meeting her gaze. The sincerity in her eyes was almost too much to bear. “Thanks,” he said finally. “But I’ll be fine.”
Sae-byeok’s lips pressed together, and she let out a quiet sigh. “Fine,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “But don’t think for a second that I believe you.”
Jun-ho’s smile was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there. “You’re stubborn, you know that?”
She shrugged, her expression neutral but her eyes betraying a flicker of amusement. “Takes one to know one.”
–
In his quarters, In-ho watched Jun-ho at the café through the surveillance feed. His brother looked tired, burdened, but alive. That was enough.
In-ho leaned back in his chair, the mask sitting beside him on the desk, a reminder. His duty as the Front Man required distance, detachment, but every time he saw Jun-ho, the guilt surged within him.
He’d had set up surveillance in order to ensure that Jun-ho wouldn’t come looking again. That he would stay away. That he was safe.
As Jun-ho walked out of the café, shoulders slumped but still moving, In-ho watched. Jun-ho would be okay.
Chapter 18
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Jun-ho sat at his desk in the precinct, fingers absently drumming against the edge as he skimmed through a case file. The low hum of conversation and the occasional ring of a phone filled the air around him. Across the room, Detective Park and another officer were arguing over who owed who lunch, their playful bickering drawing scattered chuckles from nearby desks.
He glanced up, catching the tail end of their exchange, and to his surprise, found himself smiling faintly. The noise didn’t stab at his ears like it used to, didn’t feel like an unwelcome reminder of the life he had clawed his way back into. It was just background noise now.
Park caught his eye and grinned.
“Hey, Jun-ho! What do you think—shouldn’t he pay up? I won last time fair and square.”
Jun-ho leaned back in his chair, pretending to consider. “You both cheat at rock-paper-scissors, so I don’t think it matters.”
The room erupted in laughter, and even Jun-ho couldn’t hold back the slight chuckle that escaped him. Park shook her head with mock offense. “Remind me never to ask you for backup in an argument.”
“You don’t need my help to lose,” he quipped, his voice lighter than it had been in months.
The banter dissolved as Park tossed a paperclip at him, and Jun-ho ducked, shaking his head as he returned to his file. The laugh stayed with him longer than he expected.
Later, Jun-ho stood outside the small apartment, balancing a bag of groceries in one hand while the other hovered near the doorbell. From inside, he could hear Cheol’s voice, high-pitched and animated, followed by Sae-byeok’s calm but teasing response. A faint smile tugged at his lips as he pressed the button.
The door swung open almost immediately, revealing Cheol, who looked up at him with wide eyes. “Jun-ho hyung!” he exclaimed, bouncing on his toes. “Did you bring the ice cream?”
Jun-ho held up the grocery bag. “Of course. Chocolate, just like you ordered.”
Cheol cheered and grabbed the bag, darting off toward the kitchen. Jun-ho stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The apartment was small but filled with life. The faint scent of kimchi stew simmering on the stove mingled with the slightly floral fragrance of Sae-byeok’s laundry detergent. A stack of schoolbooks sat on the corner of the coffee table, and colorful crayon drawings were taped haphazardly to the walls.
“You’re late,” Sae-byeok said from the kitchen, glancing over her shoulder with an eyebrow raised. She was stirring a pot on the stove, her sleeves rolled up and her hair tied back. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
Jun-ho set his coat on the back of a chair and walked over. “Traffic,” he said simply, leaning against the counter. “And someone decided to text me last minute with an ice cream request.”
“Don’t blame Cheol,” she replied with a small smirk. “He’s been looking forward to this all day.”
“I can tell,” Jun-ho said, eyeing Cheol as the boy sat cross-legged on the floor, already halfway through unpacking the groceries. “You’d think I was bringing him treasure.”
“For him, it is.” Sae-byeok’s tone softened as she turned down the heat on the stove. “You don’t know how much he talks about you when you’re not here.”
Jun-ho felt a flicker of warmth at her words, but he pushed it aside with a quiet shrug. “I’m just a guy with chocolate ice cream.”
Sae-byeok shot him a knowing look but didn’t push further. “Set the table, will you? You know where everything is.”
Soon, the three of them were seated around the small dining table, bowls of steaming food and side dishes spread out between them. Cheol chattered away about school, his words spilling out in an excited torrent, while Sae-byeok occasionally chimed in with a dry comment that made him pout dramatically. Jun-ho found himself laughing more than he had in weeks, the tension in his chest easing with every shared joke and every bite of food.
When he finally crawled into bed that night, the usual unease lingered at the edges of his mind, but it didn’t consume him.
Sleep came easier than it had in forever.
The dreams still came, the fragments of screams and fleeting glimpses of blood, but they didn’t drag him under like before. When he woke, it wasn’t with a start, and his shirt wasn’t soaked through with sweat.
–
One crisp autumn evening, everything crumbled down. He was walking home from the station, the streetlights casting long shadows over the pavement, when he noticed it. A figure at the edge of his vision, just far enough away to blend into the city’s hum but close enough to prickle his instincts.
At first, he dismissed it.
Seoul was a busy city, and it wasn’t too unusual to see the same person more than once as you moved through the streets. But the unease lingered, a quiet alarm buzzing in the back of his mind. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he was being watched.
The next few days only solidified Jun-ho’s suspicions. The figure wasn’t a coincidence, and their presence wasn’t random. Wherever he went—through crowded subway stations, quiet alleyways, or bustling marketplaces—they were there.
Always at the edge of his vision, always careful to keep just enough distance. Whoever they were, they knew what they were doing.
Jun-ho’s instincts, sharpened by years as a detective, flared with every subtle confirmation. A faint shadow slipping behind a parked car when he turned around too quickly. The sound of footsteps stopping the moment his own did. A flicker of movement disappearing into the crowd at the exact moment he glanced back.
This wasn’t paranoia. Someone was following him.
He started testing them. Subtle changes to his routine, a different path home from work, an extra stop at a corner store he didn’t usually visit. Each time, they adapted, staying out of sight but never out of reach.
Jun-ho tried doubling back once, pretending to tie his shoe in the middle of a busy sidewalk, only to catch a faint blur of someone ducking behind a newsstand. The glimpse was fleeting, just enough to confirm their presence but not enough to identify them.
At night, lying awake in his small apartment, his mind began to wander into dangerous territory.
Was it someone from the precinct? A rookie officer watching him under orders he didn’t know about? Or maybe a suspect he’d put away, someone with a grudge waiting for their chance? He had made plenty of enemies over the years—it wasn’t impossible. But even as his mind grasped at rational answers, another, darker possibility took root.
The games.
The thought sent a chill rippling through him, his fingers curling into the worn blanket at his side as he turned on his side. Could it be someone connected to them? A recruiter? Or worse... had they sent someone to silence him? To make sure he stayed quiet?
“No,” Jun-ho muttered, the word sharp and almost angry as it cut through the silence of the room.
He forced himself to sit up, dragging a hand through his hair.
“It’s not that. It’s not them.”
But the thought wouldn’t leave.
Jun-ho shoved the blanket off and stood, pacing the small apartment. The floor creaked beneath his bare feet, a sound that felt too loud in the stillness. “It’s not them,” he said again, firmer this time, as if speaking the words aloud could make them true.
He had been careful. After escaping, he’d kept his head down. No digging, no questions, no stepping out of line. He’d buried the horrors deep, focusing on piecing his life back together one small fragment at a time. He avoided anything that might lead him back to that place. Anything that could make him a target again.
And In-ho...
Jun-ho stopped pacing, his fists clenched. Hyu— No. That man was no longer his brother. That man was a monster. A killer who had looked him in the eye, with no remorse about the operation he was running.
Jun-ho’s chest tightened as the memory surged—In-ho’s calm, impassive face as if none of it mattered. As if Jun-ho didn’t matter.
“Fuck,” Jun-ho hissed under his breath, the curse bitter and venomous.
He wanted nothing to do with him, nothing to do with the games, nothing to do with any of it. If someone from that world had come for him, he didn’t care why. He was done with it all. Done with the blood, the lies, and the betrayal.
But the unease refused to leave him. It gnawed at the edges of his sanity, making every crowded subway ride, every quiet walk home feel like a game of chess. Whoever this was, they were good.
Challenges had only ever made him more determined.
–
After weeks of being shadowed and aware that he was being shadowed, Jun-ho decided he’d had enough.
Whoever this was, they weren’t just going to disappear. He needed answers.
Whoever was following him wasn’t going to stop, and he was done waiting for them to make the first move. On a chilly evening while on duty, he formulated a plan.
He mapped out a route in his head, one that would lead them away from the bustling streets into quieter, more isolated corners of the city. He adjusted his holstered gun beneath his jacket, feeling its reassuring weight against his side.
This time, he would be in control.
The chase began with small, deliberate steps. Jun-ho walked through crowded streets, his movements casua. He stopped at a market stall, lingered near a bus stop, even doubled back once or twice to confirm the shadow was still there. Whoever they were, they were good—keeping just enough distance, blending into the flow of the city with practiced ease.
But Jun-ho was better.
He gradually led his pursuer into narrower streets and quieter neighborhoods, where the hum of traffic became a distant echo and the glow of neon signs gave way to dim street lights. His pulse quickened
The game of cat and mouse lasted nearly an hour. Jun-ho ducked through winding alleys, taking sudden turns, crossing intersections at odd angles. It was working—the presence was getting closer, more committed.
Finally, Jun-ho rounded a corner into a narrow, desolate alley. The walls were lined with graffiti, and the only light came from a flickering street lamp at the far end. He stopped in the middle of the alley, his back to the brick wall, and turned sharply, drawing his gun in one fluid motion.
“Come out,” he called, his voice firm. “I know you’re there.”
For a moment, there was silence, save for the faint rustle of wind against discarded paper. Then, slowly, a figure stepped into view.
Jun-ho’s eyes narrowed. The man was familiar: tall, dressed in an expensive-looking suit, his posture relaxed despite the weapon trained on him. The faintest hint of a smug smile played on his lips, and Jun-ho’s stomach churned with recognition.
“You,” Jun-ho said, his voice low and cold.
The man gave a small, polite nod, his hands casually at his sides. “Detective Hwang,” he said smoothly. “It’s been a while.”
It was the salesman. The man who had first lured Jun-ho into the games with his seemingly harmless offer of a quick cash prize and a mysterious card. The man who had likely sent hundreds, if not thousands, to their deaths.
Jun-ho tightened his grip on the gun, his knuckles turning white. “You’ve been following me.”
The salesman’s smile widened, as if amused by the question. “I’m just doing my job,” he said lightly, brushing invisible dust off his sleeve.
“Bullshit.” Jun-ho stepped forward, the barrel of the gun now aimed squarely at the man’s chest. “You’ve been tailing me for weeks. What do you want?”
The salesman raised his hands in a mock gesture of surrender, though the smugness in his expression never wavered. “Relax, detective. I’m just keeping an eye on you. Orders from above.”
Jun-ho’s jaw clenched. “Above? Who’s above? The captain?”
The salesman tilted his head, his smile widening ever so slightly. He didn’t need to say it—the answer was written in his silence.
Jun-ho felt a flash of anger boil in his chest, white-hot and blinding. In-ho. His brother was behind this. The games, the surveillance-
Everything.
Without thinking, Jun-ho lashed out, striking the salesman across the face with the butt of his gun. The man stumbled back, a red mark blooming on his cheek, but his smirk didn’t falter.
“Temper, temper,” the salesman said, straightening his jacket. He moved faster than Jun-ho expected, grabbing the gun and twisting it out of his hands with surprising ease.
The weapon clattered to the ground.
They stood facing each other, the tension crackling in the air. The salesman tilted his head, as if sizing Jun-ho up. “We could play a game,” he said, his voice light but taunting. “If you win, I’ll answer your questio-”.
“Not a chance,” Jun-ho interrupted, his fists clenched. “I’m done with your games.”
The salesman chuckled, shaking his head. “Suit yourself.” He turned on his heel, retrieving a card from his pocket and flicking it toward Jun-ho.
It landed at his feet.
Jun-ho stared at the card, his heart pounding. The familiar symbols, the ominous number.
“If you change your mind,” the salesman said, walking away. “Give me a call”.
Jun-ho didn’t stop him. He didn’t chase him. His mind was already racing, anger and determination twisting together.
He picked up the card, his grip tightening as he stared at it. If In-ho thought he could keep pulling the strings from the shadows, he was wrong.
Jun-ho’s resolve hardened. He wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.
Notes:
:)))))))))
Fanart I did of chapter 14:
Ahhhhhhh I love my angst
Chapter 19
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
In-ho.
After everything, after all he’d done.
Jun-ho clenched his fists as he walked, his mind racing. It wasn’t enough that his brother had slaughtered his friends like cattle, that he had abandoned him and chosen those games over his own flesh and blood.
Now, even after Jun-ho had clawed his way back to some semblance of normalcy, In-ho still refused to let him go.
No matter how far Jun-ho tried to run, the games would never truly let him go.
Fine.
If In-ho wanted to keep him under watch, Jun-ho would use it against him.
The salesman and his shadowy network thought they were in control, that Jun-ho was just another loose end being monitored—a broken detective too tired to fight back. They were wrong.
Jun-ho had spent months trying to forget. Fuck forgetting.
As he passed a trash can on the side of the street, he pulled the small card from his pocket. The embossed numbers on the back felt like a brand against his skin.
He tossed it in, never breaking stride.
When they met again, it would be on his terms.
He needed another plan.
A better one.
–-
For the next few days, Jun-ho moved through his life as if nothing had changed. His routine remained the same—mornings at the precinct, evenings spent at the same coffee shop or grabbing a late dinner before heading home. He visited Sae-byeok and Cheol as usual, making sure to show up with bags of groceries or little treats for the kid.
If Jun-ho ignored the shadow he could sometimes see out of the corner of his eye, he could forget that he was still being stalked.
But beneath the surface, every moment was calculated.
Jun-ho had spent years tracking criminals, knowing how to get inside their heads, and now, he applied those same skills to the man tailing him.
The salesman wasn’t even trying to hide anymore.
If Jun-ho turned a corner, the salesman would appear a few minutes later, casually engaged in some meaningless activity—checking a cigarette pack, adjusting his tie, leaning against a lamppost like he had nowhere else to be.
The first time their eyes met, the salesman had simply smirked. The second time, he had given Jun-ho a small, knowing wave, like they were old friends catching up.
It was all just a game to him.
Jun-ho wasn’t fooled.
So he started testing him again.
One night, during a routine patrol shift, Jun-ho ducked into a 24-hour convenience store—a small, cramped space with fluorescent lights that buzzed faintly overhead. The air smelled of instant ramen and stale coffee, and the aisles were narrow enough that two people couldn’t pass without brushing shoulders.
Perfect.
He moved toward the refrigerated drinks at the back, picking up a bottle, and turning it in his hands, studying the label without actually reading it. The hum of the coolers filled the silence, masking the subtle shifts of his weight as he positioned himself for a better view of the entrance.
A few minutes later, the door chimed.
Jun-ho didn’t look up immediately, but he didn’t need to. He could feel the salesman’s presence, the practiced ease in his steps as he moved through the aisles. The man didn’t make eye contact, didn’t so much as glance in Jun-ho’s direction. He walked to the back, grabbed a drink of his own, and continued as if he were just another late-night customer.
Jun-ho smirked to himself. Got you.
Satisfied, he left first, stepping into the cool night air. He walked a short distance, circled the block, then doubled back, expecting to catch the salesman lingering somewhere nearby.
But he was gone.
Jun-ho’s pulse quickened. He scanned the street, the alleys, the parked cars. No sign of him.
A cold, creeping sensation settled over him.
The only other person on the block was a young woman leaning against the front of the convenience store. She had a cigarette between her fingers, her hood pulled low over her face. Casual. Unassuming. But as Jun-ho walked past, he caught the slight shift of her head, the way her gaze tracked him from beneath the shadow of her hood.
That’s when it hit him.
This wasn’t just one man.
–-
At first, he told himself it was paranoia. Residual nerves from months of looking over his shoulder, of expecting a bullet or a knife in the dark.
But paranoia didn’t explain the patterns.
Jun-ho started paying attention, not just to the man in the suit with his smug little waves, but to the people around him. It was subtle at first. A lingering presence at the edge of his vision, a silhouette that appeared a little too frequently in his periphery. Then, as he sharpened his focus, it became undeniable.
The salesman wasn’t the only one following him.
Some nights, Jun-ho spotted a different shadow, a man in a dark coat standing at the same street corner for too long, his face obscured. A woman at a bus stop where no buses ran after midnight, pretending to check her watch, shifting her weight impatiently but never actually leaving.
They switched shifts. Each one just as disciplined as the last. A rotating cast of watchers, never drawing too close, never giving him a clear look at their faces, but always there.
If he weren’t being hunted like an animal, Jun-ho might’ve laughed at how awful the salesman was at stalking him. Out of all of them, he was the worst—too cocky, too obvious.
Maybe that was the point.
Maybe he was just a distraction.
--
He started digging. Carefully. Methodically.
Late at night, he sat at his desk, scrolling through missing persons reports, looking for any cases that might match the profile of a Squid Game recruit—people with crippling debt, no family to miss them, vanished without a trace.
He combed through financial records, searching for unexplained wealth transfers, offshore accounts, any hint of where the money fueling the games might be coming from.
Nothing.
Whoever was behind this had buried their tracks well.
—
Jun-ho was getting nowhere trying to find anything on his own.
His frustration mounted with each passing day. His usual tactics, surveillance, informants, old police contacts, amounted to nothing. Whoever was behind the games had buried their tracks well.
But there was one person who knew the way in.
And so, once again, Jun-ho found himself standing before the salesman.
This time, there was no gun in his hand. No threats, no tricks. Just desperation.
“Detective,” he greeted, voice laced with amusement. “You’re starting to make a habit of this.”
Jun-ho ignored the jab, stepping closer.
“I don’t want to play your games,” Jun-ho said, standing in the dim glow of a streetlamp, his voice steady. “I just need information.”
The salesman chuckled, clearly amused. “And what makes you think I’d just hand that over?”
Jun-ho exhaled sharply. “Because I know you.” His tone darkened. “You’re just a recruiter. You’re an enforcer. But you’re also just another piece on the board. And pieces can be replaced.”
Jun-ho leaned in closer, voice low now.
“You’re nothing”.
The salesman’s smirk wavered, just for a fraction of a second.
Good.
“I want to know what my brother is planning,” Jun-ho pressed. “And I know you have contacts. I don’t need names, just need a way in.”
The salesman studied him, tapping a cigarette against his palm, considering. Finally, he let out a slow exhale through his nose. “You’re persistent. I’ll give you that.”
Jun-ho didn’t react, waiting.
The salesman tilted his head, his smirk creeping back like a mask slipping into place. “But let’s say I do know something,” he mused. “Why would I tell you? What’s in it for me?”
Jun-ho clenched his jaw. “I think we both know I don’t have anything you want.”
“Exactly.” The salesman flicked the unlit cigarette to the ground. “So why should I help you?”
Jun-ho took a step forward, his voice lowering. “Because the fact that I’m still standing here means I survived something I wasn’t supposed to.” His gaze was sharp, unwavering. “And you? You’re still just a messenger. You follow orders, you watch from the sidelines, but you don’t make the rules. You don’t get to sit at the table. And that kills you, doesn’t it?”
For the first time, the salesman’s grin faltered completely.
Jun-ho pressed on. “You think they respect you? That you’re anything more than a glorified errand boy? They’ll toss you aside the second you stop being useful.” His voice was a knife’s edge. “So don’t act like you have anything to lose by talking to me.”
Silence stretched between them, thick with tension.
Then-
The salesman chuckled. A slow, low laugh that echoed down the empty street.
“You really think you have me figured out, don’t you?” He wiped a hand over his mouth, shaking his head. “You talk big game, detective, but you don’t get it, do you? I’ve seen men like you before. Idealists. Survivors.” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a whisper. “You all break eventually.”
Jun-ho’s stomach twisted, but he didn’t let it show. He squared his shoulders. “Maybe. But not tonight.”
The salesman stared at him for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, he reached into his pocket.
“Fine,” he muttered. “Call it a professional courtesy.”
Jun-ho’s breath hitched as the salesman pulled out another business card, twirling it between his fingers.
It was a shiny black, different from the brown card that he’d been given as a player. On it embossed in gold were the same triangle, circle, and a square.
“There’s a VIP event happening soon,” the Salesman said lazily. “Different from the games. A selection process.”
The salesman lowered his voice. “They’ll be betting on who they think will win”.
Jun-ho’s pulse quickened. “Where?”
The salesman’s smirk returned, taunting. “Now, now, detective. If you want in, you’ll have to find your own way.”
With that, he flipped the card toward Jun-ho.
Jun-ho felt a sense of deja-vu.
Catching it midair, Jun-ho’s grip tightened as he turned it over. No phone number. Just a date, time and address.
The salesman stepped back, hands in his pockets, a curious look in his eyes.
“You sure you’re ready for this?”
Jun-ho met his gaze, ice-cold.
“I was born ready.”
The salesman chuckled, shaking his head as he disappeared into the night.
Notes:
I was reading squid game fanfic, and had the thought, it would be so cool if someone wrote a fic with Jun-ho in the games.
kill me pls :,)
-
I'm sorry if this chapter felt slow 🥲, I swear we're getting somewhere. Thank you for reading!!!
Chapter 20
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Jun-ho had always been good at keeping secrets.
For weeks, he forced himself to act like everything was fine. He worked his usual shifts, went home at the usual hours, even forced himself to smile when necessary. He pretended he was just another man going through the motions of daily life.
But the act was slipping.
He wasn’t sleeping. The dark circles under his eyes deepened with each passing day. He was missing details in conversations, zoning out. He had gotten pickpocketed while out on patrol. His hands trembled when he thought no one was looking, his fingers tapping against his thigh, against tabletops, against his own wrist in an unconscious display of unease.
At the precinct, his partner noticed first.
“You good, man?” Detective Park asked, eyeing him over their morning coffee.
“Yeah,” Jun-ho answered automatically.
Park didn’t look convinced. “You seem... off.”
Jun-ho forced a smirk. “Just tired.”
Park let it go, but the look in her eyes said she didn’t believe a damn word.
Then there was Sae-byeok.
She didn’t ask—she watched.
Her sharp eyes followed him when he moved around her apartment, when he left abruptly and came back hours later, when he came to their dinners later than usual without explanation.
She wasn’t one for confrontation, but the tension between them grew with every passing day.
The few times she did try to bring it up, Jun-ho brushed her off with half-hearted reassurances.
But Sae-byeok wasn’t an idiot. She had spent her entire life surviving off instinct, off reading people, and Jun-ho was no exception.
It all came to a head one evening.
Jun-ho’s hands shook as he placed the groceries on the counter. His mind wasn’t on them. It was on the small, inconspicuous card in his pocket—the invitation, his way in. He had memorized every detail of the address, the date, the time. October 31st. Halloween. A fitting day for monsters to gather in plain sight.
He had just come back from an "errand"—one that involved bribing a low-level informant for scraps of information about the upcoming VIP gathering. His mind was preoccupied, running through the details over and over.
He didn’t notice Sae-byeok watching as he slipped his jacket off.
Didn’t notice her sharp eyes land on the edge of the black-and-gold invitation sticking out from his pocket.
Didn’t register the way her expression darkened until it was too late.
By the time he looked up, she was holding the card in her hands, her grip tight enough to crumple the edges.
Jun-ho forced himself to feign indifference.
Her eyes scanned the text. The color drained from her face. “You have to be kidding me.”
Jun-ho reached for it, but she stepped back. “It’s not what you think.”
“Not what I think?” she snapped. “It’s the games, isn’t it?” Her voice rose, raw and incredulous. “You’re going back? After everything?”
Jun-ho clenched his jaw. He had expected this reaction, but it didn’t make it any easier to face.
“Why?” she demanded, shoving the card into his chest. “Why can’t you just be happy with what you have now? With me, with Cheol, with the family we built?”
The word family made something inside him twist. “It’s not that simple.”
“Yes, it is!” Her voice cracked. “You don’t have to do this, Jun-ho. The games took so much and you’re just throwing yourself back in. Why?”
He hesitated, the weight of the truth pressing down on him. Finally, he exhaled, his voice barely above a whisper. “Because my brother runs them.”
Sae-byeok froze.
She stared at him, waiting for him to take it back, to say she misheard. But he didn’t.
“In-ho…” Her voice was hoarse. “Your brother. The one who—”
“The Front Man,” Jun-ho confirmed.
Her breath hitched. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. The pieces clicked together in her mind.
Then, just as suddenly, her shock burned into fury.
"You’re chasing after the man who got our friends killed?" she seethed, her voice raw with disbelief. "The man who let Gi-hun die?"
His hands curled into fists. "The games are still happening. People are still dying. If I don’t do something—"
"If we don’t do something," Sae-byeok interrupted, her voice suddenly quieter, more dangerous.
Jun-ho froze.
Sae-byeok’s gaze was sharp as a knife, cutting straight through him.
"That’s what this is, right?" she said bitterly. "You want to play the hero. You think this is your responsibility. That if you don’t stop him, no one will."
"It is my responsibility," Jun-ho shot back. "No one else knows what I know. No one else can do this."
Sae-byeok let out a sharp breath, dragging a hand through her hair. "Do you hear yourself?" she asked, voice raw.
Jun-ho's throat tightened, but before he could argue, she pressed forward.
"I get it," she said, quieter now. "I get what it's like to have unfinished business. To feel like you owe the dead something." Her eyes shone with something unreadable. "But they’re gone, Jun-ho. The games took them from us, and nothing you do is going to change that."
Jun-ho’s breath was shallow. "That’s not the point."
"Then what is?"
He hesitated.
"The games are wrong," he said finally. "Evil. And I—" He swallowed hard. "I can’t just pretend they don’t exist."
Sae-byeok stared at him for a long moment.
Then she exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "Unbelievable."
Her expression twisted, her anger morphing into something else—something that looked an awful lot like hurt.
"You have a life here," she said, voice trembling. "You have us. Me. Cheol. We’re your family, Jun-ho. But you’d rather chase after the brother who abandoned you than stay with the people who actually give a shit?"
Jun-ho felt something crack deep inside his chest.
"It's not like that," he said, but it sounded weak, even to him.
"Then what is it like?" she demanded.
He had no answer.
Silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.
Then, from the hallway—
"Are you guys fighting?"
Jun-ho's heart clenched.
Cheol stood there, small and uncertain, his hands gripping the sleeves of his oversized sweatshirt. His wide eyes darted between them, filled with worry.
Jun-ho forced himself to exhale, forcing calm into his voice. "No," he said. "It’s okay, Cheol."
But the kid didn’t look convinced.
Jun-ho hesitated before kneeling, reaching out to ruffle his hair. "I promise."
Cheol hesitated before stepping into his arms.
Sae-byeok turned away.
For a long moment, Jun-ho just held him, his mind heavy with everything left unsaid.
Then he stood.
And he walked out the door.
-
For the next month, Jun-ho prepared like a man with nothing left to lose.
He memorized every street surrounding the event location, tracing pathways in his head until he could move through them blindfolded. He noted every alley, every potential hiding spot, every possible escape route. The maps became his gospel, each route studied until it was burned into his mind.
His training was relentless. Every morning, he ran through drills alone—practicing takedowns, disarming maneuvers, silent kills. He pushed his body to the brink, punishing himself for every misstep. There would be no second chances. One mistake could mean death.
The final piece of his plan was the riskiest.
A single stolen gun from police headquarters.
It had taken weeks to pull off. Jun-ho knew the station inside and out, knew which officers were lazy with security, which ones cut corners during lockdown. He timed his movements perfectly, slipping past surveillance like a ghost. By the time anyone noticed the missing firearm, he’d be long gone.
Now, as October 31st arrived, Jun-ho stood at the threshold of what could be his final mission.
The streets were quiet, the air crisp with the bite of autumn. Every step he took felt heavier than the last.
Then, his phone buzzed.
A message.
Sae-byeok:
I’m sorry about the fight.
We’re having dinner next week—kimchi jjigae. You better be there.
Jun-ho stopped walking.
The words on the screen blurred for a moment. He swallowed hard, his grip tightening around the device before he shoved it back into his pocket.
-
The address led Jun-ho to a building that looked like it had been forgotten by time. Cracked windows, rusting metal beams, and a faint smell of mildew in the air. From the outside, it was nothing more than an abandoned warehouse—another ghost of the city’s past.
For a second, doubt gnawed at him. Could this really be it? A high-profile event, hidden in a place like this? He’d seen photos on maps, but really? This?
Then he saw them.
Several pink-masked guards moving together, unloading heavy crates from a truck, and carrying supplies inside. They worked in near silence, their movements precise, rehearsed.
This was it.
Jun-ho kept to the shadows, watching for a weakness. Most of the guards were focused on their tasks, but one lingered by the truck, flipping through a clipboard, double-checking inventory. Isolated. Distracted.
The truck blocked the lone guard from the views of the other guards.
Perfect.
Jun-ho moved quickly, each step calculated. He slipped behind the man, wrapped an arm around his throat, and struck hard—knuckles driving into the soft spot at the base of his neck. The guard’s body tensed, then went limp, unconscious before he could make a sound.
Jun-ho dragged the man into the shadows, working fast. He stripped the uniform with practiced efficiency, yanking the pink jumpsuit over his own clothes and adjusting the mask over his face. His heart pounded as he shoved his belongings into a dark corner, ensuring nothing would give him away.
The gun at his waistband felt heavier now.
Taking a steadying breath, he stepped into the building, blending seamlessly with the others.
The hunt had begun.
Notes:
:)
Chapter 21
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Jun-ho stepped through the back entrance and was immediately struck by the stark contrast between the building's abandoned exterior and the world within.
The small hallway he entered was drenched in opulence—gilded moldings lined the walls, curling like intricate veins of gold, and soft golden light spilled from elaborate sconces, casting a warm yet eerie glow over the polished floors. Even the air smelled expensive, a mix of aged wood, faint perfume, and something else—more decadent.
It made his skin crawl.
He adjusted his stolen mask, forcing himself to move. His stolen uniform was stiff against his skin. It felt like it was crinkling with every movement, screaming to everyone else, that there was an imposter.
Around him, other guards moved with purpose, each following an unspoken routine. Jun-ho fell into step with them, keeping his posture rigid and his breathing steady.
The group descended a narrow, dimly lit staircase, the lavishness of the upper floors giving way to concrete. Dozens of crates were stacked against the walls, their wooden surfaces stamped with symbols Jun-ho didn’t recognize. Guards moved with mechanical efficiency, unloading the truck and placing the boxes in designated areas.
Jun-ho kept his gaze sharp, scanning the scene. Whatever was inside those crates, it wasn’t what he was looking for. The VIPs wouldn’t be anywhere near this storage area.
Carefully, he inched away from the unloading area, keeping his steps quiet. He kept his head slightly lowered, hoping to appear busy rather than suspicious.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Jun-ho froze.
A square-masked guard stood a few feet away, arms crossed. His voice was level, but there was an unmistakable edge to it.
Jun-ho’s mind raced.
Running was out of the question—too many guards. Fighting would be a last resort.
That left one option.
“I…” He forced his voice to stay neutral. “Need to use the restroom.”
The silence that followed stretched long enough to make his pulse quicken.
The guard stared at him, unmoving. Then, finally, he jerked his head to the side. “Follow me.”
Jun-ho exhaled slowly, nodded, and fell in step behind him.
He wasn’t out of trouble yet.
The guard led him down another hallway, this one quieter, its walls lined with dark marble instead of concrete. They stopped in front of a restroom door.
The guard motioned to it. “Make it quick.”
Jun-ho hesitated for only a fraction of a second before pushing the door open and stepping inside.
The second the door clicked shut behind him, he moved.
Jun-ho spun, lunging just as the guard stepped in after him.
His shoulder crashed into the man’s chest, driving him back into the sink with a dull thud. The guard grunted but recovered quickly, throwing a punch that Jun-ho barely dodged.
Jun-ho slammed the guard into a stall door, but the man was stronger than he expected—he caught Jun-ho’s arm, twisting it painfully. Jun-ho bit back a curse, retaliating with a sharp knee to the stomach. The guard gasped, grip loosening just enough for Jun-ho to strike again.
A sharp blow to the throat.
The guard choked, stumbling. Jun-ho didn’t give him a chance to recover. He grabbed the man by the collar, slamming his head against the metal stall. The impact echoed through the restroom.
The guard slumped.
Jun-ho stood there for a moment, panting. His heart pounded in his ears.
Then, without wasting another second, he crouched down, stripping the mask from the unconscious man’s face. The uniform was identical, but the mask—the square mask—was a step above the rank he had stolen before. It meant more access. More authority.
Jun-ho pulled it over his face.
He grabbed the unconscious guard, dragging him into one of the stalls. He propped him up onto the toilet, making it look like he had simply passed out. It wouldn’t fool anyone, but it would buy him time.
Standing, Jun-ho adjusted the mask one last time, took a breath, and stepped out of the restroom.
The hallway stretched ahead of him, dimly lit. He had no map, but he had come this far.
-
He moved with measured purpose, his new mask granting him an extra layer of anonymity. But inside, his pulse was erratic.
He needed to find the VIPs.
Needed to find something—anything—to expose this.
His eyes darted through the halls, past the indulgent decor, the masked servers moving in silent efficiency.
And then—he bumped into one.
A waiter. Masked in black.
They locked eyes.
Jun-ho leaned in. “Where are the VIPs?” he asked, voice low.
The waiter hesitated.
Then—wordlessly—they motioned for him to follow.
Jun-ho hesitated.
But what choice did he have?
They weaved through the corridors, down a private hallway, and then—
The doors opened.
A white limousine.
Waiting.
Jun-ho's pulse spiked. His instincts screamed at him.
But he had come too far.
He stepped inside.
The door clicked shut.
And the limousine started moving.
-
The air inside was thick with silence.
Across from him, seated with composed elegance, was a figure draped in black.
The Front Man.
In-ho.
Jun-ho barely had time to react before In-ho motioned to the seat in front of him.
“Sit,” he said smoothly. “Take off your mask.”
Jun-ho’s fingers clenched around his gun. He lifted it, aiming straight at In-ho’s chest.
In-ho didn’t flinch.
“Shoot,” In-ho said simply.
Jun-ho’s breath was ragged, his grip tight—
But his hands—his hands shook.
Seconds stretched.
And then, slowly, painfully, his arms lowered.
He dropped into the seat, his mask falling away as he exhaled, jaw tense.
In-ho studied him.
“You really thought you could sneak in undetected?” In-ho asked. “With all the surveillance we have on you?”
Jun-ho’s stomach sank. He stayed silent.
In-ho tilted his head. “We've been watching your internet activity, too.”
“You’ve been chipped”.
That did it.
Jun-ho snapped.
“You chipped me?” he hissed. “You had no right—there was never an event tonight, was there?”
“There was,” In-ho admitted. “But we knew you were coming. So we moved it.”
Jun-ho’s jaw clenched as he followed his brother’s subtle glance downward—toward his wristwatch. A small, almost insignificant movement, but it spoke volumes.
Jun-ho watched him in silent fury.
“I told you not to come back,” In-ho interrupted, voice cold.
Jun-ho's vision blurred with rage.
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have watched me,” Jun-ho spat. His breath came in short, sharp bursts. “I was trying to forget. I wanted to forget.”
Silence fell between them.
In-ho exhaled slowly. Then, with deliberate movements, he removed his mask, setting it aside. Without a word, he reached for a glass and a bottle of whiskey from the table beside him. The amber liquid filled the glass as the quiet stretched on.
Jun-ho just stared.
Then, In-ho finally spoke again.
“Maybe you’re right.” He swirled the drink in his hand. “But you shouldn’t have looked into the surveillance.”
Jun-ho tensed.
“You were rebuilding,” In-ho said, voice almost thoughtful. “You had a life. Cheol. Sae-byeok.”
Jun-ho's entire body tensed.
His gun was up in a heartbeat.
“Are they under surveillance too?” he demanded.
In-ho’s expression barely changed—but Jun-ho saw something flicker.
In-ho’s expression barely changed—but something flickered in his eyes. A shadow of something unreadable.
For the first time, Jun-ho saw something human beneath the mask.
It made him want to pull the trigger even more.
Jun-ho’s grip on the gun tightened.
“Answer me,” he demanded. His voice was sharp, his rage barely restrained. “Are they being watched?”
In-ho didn’t flinch. He held Jun-ho’s gaze, his face unreadable even without the mask.
Jun-ho’s heart pounded in his chest, each second stretching unbearably long.
Then, finally, In-ho sighed. He leaned forward slightly, placing the whiskey glass on the table with a soft clink.
“You already know the answer,” he said, his voice calm—too calm.
Jun-ho felt his stomach drop.
His fingers trembled against the trigger. His mind raced, flashing through images of Sae-byeok and Cheol—the life he had desperately tried to rebuild, the quiet moments, the small semblance of normalcy he had fought so hard to grasp.
Had it all been a lie? Had In-ho’s eyes been on him this entire time?
He swallowed hard, his throat tight with rage. “You’re sick,” he spat.
In-ho exhaled through his nose. “I did what I had to do.”
“For what? For them?” Jun-ho’s voice was raw, venomous. “For those rich bastards who watch people die for fun? When did you become this person, hyung?”
Something flickered in In-ho’s expression at the last word, but In-ho recovered quickly, his face smoothing over, slipping back into that impenetrable mask.
“This isn’t about me,” In-ho said. “It’s about you. You couldn’t let it go. Even when you had everything you needed to move on.”
Jun-ho let out a bitter laugh, sharp and humorless. “Move on? Move on? After everything I saw? After everything you did?” His voice cracked. “
Silence.
In-ho didn’t respond.
He didn’t argue. He didn’t justify.
Jun-ho took a step closer, the barrel of the gun nearly pressing against In-ho’s forehead. His breath came in short, uneven bursts. He wanted to pull the trigger. He wanted to end this—end the monster sitting in front of him.
But as he looked into his brother’s face, something inside him wavered.
Jun-ho’s chest ached with something he couldn’t name.
His finger twitched on the trigger.
Seconds passed.
Then—he lowered the gun.
The weight of it felt unbearable in his hand.
He had come here for revenge. For justice. For answers.
But standing here now, looking into his brother’s eyes, all he felt was a hollow ache.
“I hate you,” Jun-ho whispered, his voice raw.
In-ho’s lips pressed into a thin line.
The silence between them stretched unbearably.
Then—Jun-ho took a breath.
He lifted his gaze, steeling himself.
"If you really believe in these games," he said, voice steady now, "then join them."
Something shifted.
For the first time since this conversation started, In-ho’s fingers twitched against his glass.
A long silence.
Then—he tilted his head slightly, regarding Jun-ho with something unreadable.
"Is this what you really want?"
Jun-ho didn’t hesitate.
"Yes."
Another pause.
Then—without a word, In-ho slipped his mask back on.
Jun-ho barely had time to react before In-ho raised a gloved hand and knocked against the limousine’s privacy divider.
A faint, mechanical click.
A hiss.
Gas flooded the car.
Jun-ho jerked, his instincts screaming, but it was already too late.
His vision blurred. His limbs felt unbearably heavy.
The last thing he saw before the darkness claimed him—
Was In-ho.
Sitting still. Watching.
And just before Jun-ho lost consciousness—
In-ho looked away.
Notes:
:)))
Chapter 22
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Tinny orchestral music filtered through the air.
Jun-ho stirred, his head lolling to the side as he fought the weight dragging him down. His body felt impossibly heavy, his limbs sluggish as if submerged in water. His mind lagged behind, sluggish and disoriented, struggling to piece together the last thing he remembered.
The limousine. The gas.
In-ho.
His breath hitched.
Panic surged through him like ice water, sending a violent shudder down his spine. His stomach twisted, nausea rising as the realization settled in.
With a sharp breath, he forced himself upright, his muscles groaning in protest.
The room around him swam in and out of focus.
Stark white walls. Towering metal bunks. A sea of green tracksuits, each one stamped with a bold white number. Confused murmurs rippled through the space as more players stirred awake, groggy and uncertain. Some rubbed their eyes, others clutched their heads, their expressions a mix of confusion and rising dread.
Jun-ho’s pulse roared in his ears.
He was back.
His breath came faster, shallower, chest rising and falling in rapid bursts. He twisted around, scanning the endless rows of beds, searching.
Where was he?
Without thinking, Jun-ho scrambled up, climbing higher onto the top bunk of his row, ignoring the protests of the dazed player he nearly trampled. His eyes darted through the crowd, wild and desperate.
Where was In-ho?
The memory of their conversation in the limousine hit him in fragments. The anger, the challenge, the gas clouding his vision—
He’d needed to show In-ho just how wrong he was.
Had In-ho done it? Was he here?
His gaze swept over the other players. Faces filled with confusion, fear, and dread. Murmuring filled the air as more people woke up, shaking off the effects of the gas, climbing down from their bunks and moving to the center of the room.
Jun-ho turned, looking for ‘him’.
But his brother was nowhere in sight.
A sick feeling curled in his gut.
The blaring sirens cut through the air, sending an eerie hush over the players.
Jun-ho barely registered the pink guards marching in, their faceless masks making them look more like machines than people.
The line of guards parted, and from their center, a square-masked figure stepped forward.
Jun-ho froze.
His breath caught in his throat.
For one agonizing second, hope flared inside him.
Not In-ho.
Not him.
Just another guard. Another cog in this horrific machine.
"I would like to extend a hearty welcome to all of you," the guard intoned, voice flat. "Everyone here will participate in six different games over six days."
Jun-ho’s mind was still catching up.
He’d been duped.
He was back. Back in the nightmare.
His brother had put him back in the games to die.
His breath came in short, shallow bursts. His body felt sluggish, still weighed down by whatever gas they had used on him. But his heart pounded with vicious clarity, the horror of his reality sinking in with every second.
He forced himself to focus, scanning the sea of players, desperate to catch a glimpse of him. To be proven wrong.
But his brother was nowhere in sight.
A sick feeling settled in his stomach.
Had In-ho sent Jun-ho here just to watch him suffer?
Was he lurking somewhere, hidden behind a mask,sending all the players off to their deaths, like animals to the slaughter?
Jun-ho’s gaze snapped up, darting across the high walls until he found it—
A camera.
It hung just above one of the bunk beds closest to him, small and unassuming, but its black, glassy lens bore into him, unblinking. Recording.
His chest tightened.
Jun-ho knew who was behind that screen.
He felt it in his bones.
In-ho was watching.
His pulse pounded as he stared the camera down, jaw clenching, muscles tensing. His hands curled into fists at his sides. He didn’t blink, didn’t waver.
He wanted his brother to see him.
He wanted In-ho to know—
He wouldn’t break.
Not here.
For a moment, everything else faded. The voices of the other players, the sterile white lights, the distant sound of the guard droning on. None of it mattered.
Just him and the camera.
Just him and In-ho.
Jun-ho lifted his chin, letting his glare burn through the lens, through the screen, through whatever distance separated them. His breath was steady now, controlled. He wanted his brother to feel it, to feel him through the screen.
His fury.
His defiance.
You did this to me.
The camera remained still, its cold, lifeless gaze unflinching.
Jun-ho’s lip curled.
Coward.
Jun-ho felt his throat tighten. His chest ached with something raw, something he couldn’t quite name.
The speech continued. The usual spiel about following orders, winning the prize.
Jun-ho heard none of it.
-
The field stretched before them, vast and open, with a single white line marking the start and finish. The sun glared down from a cloudless sky, making the golden grass seem almost too bright, too peaceful. A cruel illusion.
At the far end, the giant mechanical doll stood motionless, its plastic pigtails gleaming under the light. Its head was tilted slightly downward, eyes closed, as if waiting.
Jun-ho’s throat tightened.
He’d seen this game before. He knew what was about to happen.
A hollow, sinking feeling settled in his gut, an awful weight pressing against his ribs. He forced himself to breathe through it, but it didn’t help.
The anger wasn’t enough to smother the other feeling creeping in now—the one he had been pushing down, burying beneath his rage.
A horrible, crushing realization settled over him, sharp as a blade.
He wasn’t getting out.
Not this time.
In-ho hadn’t fulfilled his end of the dare. The deal.
Jun-ho would die here.
And he would never see them again.
Sae-byeok.
Cheol.
Their faces flashed in his mind, so vivid it hurt.
Sae-byeok, sharp-eyed and serious, always standing just close enough to remind him he wasn’t alone. Cheol, grinning, warm and wide-eyed, full of a kind of hope Jun-ho had never understood.
They were his family. The only real one he had left.
And now—
He would never tell Sae-byeok thank you for all the times she had his back. Would never be able to roll his eyes at her tough exterior, knowing full well that she cared more than she let on.
He would never see Cheol’s ridiculous smile again. Would never get to tell him to stop being so damn reckless, would never hear him laugh, would never—
His eyes burned.
Jun-ho shut them.
Breathed in.
Pushed it all down.
He couldn’t think about that now.
Couldn’t afford to.
If he did, he might never be able to stand back up.
A movement caught his attention. The front of a sniper rifle sticking out of the wall.
It twitched slightly, as if already tracking the movement of the final players entering the game hall.
A metallic click echoed across the field.
Jun-ho’s body snapped to attention, his muscles coiling tight.
The doll’s head jerked.
"Red light… green light!"
The game had already begun.
Jun-ho surged forward, his steps measured, his body tense. The air in the field grew thick with anticipation, the heavy silence pressing against his ears.
Bang.
The first shot.
A player crumpled to the ground.
A heartbeat of silence—
Then screaming.
Panic exploded through the crowd like wildfire. People ran. People shoved.
People died.
Jun-ho’s breath came fast. His head whipped around, watching the chaos unfold with an awful sense of déjà vu.
He had seen this before.
He knew what would happen next.
People would move.
People would fall.
People would die.
He had to stop it.
"DON’T MOVE!" Jun-ho shouted, his voice cutting through the hysteria. As he fought to both shout, and stay as still as possible.
Several players froze, their heads snapping toward him.
"You’ll be shot if you move! Stay still—"
A man beside him jerked back, stumbling over his own feet.
Gunfire.
Blood sprayed across Jun-ho’s sleeve. The man collapsed, his body twitching once before going still.
An old woman sobbed. A man next to her whimpered his hands clutching his chest as if he could keep his heart from pounding out of his ribs.
"LISTEN TO ME!" Jun-ho tried again, his voice desperate. "Stop running—"
More shots. More bodies.
He was too late.
He wasn’t enough.
The screaming didn’t stop. The gunfire didn’t stop.
It never did.
Jun-ho swallowed the bile rising in his throat, forcing himself to move again.
The game continued.
The bodies piled up.
By the time the doll called its final red light, the field was littered with corpses.
Jun-ho stood in the thinning crowd of survivors, his hands trembling at his sides.
The sun overhead was still bright, still warm.
Like nothing had happened.
Like the world hadn’t just stolen dozens of lives.
His pulse pounded so hard it felt like his veins would burst.
His vision swam.
Rage burned in his chest, searing and relentless.
This place had to be destroyed.
Not just for himself.
Not just for revenge.
But for them.
For Sae-byeok.
For Cheol.
For every single person who had died here, believing there was a way out.
-
Silence hung over the surviving players as they filed into the dormitory.
The quiet felt so loud.
Jun-ho exhaled sharply, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Less players had died than he remembered from his first time playing.
But too many had died.
A sharp, suffocating ache wrapped around his chest as he glanced at the others. Some players sat on their bunks, their eyes blank, their bodies still as if moving would shatter them. Others stood frozen in place, shoulders hunched, silent tears streaming down their faces. A few sobbed outright, hands clamped over their mouths to stifle the sounds.
Jun-ho clenched his jaw.
They needed to stop this. Now.
"There’s a way out," Jun-ho said, his voice cutting through the uneasy quiet.
Some heads turned toward him.
Jun-ho took a step forward. Louder. Stronger.
"We can vote. If the majority decides, we can leave. We don’t have to play anymore."
Murmurs rose. Confusion. Hope.
The Guards entered the room, and any sense of unity the players had had at Jun-ho’s words shattered.
A heavy weight settled in Jun-ho’s stomach as the players shrank back. The air shifted, thickening with fear.
A guard stepped forward.
"Congratulations for making it through the first game," the masked manager said.
Jun-ho’s teeth clenched.
The manager gestured upward, and the massive screen flickered to life.
"Here are the results of the first game."
Jun-ho’s fists tightened as the tally of players on the screen ticked down.
456.
305.
"Out of 456 players, 151 players have been eliminated."
Jun-ho could hear the smile in the masked manager’s voice.
"Congratulations again for making it through the first game!"
A strangled sob tore through the room.
Jun-ho turned just in time to see an older woman collapse to her knees, her body shaking. She clung desperately to the man beside her, dragging him down with her.
"Sir! Please don’t kill us! Please don’t kill us. I beg you!"
Her voice cracked, raw with terror.
Jun-ho’s stomach twisted.
He stepped forward. "If the majority votes, we can leave, correct?"
The manager said nothing.
The older woman’s sobs grew louder and others started to join her in mumbled desperate begging.
All eyes turned toward Jun-ho.
"Clause Three of the consent form," he pressed.
A tense silence stretched between him and the square-masked Guard.
A single nod.
"That is correct."
Relief crashed through Jun-ho—only to be shattered by the mechanical whir above them.
The piggy bank descended.
A deafening clunk echoed as it locked into place, glistening like a cruel deity above them all.
"However," the manager continued smoothly, "before voting, let us announce the prize money that has been accumulated."
Jun-ho’s gut twisted.
He already knew what would happen next.
And as the first stacks of money tumbled into the glass dome, filling it with crisp, blood money–
He moved to the back of the room.
Greed would win out.
It always did.
A hush fell over the players as the first bundle of cash landed with a muted thud.
More bills rained down, piling higher.
Eyes locked onto it, transfixed.
Breath hitched.
Hands clenched.
Some players who had been crying moments before now watched with something else in their gaze.
A different kind of desperation.
Jun-ho forced himself to look away.
That’s when he saw him.
His breath caught in his throat.
Player 001.
His brother.
Jun-ho froze.
For a moment, everything else disappeared.
The guards. The piggy bank. The players whispering about the vote.
All of it faded into meaningless noise.
All he could see was In-ho.
Dressed just like everyone else. Wearing the same numbered tracksuit.
Blending in.
But those eyes.
Cold. Unreadable.
Jun-ho swallowed hard, his stomach twisting into a painful knot.
He felt sick.
Why?
Why was he here?
Why was he pretending to be one of them?
In-ho didn’t react. Didn’t acknowledge him. Didn’t so much as flinch.
As if he were just another player.
As if they weren’t brothers.
The vote commenced.
One by one, players stepped forward, pressing the button that sealed their fate.
Jun-ho barely paid attention.
His mind was consumed by the man standing across the room.
The man who had orchestrated this.
When the final vote was cast, the red light above them flickered—
Green.
They had chosen to stay.
Something inside Jun-ho snapped.
Before he could think, before he could stop himself—
He moved.
Surging forward, he grabbed In-ho’s arm.
Felt the familiar shape of him beneath his fingers, the solid weight of the brother he had once trusted more than anything.
"You."
His voice was raw, nearly unrecognizable.
He yanked In-ho away from the crowd, dragging him toward the bunks.
Shoving him against the cold metal.
Grabbing his collar.
Rage thrumming beneath his skin like wildfire.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
In-ho barely blinked.
"Let go of me, Jun-ho."
Jun-ho didn’t move.
"Why are you here? Why—"
"You challenged me," In-ho said simply. "I accepted."
Jun-ho’s stomach churned.
He shook his head. "This isn’t a game."
In-ho met his gaze, unwavering. "You wanted me to be here. You wanted to be here. Don’t forget that."
Jun-ho’s grip tightened.
"You’re sick," he spat. "You’re going to let them all die, aren’t you?"
In-ho exhaled, long and slow.
Then, his voice dropped to a deadly whisper.
"If you break my cover, I will have every player killed. And I will make you watch."
Jun-ho stilled.
The weight of the words crashed into him, sharp as glass.
He searched his brother’s face, desperate for a lie. A bluff.
But there was nothing.
Nothing but cold, unwavering certainty.
Jun-ho’s breath came shakily. His hands trembled.
He let go.
In-ho straightened his collar, adjusting himself like nothing had happened.
Jun-ho’s hands curled into fists. His heart pounded so hard it hurt.
"I should have killed you in that limousine."
The words came out hoarse.
More pain than anger.
In-ho looked at him for a long, quiet moment.
Then, without another word—
He turned.
And walked away.
Notes:
It gets worse before it gets better :P
also next chapter will likely be In-Ho POV, we've been gone too long form his perspective 😔
I miss my childdd
Pages Navigation
SinnerSunFlower on Chapter 1 Mon 06 Jan 2025 06:15AM UTC
Comment Actions
F1rebane on Chapter 1 Mon 06 Jan 2025 06:33AM UTC
Comment Actions
roxiwo on Chapter 1 Tue 07 Jan 2025 04:36AM UTC
Comment Actions
0Anna_Flower8 on Chapter 1 Fri 10 Jan 2025 06:50PM UTC
Comment Actions
Lyckeia on Chapter 2 Mon 06 Jan 2025 06:44AM UTC
Comment Actions
Fay55 on Chapter 2 Mon 06 Jan 2025 11:07AM UTC
Comment Actions
clokcy on Chapter 2 Mon 06 Jan 2025 03:45PM UTC
Comment Actions
R0s3fl0w3r on Chapter 3 Mon 06 Jan 2025 05:04PM UTC
Comment Actions
F1rebane on Chapter 3 Mon 06 Jan 2025 05:13PM UTC
Comment Actions
Sunnkster on Chapter 3 Sun 12 Jan 2025 04:18AM UTC
Comment Actions
EleventhhDoctorr on Chapter 4 Mon 06 Jan 2025 08:10PM UTC
Comment Actions
Haru (Guest) on Chapter 4 Tue 07 Jan 2025 06:55PM UTC
Comment Actions
Sunnkster on Chapter 4 Sun 12 Jan 2025 04:21AM UTC
Comment Actions
SinnerSunFlower on Chapter 5 Mon 06 Jan 2025 11:59PM UTC
Comment Actions
F1rebane on Chapter 5 Tue 07 Jan 2025 03:17AM UTC
Comment Actions
DandelionConstellation on Chapter 5 Wed 08 Jan 2025 05:58AM UTC
Comment Actions
0Anna_Flower8 on Chapter 5 Fri 10 Jan 2025 07:22PM UTC
Comment Actions
TheOneWhoLovesAllFandoms (Guest) on Chapter 6 Tue 07 Jan 2025 04:39AM UTC
Comment Actions
F1rebane on Chapter 6 Tue 07 Jan 2025 04:41AM UTC
Comment Actions
TheOneWhoLovesAllFandoms (Guest) on Chapter 6 Tue 07 Jan 2025 05:21AM UTC
Comment Actions
Hamilfan_538 on Chapter 6 Tue 07 Jan 2025 07:25AM UTC
Last Edited Tue 07 Jan 2025 09:20AM UTC
Comment Actions
F1rebane on Chapter 6 Tue 07 Jan 2025 10:52AM UTC
Comment Actions
Sunnkster on Chapter 6 Sun 12 Jan 2025 04:28AM UTC
Comment Actions
DandelionConstellation on Chapter 7 Wed 08 Jan 2025 06:11AM UTC
Comment Actions
Sunnkster on Chapter 7 Sun 12 Jan 2025 04:48AM UTC
Comment Actions
bookcatterpillar on Chapter 8 Tue 07 Jan 2025 06:45PM UTC
Comment Actions
F1rebane on Chapter 8 Wed 08 Jan 2025 08:44AM UTC
Comment Actions
Pages Navigation