every sin will be forgiven.

by Yoinks123

Summary:

When In-ho had woken up to a decimated wasteland after suffering an accident, he was convinced he had finally died and gone to hell.

However, he’s all the more surprised when a mysterious figure presents him an offer he cannot possibly refuse:

Go back in time to the start of the 37th Squid Game. Change the ending.

///
(somewhat of an arcane inspired squid game au.)

Chapter 1: this is what you asked for, heavy is the crown.

Notes:

Hey, this is an idea that actually came to me on a whim. It isn't a full arcane au as you will see, I've literally just taken the time mechanics, the au episode and some character relationships and put my own spin on it.

I don't consider myself the greatest of writers but I'll try my best. Please ignore any mistakes or inaccuracies if you see them lol.

I have a lot of thoughts about season three that I won't get into. There was a lot of it, I really liked but also a lot I really... didn't so I'm writing this as a fix it because fuck that ending bro respectfully.

Anyways, enough rambling from me, hope you enjoy :)

EDIT: I just realised that Season 2 was the 37th Squid Game and my sleep deprived ass got it muddled with Gi-hun's first games. Sorry for any confusion lol.

The car, which drove leisurely down the suburbs of Los Angeles, was still save for the cooling whir of air conditioning and occasional tick of the indicator as it turned down road after road, drawing closer to its destination. Hwang In-ho sat in the back, posture straight and clad in a two-piece suit with a stiff, meticulously ironed collar.  On his lap, was a box, nondescript and meaningless to most. Yet, In-ho’s hands clutched it as though it were made out of diamonds. 

Six months had passed since the games had ended. Six months ago, he had triggered the detonation of the island and left its countless ghosts to haunt its ashes. Six months since he’d watched his guiding compass plummet to the ground taking any kindling of hope with him.

Seong Gi-hun hadn’t remained with that island. No, he’d lingered and In-ho was constantly chasing his shadow in his periphery. 

In every act of kindness, he was there. Fragmented. Yet, In-ho still saw all of him. Saw him in those who spared change for the homeless, gave up their seats for strangers on public transport and held doors open. Each time, his absence left him aching. A phantom limb he hadn’t quite used to living without. 

Seong Gi-hun was dead but In-ho had never stopped searching for him in every crowd.

A mere overlap in habit, he had told himself. After all, monitoring the other man had been his life, his mission for the last four years. Yet, as the compulsion continued, a month bleeding into two and then three, In-ho had quietly accepted defeat. The final straw on the camel’s back had snapped just under a month ago.

In-ho had been running an errand, phone pressed against his ear with his shoulder, when he caught sight of it. Vibrant, red hair moving within the bustling crowd accompanied a laugh he knew like the back of his own hand. He’d froze. Phone slipping from his shoulder and clattering to the ground. The noise had been easily muffled by the sound of traffic and surplus population. Yet, the object of In-ho’s daze turned anyway. Familiar, smile-crinkled eyes adorned with crows feet locked onto his and, for a moment, In-ho really saw him. 

Not the haggard, drained man who had stared numbly at him through a camera, using his last moments to shatter In-ho’s beliefs entirely. No, here, in front of him, was the man unmarred by the horrors of the games. The man who had looked into the camera and smiled. 

Clueless and ignorant of the reality ahead of him. 

It was as if In-ho had been plunged into icy water. Muscles seized and tight. Unable to move, scream, breathe. The warmth in the man’s eyes was fervent. Alive. The vision was a perfect portrait that had captured every detail. From the gleam of his glaze to the map of his moles. 

Yet, In a blink of the eye, the visage disappeared. In its place, was a stranger; a man looking back at In-ho with a smile that was swiftly faltering into a confused frown.

In-ho had looked away quickly, grabbing his phone from the concrete below, and turned on his heel. Errand long forgotten and the taste of ash on his tongue. 

He’d unearthed the familiar player jacket from the depths of his cupboards that same night. Booked a flight to America for the next month. Put Jun-hee’s baby in her crib. And then drank himself sick on whiskey and passed out on his bed. 

He may never be able to rid Gi-hun’s ghost from the corner of his eye, but he could sever the final physical ties to him. 

The jacket. The baby. 

That’s how he’d gotten here. Baby, now entrusted to Jun-ho, the only person In-ho could think of that could be trusted, and him in America. 

This is goodbye. He told himself. A goodbye for who? He did not know. 

He’s broken out of his musings by the driver. 

“Sir? We’re here.”

In-ho hadn’t even realised they’d stopped. He tore his eyes from the box, to the driver, and then to the house surrounded by palm trees that blew languidly in the breeze outside the car window.

Right. He’d come here for a reason.

In-ho’s face is stoic as usual, save for the twitch of his jaw. He nods, moving to exit the vehicle. Just as he’s about to do so, the driver speaks again. 

“Do you want me to go for a drive while you’re here, sir?” 

In-ho shakes his head. 

“No. Wait here. This won’t take long.” 

----------------------------- 

 

He’d asked the driver to take him the long way back to the hotel he was staying at. He had needed a moment to sit. Think. 

If he had seen broken shards of Gi-hun in strangers, visiting his daughter was like seeing the full mirror image of him.

Seong Ga-yeong was the spitting reflection of her father. Kind eyes, vibrant smile and amiable character. Innocent. 

He’d felt the vastness of his own monstrosity as he stood before her. Swallowed by his own ugliness. He'd seen how his fingers, soaked in unquantifiable amounts of blood, uncoordinated and grotesque, contrasted with the delicate, youthful hands that had reached for the box. A gruesome truth that had reared its revolting head.

“Seong Gihun-ssi has passed away.” he’d said, like he wasn’t the executioner of this poor girl’s happiness. 

Then, he walked away. Not before he’d seen the girl’s face crumple, devastated. How her lips had quivered and eyebrows wavered. 

It wasn’t the first time he had delivered the news of death to a family member’s door. He was, after all, a police officer once upon a time. Yet, this was different. He wasn’t an outsider this time. This was not a civilian he could distance from his conscious and move on with his life. He’d been a part of this. He had watched Gi-hun rise, fostering hope among players as they began to imagine a future outside of the games. He’d seen his fall. A violent, ugly descent from pacifist to murderer, poisoned and blinded by grief. 

Still, he had accomplished something In-ho never did. He’d clung to remaining, frayed edges of his humanity. And that was something In-ho was sure would never leave him as long as he had lived. Not only because he was crushed by the weight of his jealousy and inferiority, but because, deep down, he was proud. 

In-ho may have survived the game but it was Gi-hun who had truly won. In his death, in his absolute rejection of In-ho’s philosophy, he’d defeated him. It was because of Gi-hun that he had even attempted to see the world from a new perspective. To look at others and not see monsters parading as humans, but as people. People who are capable of good, despite it all. 

Outside, a loud whack shakes In-ho from his musings. He looks up and that’s when he sees it.

Down a dingy, decrepit alleyway, stands a woman and man. The woman is wearing a suit, hair pulled back into a severe, slick ponytail. On the ground is the familiar sight of Ddakji paper tiles. The man stares, frustrated, as his tile fails to flip once more. The woman flips hers, the man is slapped and the cycle repeats. 

In-ho had been aware of the game's existence in other countries, but he had never had any contact with them. Now, rolling down his window, he could only stare at the dystopian scene before him.

The old part of him rationalised that this was inevitable.

If the world doesn’t change, the games don’t end.

Yet, another part of him, the part changed by Gi-hun, felt the burn of injustice.

How many people had died trying to end this? How many people, like him, had lost themselves to this? 

The woman, as if feeling the weight of his gaze, turns and looks him dead in the eyes. A mirage of emotions flicker across her face. Surprise, shock, curiosity, realisation. Then, finally, amusement. Her eyes are cold. Her smirk, icy and all-too knowing. The man next to her says something, no doubt asking for another round just like every other desperate person does, and she replies. 

Just like that, the moment is over. 

In-ho rolls the window back up and the car begins to move again. 

He’s staring blankly at the windscreen when the sight of his hotel comes into view. 

He doesn’t quite feel ready to return to the oppressive silence of his hotel room. Not yet. He needed more time to ponder, observe, and forget. 

He doesn’t fly back to Korea until the day after tomorrow, so he thinks he can reasonably afford a scenic walk. 

“Pull up here.” He says. The driver obeys. He doesn’t say anything else and exits as soon as the car rolls to a stop.

The unpleasant stench of pollution and fast food invades his nose immediately, making his nose scrunch. He weaves in and around the crowd with no destination in mind. A ghost among the living. The thoughts in his head take precedence over the direction of his feet. He absent-mindedly scans his surroundings with practiced apathy; no one stands out, their features are all indistinct. A melting pot of foreign faces not worth the time. The only one face that is, is gone. 

He reaches the end of a pavement, joining a smaller cluster all waiting for the signal across the road to turn green. Many are on their phones, others wear headphones, some talk. Cars, taxis, the occasional police car drive past close enough to him that he can feel the rush of air as they drive by. He does nothing, loosening the tie around his neck, putting his hands in his pockets and stares at the bustle of life across the road  with apathetic curiosity. 

He sees a woman, dressed in formal attire, running with a phone pressed so close to her ear it might as well be a part of her face. A man in jogging gear, using a nearby bench to stretch. A father and child, the latter having a tantrum as it’s refused ice cream from an adjacent stand. 

It’s boring, human and utterly meaningless. In-ho almost looks away before something catches his eye. 

A person, draped in a hooded cloak that extends so far down and wide it obscures their face. But it’s not the anonymity which captures In-ho’s interest. It’s how out of place the figure is amongst its surroundings; its cloak, a perfect pearl white, is unmarred by the dirt and pollution. They are not acknowledged, despite the Los Angeles heat; clad in clothes warm enough for the coldest of winters. 

An odd feeling spreads through his body with little warning. In-ho knows without a doubt, whoever that person is, they are looking at him. The hairs on the back of his neck stand tall, an instinct of prey when hunted by predators. 

Seconds feel like minutes pass with In-ho holding the stare.

Eventually, a bus roars past, breaking the contact. In-ho blinks. 

The figure is gone. Vanished, leaving In-ho to hastily scan for any sign of their existence. There is none. 

It is due to this, that he fails to register the gravity of the increasing anger in the conversation behind him. Two men are having a petty squabble. It’s about money, In-ho vaguely registers. Probably. It’s the usual.

Nothing new. Nothing exciting. Not worth his time. 

That is, until, one of the men decides he wants to get physical. A fist connects with a nose and is followed by a loud swear that reverberates loudly, casting an immediate silence is so abrupt In-ho almost snorts. 

Bystanders are always captivated by the animalistic brutality humanity can show each other; how they bare their teeth, bloody their fists and twist their faces into ugly snarls. 

Their conversation is louder now. 

“-You asshole. You broke my fucking nose. Shit.”

“I don’t give a fuck about your nose. Give me the money you owe me before I rip your fucking throat out.” 

In-ho sighs. It is about money after all. He’s ready to reluctantly intervene, putting the strange encounter from before at the back of his mind. It’s what Gi-hun would’ve done. It’s what his brother would do. It’s what he did once upon a time when he lived a very different life. 

He turns and opens his mouth to speak but feels the air leave him violently as he's shoved backward. 

Time slows.  He can see the faces of the crowd. Their expressions contorting, horrified. The two men don’t notice, thrashing against each other. They’re too consumed in their rage they don’t realise they’ve just shoved a bystander. In-ho’s falling and with sickening clarity he realises where. 

The road. The road busy with fast moving traffic. 

The back of his head collides painfully against the concrete, making him see stars as he feels the blood begin to pool out of his head. He attempts to stagger to his feet, wobbling and shaking violently. 

He might be in shock.

His eyes roll back of his head and he reaches a hand to touch where it hurts and while his vision is blurry, he still registers the staggering amount of blood which coats his hand. 

The sound of a car horn blares and pierces his senses. 

In-ho feels his feet go out from under him, vaguely registers being flung, agonising pain blooming everywhere before miraculously fading. All he can hear is white noise and it’s with distant humour that he registers that he’s probably dying.

Oh well. There wasn’t really anything he had left to live for. 

Though, his mind screams at him. Jun-ho. He supposes his brother will be devastated. That is, if he even spares him a thought these days. In-ho doesn’t deserve his grief regardless, but he can’t help but wonder and hope. No, Jun-ho is better off without him. He should live his life without worrying about where and what his brother is doing. 

With that, In-ho surrenders to the warm embrace of death. 

The last thing he hears is screaming. The last thing he feels, hands. All over him. His neck, checking his pulse, his head wound. 

The last thing he sees is Gi-hun, smiling down at him brightly. An angel is ready to take him to the afterlife. 

His lips twitch weakly upward. 

It’s not the worst way to go.

-------------------------------------

 

Death was far from peaceful. Granted, In-ho hadn’t known what to expect, having only experienced it through folklore and philosophic introspection. Yet he’d never considered it would feel like this. 

Instead of returning to him in waves, consciousness slams into him. Hard. In-ho jolts up, eyes wide and chest heaving. He’d died. 

With blood pooling from the back of his head, Hwang In-ho had met his untimely end on the bustling streets of Los Angeles. Anti-climatic, inconsequential and unmemorable. 

He touches his head, finding no evidence of injury, only unbroken skin. His mouth tastes like copper and his ears ring faintly. He has no idea where he is. 

His surroundings are bleak. Ruins cluttered with rubble, ashes and blood. The air is thick with dust and death. An endless span of destruction that permeates misery and suffering. At the centre of the wreckage, stands a familiar person. 

It's the same figure In-ho saw across the road before he’d been hit. 

“You.” His voice echos. 

The figure does not react. 

“Where am I? What is this place?” 

The figure still doesn’t react. In-ho bites his tongue, swallowing his frustration. He looks back at the piles of rubble and squints. 

He can make out decorations on the fire-scorched plastering. It’s familiar, but he still can’t place it. His memory is scrambled.

The figure, finally, moves, The crunch of fine ash underfoot deafening in the silence of the space. It crosses the gap between them with long, confident strides until it stands less than a metre away from him.  

In-ho decides to try again. 

“Why am I here? What do you want from me?”

The cloaked enigma doesn’t respond, choosing to extend a closed fist towards him instead. Its fingers unfurl and in the centre of its palm, In-ho can see a glistening, blue stone embedded within a delicately woven bracelet. The accessory is unfamiliar and, at first glance, inconsequential. That’s when In-ho feels it. Power. Raw, seismic power that radiates off the item with such potency he feels every muscle in his body contract and stomach turn violently.

When the figure finally speaks, its voice jarring and unrecognisable, In-ho shivers.

“Do you believe in fate, Hwang In-ho?”

The question is unexpected, catching him off-guard. 

Fate?

He wasn’t quite sure what to say. Long ago, when he had first donned the grey coat and black, geometric mask, he’d assumed he'd die in it. That was his fate. Yet, the island had fallen without him on it and he’d lived. He had also assumed it had been Gi-hun’s fate to become like him.  In-ho had been so certain, placing the dagger between them, that it was the last push the man had needed. The final nail in the coffin. Yet, as always, Gi-hun defied all expectations. 

Maybe Seong Gi-hun’s fate was to prove him wrong, even till the very end. 

Still, he’s unsure where he stands with the enigma before him. Whether they were a judicator or his punisher, he sensed he was being tested all the same. 

“Maybe once upon a time.”

“And now?” 

“Now…” He wets his lips, faintly amused that they’re dry, even in death. “I’m not sure. There have been many things that I thought were inevitable but, in the end, I was shown to be wrong.” 

“You were… unsatisfied with how everything came to pass, no?” It’s a question, yet it’s framed as if the answer was obvious. 

It is. In-ho concedes. Truthfully, he knew he hadn’t really cared about any of the players besides Gi-hun. Of course, there had been deaths that had almost… saddened him but they hadn’t left a lasting impression. Maybe that’s what had truly disappointed him in the end. Gi-hun, so unlike the rest of the trash in his eyes, had died so unceremoniously. Just like any other player in the game. 

Still, In-ho nods warily. 

“Hmm.” 

The figure walks forward, hand still outstretched. The gem of the bracelet catches the light, gleaming at him. In-ho stares at it for a moment before looking at the thing before him. 

“What is this?”

“Your second chance.” 

In-ho freezes.

What? 

“I’m offering you the chance to go back. Change the ending. Maybe one you’re more satisfied with.” 

In-ho stays silent. He’s bewildered. When he’d woken up here, he had thought he’d landed in hell. He had never been a particularly devout man but he’d figured it was a suitable punishment for the multitude and severity of his sins. Though, he would never have predicted this. He didn’t think it was possible. 

“...Why would you offer me this?” 

The enigma tilts its head at him.  

“Who else?” It answers, ominously. “Do you accept?”

In-ho ponders. On one hand, he wanted to refuse. What had happened, had happened.  There was little point entertaining ‘what ifs’ just for the story to end the same. People had made their choices, the least he could do was respect them. 

Yet, another part of him, a voice whispering deep from within, was curious. 

How far could I go?  

The possibility for change would be endless. How could he refuse? Not when curiosity had rooted in his mind, growing insatiably as he entertained every new possibility. 

He could make it better, or he could make it so much worse. An experiment conducted on mankind by a man with nothing to lose. Not to mention…

Gi-hun. 

He would see Gi-hun again. Not as a figment but alive, whole and breathing. 

The answer was obvious. 

In-ho nods.

The figure stares at him for a moment before grabbing In-ho’s hand, dropping the bracelet into it. 

The contact is hauntingly personal that he can only stare, shocked, at the enigma long after it’s dropped his hand. 

He turns the accessory in between his fingers, testing its weight. 

“This stone will transport you back in time to the first day of the 34th game. From there, the fate of others and the island is entirely up to you. Choose wisely, Hwang In-ho. You will not get this chance again.” 

With that, the hooded individual turns and starts to walk away. 

“Wait.” In-ho says. There’s one more thing he needs to know. Something that has been burning the brightest in his mind.

“Who are you?” 

The figure stops, turns and huffs a laugh that shakes its shoulders. In-ho thinks it’s the most human the entity has been from the moment he saw them. 

A bony hand reaches up to the large hood that drapes over its face; fingers caress the edge as if deliberating. 

Then, quickly as if ripping a plaster off, the figure pushes the hood back.

Somehow, In-ho feels air leave him in a punched gasp. His dead heart beats wildly against his chest. Recognition flashing brightly in his eyes.

“Y-you-” 

-------------------------

In-ho lands in the past with as much grace as a newborn deer. His stomach churns intensely and he pitches forward out of the chair he’s sitting on, retching pathetically on his hands and knees. The taste of whiskey burns on his tongue and his vision swims uncontrollably; He’s breathing so hard, he’s heaving. 

He had felt himself, the other him, fade from his conscience abruptly with nothing more than a startled scream. What had happened to that version of him, In-ho had no idea. 

He looks at his wrist and sees the gifted bracelet wrapped around it. The stone lays flat against the soft pad of his inner wrist, glowing gently. 

When he looks around, he finds everything is right where it should be. The vintage jukebox in the corner, the bar that held copious amounts of alcohol and the television. 

On the screen, there’s footage of the first game, red light, green light, the usual sea of teal tracksuits all present and accounted for. The sight knocks a crazed laugh from his chest. 

He’d really done it. He’d gone back in time. The figure had meant what they said. He was really here. 

Freeze! 

A loud shout emits from the television, reverberating against the walls of his quarters.  

Gi-hun. It was Gi-hun. 

At a record speed, In-ho scrambles to his chair, snatching the remote from the stand next to him with shaky hands and zooms. 

He jolts like he's been struck like lightning. A rush of euphoria, grief, relief and ecstasy flows through him with such potency he shudders. 

Like a compass that points north, In-ho’s fixated stare finds the object of his obsession with practiced ease. 

Seong Gihun stands at the front of the herd of players, face burrowed in his elbow as he hollers. Alive, not a scratch or bruise in sight. The sight of it scratches an itch, one he didn’t even know he had. 

His soul is purring with unrestrained delight. 

United at last . The other half to mine.  

In-ho watches the game progress, transfixed, watching every stroke of despair and frustration paints itself across Gi-hun’s face. With every death, it seemed to grow more vivid; In-ho wanted to reach out and trace the paint strokes of Gi-hun’s determination with a delicate, reverent finger. 

It was indescribably beautiful and dangerously addictive. Such pure humanity, not driven by greed or selfishness, but by goodness. In-ho was utterly captivated. 

The climax, somehow, is better the second time around. Watching the other man throw his life to the wind for a fallen player was far more satisfying than the whisky held in his hand. Thrilled, In-ho sat on the edge of his seat as Gi-hun dragged the injured player in tow with another woman across the finish line. 

It had been barely a second before the rescued man was shot dead anyway and In-ho drank the sight of his fixation grappling with the loss. 

In-ho needed to see this up close again. He had to. He couldn’t resist. 

His fingers were dialing the number to his second in command before he had the time to think. 

“Sir?” 

“Send a player tracksuit to my quarters. Player 001.” 

“Yes, Captain.”

---------------------------

Now, clad in tracksuit with mused bangs hanging down against his forehead, In-ho was ready. 

He had once donned the player uniform with the sole intention of breaking Gi-hun and his beliefs. 

This time, he was entering the game, not to destroy, but to save Seong Gi-hun.

And Hwang In-ho would not fail again. 

I won’t fail. I swear it. 

Notes:

Nothing more powerful than a three day situationship that irreversibly alters your philosophical views...

I really lost myself in In-ho's inner turmoil this chapter. Whoops... sorry if it was boring. I just find his way of thinking very interesting and wanted to explore it considering we got so little of it in the new season.

Anyway, The next chapter is where more of the actual plot starts :D

(I think we can all conveniently ignore how they played Ddakji, a Korean game, in America like we're all ignoring that ending.)

Chapter 2: remember me, remember me

Notes:

"Not horses. Not numbers. Not yours." Yikes… Hwang In-ho found dead in a ditch, aged 49.

This chapter was originally meant to be a similar length to the first one but quickly spiralled into 23 pages in my notes so uhh... enjoy. I won't lie there are part of this chapter I'm less happy with so I'm probably gonna come back and edit it in the next few days. For now, I going to just be proud that I've got something out before the weekend lol

Also, I just wanted to say thank you everyone who liked, commented or even clicked on this fic. Your support does not go unappreciated.
Anyways, happy reading 🤭

In-ho quietly slipped into the dormitory just as voting was due to begin. His presence, just like last time, goes unnoticed by the other players who focus on the glowing, golden promise of the prize money above them instead. He makes his way to the back of the room with his head low, carefully navigating around, through and over the bed bunks. 

Joining the mass of people gathered at the back, In-ho doesn’t bother to listen to the guards. He already knew everything that was being said anyway. 

If he remembered correctly, it would be some time before it was his turn to vote which meant he could only wait. For now, he had time to think. Plan. Strategise. 

It was one of his strengths. His police instincts were honed to immediately dissect any room he was in and take note who was where, who avoided eye contact.  He’d devoted years of his youth to cases, solving mysteries with negligible evidence, stringing together leads with ease. 

In theory, this should really be no different. Every puzzle piece had its place and it was In-ho’s mission to put them together correctly. Still, he knew this was far more important than any other case he’d ever been assigned to. There would be little room for error.

At first, In-ho had considered triggering the detonation of the island again. But he quickly dismissed it. The control room was always monitored by at least one guard; any attempt to press that button would be seen as a betrayal and he would be quickly dealt with and replaced.

Besides, he currently had no means of getting Gi-hun off the island. In the event of detonation, it was protocol that players were abandoned. Another cruel, brutal reminder of the reality of the game. Plus, the man didn’t strike him as someone who would go willingly. Not when he would be leaving others behind. No, he would stay behind with the others or die trying. 

Another idea he briefly entertained was removing Gi-hun from the game entirely and have him join him at his side as his second in command. He could try, make the man see that the hero game he was playing down here was futile. But it felt too similar to his plan last time and that had failed spectacularly. 

What was immediately clear was that In-ho needed a means to sneak players off the island safely. And with sickening realisation he knows who he needed to accomplish that. Jun-ho. He would need Jun-ho to find the island.

The sour thought of reuniting with his younger brother curdled unpleasantly in his gut. Last time, he’d managed to evade Jun-ho’s relentless pursuit all the while keeping him away from harm. 

Bringing Jun-ho here meant putting him in line of fire. And In-ho didn’t want to trade one life for another. But what other option did he have? Jun-ho knew Gi-hun and he would want him to survive. He would have to get into contact with the boat captain. Make up some excuse. 

But first, he needed to focus on what he could change now. He could vote to leave. Everyone would leave the island alive. But he knew it would be pointless, they’d all find their way back to the game regardless. The harsh reality of their lives outside would remind them why they had joined the game in the first place and amongst them would be Gi-hun. 

In-ho knew the man wouldn’t rest till he found the island again. Not now that he’s set his sights on saving absolutely anyone he can in here. It’s the same, unwavering stubbornness that had led to his death in the first place. 

You would save all these people here if you could, wouldn't you Gi-hun? Yet who here will be there to save you? How many times do these people have to tell you they don’t want to be saved? 

“Player 456.” 

The vote. It had begun, and the man he’d been most anxious to see, was first to go. 

In-ho’s blood thrums in his veins with eager anticipation. Gi-hun would be walking to the front any moment now. Other players look around, heads turn, a partition forms in the crowd and then, in all his glory, Gi-hun emerges from the crowd. Strides long and purposeful. In-ho, sight partially obstructed by the backs of heads, unconsciously leans forward, desperate to see more. 

He’s so focused that he flinches when a voice suddenly thunders from high above, causing the players' attention to shift and Gi-hun to halt.  

“It’s all pointless.” 

It’s the shaman, he realises with a tinge of annoyance. Of course, he’d forgotten about her meaningless prophetic rambles until now.

Player 044 was a fraud, desperate like everyone else, for a semblance of power and control over others. She had spent most of her time here searching for a way to escape her fate. But, in the end, she had been betrayed and murdered by the very people she sought to step over. 

Now, listening to her speech, In-ho is entertained, feeling like he’s watching a film; one where you can only appreciate its irony until you’ve watched it twice. Until you’ve seen how it ends. 

“You didn’t decide when to come into this world and you can’t decide when you leave it either.” 

She looks to the man at the front, who has yet to cast his vote. 

“When and where you die were already decided by the gods the moment you were born. No matter how hard you try, you can never escape it.”

In-ho almost snorts. If only she knew. 

Gi-hun, unperturbed, slams his hand down on the X with no hesitation and walks to his designated side. Just like last time. 

In-ho’s vision tunnels, locking onto the man. Other players step up to vote but he doesn’t see nor hear it. From where he’s standing, he can just make out the other man. 

Gi-hun is bathed entirely in the red hue emitting from the X beneath his feet. He’s watching the others with unrestrained hope and frustration that flows exquisitely from his frame. At this moment, he truly believes in these people. Even as the votes for O climb high, his hope erodes but does not buckle. He stares at the back of every player, as if willing them to see reason with his gaze alone. 

Yet again, In-ho is captivated. 

In-ho wanted him to live, yes, but the temptation to sink his teeth into the flesh of his enemy returns with brutal force. 

Yes, he needed Gi-hun to live because he didn’t think he could lose this again. In-ho was an addict now, utterly hooked and he wanted nothing more than to pull back every layer of him. Feast on his suffering, scoff at his stubbornness, admire his goodness. He wanted it all. 

When it was clear that the vote was falling in favour of the O side, Gi-hun seemed to snap, bellowing out with such urgency that instantly demanded attention. And In-ho was more than happy to give it to him. Even if he already knew what he was going to say. 

“Wait a minute, everyone!” He says, hands waving around wildly to capture people’s attention. 

“You can’t do this. Come to your senses! Don’t you see? These aren’t just any games. We will all die if we keep playing.” 

From where he’s standing, In-ho can see various contestants scoff at the man’s words. They’ve already dismissed him as a raving lunatic. 

Player 100, who In-ho remembered was a particularly annoyance the first time around, cuts through the crowd rudely, pointing an accusing finger towards Gi-hun.  “Who the hell do you think you are? Who is this guy? Did you plant him to mess with our heads?”  

The immediate distrust was equally amusing and frustrating. Even now, after watching so many die in front of them, the players still didn’t understand. Even now, when someone pleaded with them, reminding them of their fragile mortality. They could not grasp what was at stake. 

In-ho still didn’t know what Gi-hun saw in them. These people never stopped. They never saw reason. Gamblers to the core, believing if they played just one more game, maybe just maybe, they could score one more win and leave with more. Even if it was at the expense of other people’s lives. 

Yet, when they failed and the gun lifted to strike them down, their final thought was always regret. If they had just taken the money, if they hadn’t grown greedy. They could’ve lived. But greed is inescapable. Intrinsically entwined within humanity. In their very essence, their emotions. 

In-ho watched the two sides, divided already, clash. A conflict. Senseless waste. They all wanted better lives. Yet, their selfishness clashed with reason. Humanity’s self-corrupting contradiction. Even with family and friends at home, the prospect of endless opulence consumed them entirely. After all, what could the bottomless currency of love and friendship grant you in a world revolved entirely around the sum of money you had. 

Gi-hun had been an exception to that rule. He’d broken from that mold the moment he’d been willing to leave the game penniless with only his former childhood friend by his side. Favouring connection over billions. A selfless, pure choice that In-ho wanted nothing more than to protect. He wanted to nurture it, feed it, rip it to shreds, and break it into pieces all at once. 

“I’ve played these games before!” the player yells, cutting through the deafening chants of the crowd. Silencing them instantly. 

“I played the games here three years ago,” He pauses, gasping for breath “And everyone who was with me… died here!” 

Astonishment ripples through the room; Countless whispers erupting instantaneously. 

“They all died?” 

“All of them?” 

“Really? No way—” 

“Hold on–” A player, one In-ho doesn’t recognise, pipes up. “If they all died, how did you survive alone? Are you saying you were the sole winner?” 

“That’s right.” Gi-hun says tightly, after a moment. “I was the final winner.”

Many players step back, some realising the reality of the situation they were in, others in surprise. 

It is only chaos, barely contained, from that point. Many people dismiss the former winner’s words as a by-product of lunacy. Others are strengthened by the revelation that there is a former winner amongst them. 

Chants of one more game, one more game arise and Gi-hun, at the end of his tether, begins to helplessly implore the other players to end the game. 

And, like last time, his interference is only tolerated for so long. 

With a gun, Gi-hun was forced back into the formation of other X voters. The guards take back control. 

“From now on, we will not tolerate actions that disrupt the voting process. Now, let’s resume the vote.” 

After that, voting seemed to speed up; no longer interrupted by those trying to sway the vote, people seemed to make their decisions quicker. 

It wasn’t long before they reached single digits. 

“And lastly, Player 001.” 

It was his turn. Heads swivelled, chants erupting louder than before. Like before, his decision would be the deciding factor. Whether the people in the room got to leave or they’d be damned to play around round, was entirely up to him. In a way, he was glad. It meant, thus far, nothing had changed from the past. No anomalies he had yet to account for. 

In-ho approaches the buttons and looks down. The room previously engulfed in an ear-shattering cacophony pleas to press O or vote X, stills. Two choices lie at his finger tips. Whatever he did now, would be the first move on the chess board and it would set the tone for the rest of the match. 

The decision, in the end, was easy. 

A loud, high-pitched beep sounds throughout the room. The vote count ticks up. 

182 for X. 183 for O. 

The games would continue.

He turns slowly, gaze fluttering through the crowd in pursuit of one man. Sure enough, there he is. Gi-hun remains stood, crestfallen and defeated, on the X even as the player around had begun to disperse. 

In-ho doesn’t look at him with smug satisfaction this time. Only steady resolve. 

I’m sorry, Gi-hun. I can only hope you’ll understand eventually.

-------------------------

Not long after the vote, when players were queuing for their share of food, did In-ho look for Gi-hun.

Like last time, he found the man sitting on a set of stairs located in the corner of the dormitory, food discarded at his side. 

In-ho’s feet were pulling him towards him, like a magnet, before he’d even registered the person sitting beside him. 

It was Jung-bae. Alive and gesturing animatedly as he ate. No bullet wound in his chest. 

In-ho paused. 

He’d killed Jung-bae. Albeit, he hadn’t necessarily entered the games with the intention of doing so. But he’d still done it. He had wanted to teach Gi-hun how hopeless humanity was and killing his best friend had been an extreme last ditch attempt.  

And it had worked, he supposed, for a little while. Gi-hun had appeared to give up entirely. In-ho had told himself that he was satisfied. He'd achieved what he’d set out to do. Still, he couldn’t deny that he’d also been somewhat disappointed. The game they had played, going back and forth with one another, had come to an end. So easily it was almost underwhelming. 

Now, In-ho considered the benefits of keeping Jung-bae alive. Gi-hun was stubborn, yes, but he had a weak spot. He would do anything for the people he cared about. Perhaps, he could use Jung-bae as a bargaining chip. With his friend’s life in the balance, it would be impossible to refuse any offer In-ho threw at him. 

And with that in mind, In-ho continues on his way. A group of players, figuring out who he was going to approach, followed him. 

Gi-hun and Jung-bae don’t notice their approach. Too enrapt in their conversation 

“-that person died here.” Gi-hun says. 

It’s the same words he'd caught the first time around. Quickly deciding there was no harm, he joined the conversation the same way he had before. He figured sticking to what he knew before starting to subtly change the course of events was the safest path he could take right now. 

“Help us then, sir. You said you’ve played these games.” He interrupts. 

The men turn, looking at him, clearly surprised at the addition to the conversation. However, Gi-hun quickly grows disgruntled as he spots the cluster of people around him. 

“I pressed the O button because of you.” Technically it was true, just not in the way the other man thought. “Honestly, I was scared. I wanted to quit and leave. But when you said that you’d done this all before, it made me think, maybe, everything could work out in the end.” 

He tries to inject as much naive hope into his tone as possible. His role as Young-il was crafted to tempt Gi-hun, trigger his saviour instinct, and provide him with someone to save. A perfect trap to bait the man’s weaknesses. 

“Sir.” He bends to catch Gi-hun’s gaze. “Please. You have to help us.” In-ho says, decidedly omitting any mention of the second game, as he wasn't trying to sabotage the man this time. 

Nonetheless, next to him, Jung-bae appears to have some kind of epiphany. 

“The next game.” He exclaims, snapping his fingers. “Since you’re a previous winner, you should know what game we’re playing next. What is it?” 

Gihun holds In-ho’s stare for a moment before looking down, fiddling with the bottle of water by his feet. He looks up, and exhales fragilely.

“The second game was Dalgona.” 

“Dalgona? The sugar candy with a shape you can carve out?” Someone says slightly above him, to his right. 

“That’s right.” Gi-hun replies.

When In-ho looks up, he spots Dae-ho with his mouth full of half-chewed food, eagerly questioning the man below him. 

It was a strange sight. The final time he’d seen Dae-ho he’d been running for his life, petrified of a broken Gi-hun who had been hellbent on killing him. 

Watching them interact, with no malice or contempt, was indescribably odd. Neither man knew that, in a couple of days, they would be trying to kill each other. 

Or not. That could change at any point now, In-ho realised. Now that he held the power to do so. 

“Will it not be different? Assuming those in charge know you’re here, won’t they want to change the games to ensure a new player wins this year?” In-ho asks.

Logically, he knew he wouldn’t be able to prevent the players from turning on the man. They’d be blinded by the loss of leverage they’d never had to begin with and blame the man they’d felt was responsible. Even if he did tell them that the games could change.

But, In-ho wanted Gi-hun to have another reason to trust him and he wanted him to feel like he had his back when they did. 

“Maybe. But I can’t not tell people what I know just because it might be different. I have to try, at least, until I’m proven wrong.” 

It's a typical righteous and noble promise In-ho would expect from the man.

“Let’s suppose it is dalgona,” says Jung-bae, moving on. “What shape was the easiest?” 

Gi-hun sighs. “Triangle.” 

“Triangle? Huh, that’s not too bad. Which was the hardest?” 

“Umbrella.” 

Shocked murmurs spread through the gathering. 

“Wow.” In-ho exclaims, unable to resist, “There were people who picked that? Those unlucky bastards must’ve bitten the dust, right?” 

The resulting effect is instantaneous. Gi-hun’s brow quirks up, his eyes brimming with embarrassment.

Yeah, I’m not going to let you forget that one so easily. 

“So–” Dae-ho pipes up again, food still unchewed in his mouth. “That means we should all just pick triangle, right? Everyone could probably pass the round.” 

It was, in theory, practical.

However, even if the next game was dalgona, there wouldn’t be nearly enough triangle cookies for everyone here. No, people would have to fight for the shape they wanted. The game, as always, accounted for every possible scenario, remaining one step ahead of the players at all times. 

“Hush now!” Player 100 shushed, hurriedly. “If all 365 of us survive, the prize money won’t go up at all. Then we’ll have risked our lives again for nothing.” 

Whispers of agreement broke out immediately. 

“ That’s true–” 

“He's right.” 

“Listen–” he continues, emboldened by the support surrounding him. “We should probably keep this information to ourselves.” the wretched man turns his gaze to In-ho. “What do you say?” 

“ Yeah, let's do that–” 

“No.” Gi-hun says, his tone as cold as ice. “We can’t do that. I’m telling you this to save everyone’s lives.” 

He turns his glare upon Player 100, obviously repulsed by how he could even consider such an idea. 

“If it’s confirmed that the next game is dalgona, I’m going to tell everyone what I know.”  

Thoroughly chastised, Player 100 scoffs, walking away muttering something about raving lunatics under his breath. The other players, as if sensing the conversation had come to end, begin to depart as well. 

In-ho stays, admiring how the tension trickles out of the man before him. It was the first time he’d been able to study him without the backs of heads blocking his view. Now, he got to track the sharp rise and fall of his chest, the twitch of his jaw. Unconstrained intensity ebbs from every surface of him. Vibrant and vivid. 

In-ho nods to the empty space near them. 

“Do you guys mind if I sit?” 

Jung-bae shrugs. Gi-hun merely stares. 

In-ho sits. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either. And that was good enough for him. 

“I wanted to ask you something, Mr 456.” 

Gi-hun narrows his eyes, silently prompting him to go on. 

“Why did you come back to this place?” 

It was the same question he’d asked before, but this time it was tinged with palpable frustration. Tainted with the foresight of death.

Why didn’t you get on that plane? 

Your daughter is out there, you idiot. She’s waiting for you, even though she thinks you’ve given up on her. 

Why are you wasting your time on the trash here instead of going to her? 

“You said you won and made it out. That means you must’ve received 45.6 billion. So, why did you come back?” In-ho asks because truly, even after everything, he still doesn’t understand why Gi-hun came back. 

When In-ho had returned, it was because he had nothing left apart from the game. Did Gi-hun feel that way as well? Was this suicide mission his last effort to find meaning in his existence? Did it give him purpose and remind him he was still alive? 

Jung-bae frowns thoughtfully before turning to his friend.

“You didn't bet on horses again, did you?” 

Gi-hun, evidently a little affronted, opens his mouth and responds “That money doesn’t belong to me.” He looks at In-ho. “It’s blood money for the people who died here and the same goes for the money up there.” 

In-ho huffs a slight laugh. “You don’t have to think of it that way. It’s not like you killed those people yourself and saving that money won’t bring them back.” He counters before thinking. 

Gi-hun’s irritation crackles through the air as he leans forward with barely disguised disdain. His gaze drops the blue circle on his chest before returning to his face; nostrils flared, tongue poised and ready to strike. 

“If you had pressed X, everyone here would’ve made it out alive.” 

The space between them suddenly grows thick and taut with tension. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jung-bae shift uncomfortably. 

Fuck. He really couldn’t help himself, could he? 

He’d gotten so distracted following the original script, he’d actively begun to sabotage himself. It had been much simpler the first time around when he’d been trying to antagonise the other man. In-ho had punctured holes into his argument and watched it collapse with self-satisfied ease. 

But old habits must really die hard because, even now, In-ho can’t stop himself. Still unable to resist the temptation to poke the bear and marvel at how it snarled and snapped its jaw at him. 

If he were to be honest, he had missed this. Missed this Gi-hun, the one that had yet to fully lose the flickering with embers in his gaze. This Gi-hun still held himself upright and taut with relentless determination; Yes, he was still worn and haggard, but he was undeniably present. Righteous. Alive. 

So how could In-ho be blamed for craving the blistering burn of the sun after he’d spent so long in its absence? 

However, this was not the introduction he had wanted. Young-il wasn’t a fabrication meant to show Gi-hun how people could change and then be ripped away from him due to the consequences of his actions. 

No, this time, In-ho wanted him to like Young-il from the start. He wanted to build a camaraderie from the beginning, blur the lines between his fictitious personality and his real one. So that maybe, when the situation arose, he would reveal his true identity and it wouldn’t take much for Gi-hun to understand. 

He fiddles at the bracelet as he ponders how to proceed, sliding his thumb side to side on the flat of the gem. A feeling of queasiness arose as he did, his surroundings hazing into a muffled blur. The effects of time travel must still be wreaking havoc on him, he thought, despite having felt fine for hours.

He blinks, shaking the odd sensation and forces himself to zone back in; his hand drops from his wrist. 

“-blood money, for the people who died here.” 

In-ho sighs, internally, frustrated. Not this again. While he admired Gi-hun’s stubbornness, his point blank refusal to consider another perspective outside his could be incredibly taxing. It was going to be difficult to save him if he continued on like this. 

“I know, you already said that.” His tone is slightly clipped, weighed down by his failure in the conversation thus far. In-ho expects Gi-hun to grow even angrier at the blatant dismissal in his voice. 

Gi-hun, however, looks at him strangely, staring at him like he’d grown two heads. 

“...No I didn’t.” He doesn’t look that angry at all anymore, instead, more puzzled. 

Next to the man, Jung-bae stares at him weirdly too. He’s frowning at him in a manner almost that makes it clear that he’s equally worried for In-ho’s sanity as he is wary of him. 

In-ho’s brows furrow, perplexed. “Yes, you did. I already told you that you don’t have to see it like that.” 

Somehow, Gi-hun grows visibly more confused and concerned, lips flattening into a thin line. 

“No, you didn’t say that…” Gi-hun says softly, as if he were taming a wild animal. 

What? 

He knows without a doubt what he’d said. He wasn’t so affected by time travel that he’d completely hallucinated half of their conversation. Quickly, he retraced his steps. 

He’d only retreated into his head for a moment, trying to think of a way to appease the other man. He’d entertained a few charismatic lines while fiddling with his time brace- Wait. 

His head snaps down to the accessory where his thumb had been moments before. He looks back to the two men across him, both still staring at him.

Could it be? Well… There was only one way to find out. 

Experimentally, he drags his thumb up and down again and in an instant. He feels it. The haze, the nausea, the build up of pressure behind his sinuses. Before him, he can see Gi-hun and Jung-bae shift and flicker as he rewinds further and further. 

After a few seconds, his head begins to ache and spin. Nausea claws its way up his throat and the bright, fluorescent lights above strobe behind his eyes.

Just before the tempest of sensations peak and blur into a piercing ring that threatens to deafen him, In-ho rips his thumb from bracelet. All at once, he’s thrown back into the present. 

Pale, faint and shaking. 

Like a puppet cut from its strings, he can feel himself falling forwards from where he’s sat. His head is plummeting fast and he finds there’s seldom he can do to stop it. He tries to throw his arms out and weakly thrash to catch himself but it’s not enough. 

Just as he’s ready to accept his fate and let his head whack against the cold and unforgiving ground, his forehead collides with something solid and warm. Hands come up to grip him by the shoulders and push him back upright. 

Gi-hun’s voice, worried, sounds above his head, so close that In-ho can feel the vibrations from his throat. 

“Woah, are you okay!?” 

“...Hmm? …What’s- what’s going on?” In-ho’s body feels like dead weight and he can barely keep his eyes open. 

“Uh… Well, you’ve sort of, almost fainted…” 

“Oh. I’ve never done that before. That’s odd.” In-ho replies deliriously before relaxing comfortably into the warmth holding him up.

It could’ve been minutes or hours before his senses returned to him and when they did, he immediately became aware of his compromising position. 

His head was leant against the other man's shoulder who was clearly using large reserves of his strength to hold him up. 

In-ho swiftly drew back, a slight flush creeping up his neck. Gi-hun drops his hands from his shoulders but keeps them hovering nearby, ready to catch him if he falls again. From behind the man, he can see Jung-bae peering at him. He looks shaken, as if In-ho had gone into cardiac arrest instead of just swooning pathetically. 

Yeah, I’m not gonna do that again for a little bit. 

“Sorry, I just got… light-headed all of a sudden.” He lies, bowing his head as he apologises.  “...What were you saying?” 

Gi-hun, who still looks worried, thankfully doesn’t persist and warily answers his enquiry.  “I said, the money up there is blood money for the people who died here…” 

In-ho nods, body still tingling pleasantly from the contact. 

“Yeah.” He blurts, dumbly. “You’re right. It’s blood money, people shouldn’t accept it. I was reckless to press O knowing that.” He stumbles over his words, tongue feeling far too big for his mouth. 

He chuckles awkwardly. Neither man in front of him crack a smile. 

Oh well, it was worth a shot. 

Flustered and out of his depth, In-ho fumbles for the dosirak he’d stuffed in his pocket earlier, prying it open with shaky fingers. 

“Oh, it’s just like the ones I grew up with.” He exclaims, before wincing at the awkward, forced cheer in his voice. “What did you guys get?”

Jung-bae, thankfully, seems to notice his desire to brush off the incident and launches into a passionate tirade which In-ho, for once, is thankful for. Though, as he immerses himself in the chatter, he can still feel a pair of eyes drilling into the side of his head. When he looks, he sees Gi-hun not just staring but scrutinising him. 

And for the first time ever, In-ho really can’t discern what the other man is thinking. 

---------------------------

A little while later, the conversation is slightly more settled. 

Dae-ho has joined the trio of men and yaps away happily with Jung-bae. He’d introduced himself with the same vigour and, to In-ho’s dismay, bonded with the other, older marine just like last time. 

Jung-bae is halfway through recounting a tale from his time in the force when a sharp yell echoes throughout the dormitory. 

In-ho, mostly recovered from his earlier time fiasco, jolts slightly before he realises what’s going on. 

The purple headed, amateur rapper, Player 230, and his spineless lackey, Player 124, were taking turns beating up the crypto scammer again. 

Player 333. 

A finalist and father to a baby not currently born. A baby he’d been willing to drop over the edge if had meant he would walk away 45.6 billion richer. 

For a moment, In-ho almost considered not intervening. He had only done so last time to bolster his image as a strong, formidable player that would be a valuable asset to any team. Gi-hun’s to be specific. 

But then he realised. No one would step up, and if the players discovered they could kill each other to increase the prize money now, it could compromise his plan entirely.

No, it had to be him. Besides, he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to flex his muscles a little. 

With a deep sigh, In-ho stands and starts to head to the stairs, only to stop when a hand grips his wrist and tugs him back. 

He follows the arm of the errant hand of the errant and finds Gi-hun staring up at him, incredulously. 

“Where are you going?” 

“...To stop them?” In-ho answers, like it’s obvious. 

“Are you sure? You almost fainted earlier.” 

“I’ll be fine.” In-ho dismisses as he shakes off the hold. “Besides, someone has to stop those two before someone gets seriously injured? Do you see anyone else ready to intervene?” 

The other man doesn’t respond, choosing to flit his eyes from In-ho’s face to the rest of his body and back again. 

“... I’m coming with you.” He says, decidedly,  after a moment.

What? 

This had not happened before. Last time, Gi-hun had barely acknowledged him when he’d gone to intervene. Now, here the man was, holding him back with clear anxiety. So, what had exactly changed to prompt such a subtle yet important divergence from the original timeline? 

Aish, had he really come across so pitiable earlier? 

Sensing he had no other choice, In-ho nods sharply before descending the stairs; Gi-hun, in tow, not far behind.

“Boys–” He calls out. “What are you doing in the middle of mealtime? No fights during mealtime. There are elders present. Mind your manners.” 

“And two against one? Aren’t you embarrassed?” 

“What’s this? The Ajusshi parade? You’re lecturing me when you ended up in this shithole too?” Thanos retorts as he saunters over with a cocky grin with his friend, Nam-gyu, trailing behind him. “Dude. Stop running your mouth, and take care of your own kids.” 

It’s the same jab and In-ho had known it was coming. Still, rage curdles low in his gut and his fists twitch with the urge to let it loose.  

How dare he?

The rapper had no idea just how much he’d gone through. He had no idea of the countless sleepless nights he’d spent sitting next to a hospital bed, clinging to a cold, fail hand. His mind would never comprehend how just how much blood he had spilt. What he'd done for her. 

“That’s enough.” Gi-hun cuts in from behind him . “He said stop. So stop.” 

The rapper merely scoffs at the other player in mocking disbelief. 

“You again? Man… Aren't you tired of butting in on everyone’s business?’ 

Thanos sighs, looking down. 

“Hey, crazy man–” he starts, voice low. “How about you do everyone in here a favour and check yourself into the madhouse? Who knows? You might find a few of your dead friends while you’re there. ” 

The air stills as the blow lands. 

Gi-hun, for the most part, hides his hurt well. But In-ho sees it. The flare of his nostrils, the tears that brim in his eyes and he knows without a doubt he’s thinking about the people he lost. 

Sang-woo. Sae-Byeok. Ali. His mother. 

In-ho’s hand is shooting out to grip the ear of the bastard before he even finishes the sentence. 

He’s not just doing it for Gi-hun. He’s doing it for himself. For both them and all the people they have lost.

He sees Namgyu stalking towards him and, in his periphery, Gi-hun steps forward to intercept. In-ho doesn’t let him, using his free hand to roughly push him back and kicks the lackey in the shin who crumples over, groaning in pain as he had before.  

Let me handle this, Gi-hun. Let me do this for you, for us. 

When he kicks, he thinks of his wife; how her smile had brightened every room she entered. He punches, thinking of his child and what could’ve been. Reeling his fist back again, he thinks of Ga-yeong, Gi-hun’s daughter. 

Thanos is bent at the waist, hand stretched out, begging for mercy. In-ho doesn’t care and grips the wrist with all the force he can muster and pulls . 

A loud crack reverberates and the man flops to the ground with an agonised shout. 

Wrapping a hand around his throat, In-ho thinks of himself. How he, once an upholder of justice, had lost himself so easily. 

Squeezing, he thinks of Gi-hun and how he might be the only one capable of understanding him. 

Thanos splutters and chokes, clawing his hands desperately against the hand that throttles him. His face is growing increasingly dark, its shade almost matching his hair when In-ho realises; He could kill him right now. 

He wanted to. He could squeeze until the man’s neck popped and his eyes glazed over with death. And then, he could rewind time. Act like it never happened. No one would have to know.

The possibilities were truly endless. His head was beginning to spin, drugged up on the unfathomable power he’d been injected with. 

Yet, when a familiar gasp or maybe a cough pierces the air, he zeroes in on it. A metre away, Gi-hun sits on the floor, panting. His gaze is wide and beseeching.

Don’t do it. He seems to be pleading, silently. Please, don’t kill him. 

And, just like that, the thirst for blood drains from him instantly.   

In-ho looks back down and loosens his grip; The man below greedily engulfs deep breathes, coughing violently as the blood returns to his head. 

Of course… If anyone was going to drag him back from the darkness, it would always be him.

When In-ho straightens, he meets Gi-hun’s stare on the floor again. His eyes, now gleaming with relief, flutter slightly and a shaky smile pulls at his lips. 

Their gathered audience cheers and applauds In-ho but he doesn’t care, too busy drinking up the attention from the man across from him. 

“Gi-hun-ah!” Jung-bae shouts, quickly jogging over. His hands pull his friend up and roam, checking to see if he’s hurt. His mouth is moving quickly as he steers Gi-hun back to where they’re sitting. 

The man casts a fleeting glance back at him as he’s dragged away before swatting away Jung-bae’s concerns.

In-ho can only watch his retreating back with a mixture of confliction, jealousy and longing swirling in his chest. 

------------------------

It isn’t until later that evening that In-ho gets to speak with Gi-hun again. 

Lights out wasn’t due for another half an hour as already announced by the automated voice up above. He’s ready to sleep, maybe explore his newly-discovered ability to go back in time. 

But then, his gaze snags at the sight of Gi-hun sitting on his bed with his head bowed, expression deeply contemplative. Still awake. And In-ho’s feet move instinctively, with no resistance. 

“Excuse me.” 

The other man looks up, startled, until he sees him. In-ho scratches the back of his head and clears his throat. 

“I wanted to apologize. For earlier. Just in case I frightened you.” 

Earlier, when he’d been surrounded by the novelty of being back in the past, In-ho had failed to comprehend how odd it was to actually be here, talking to ghosts. Now, At any moment, he’s expecting the room to collapse and for the man in front of him to flicker out of existence and be dead once more.

Gi-hun opens his mouth, waving a dismissing hand. 

“No. It’s okay, you didn’t. Plus, you stopped. That’s all that matters.”

In-ho thinks the man might be lying but he doesn’t call him out on it. 

“I was thinking about going to find you, actually.” 

Oh? In-ho raises a questioning brow. This was new. 

He fights for composure as satisfaction greedily licks up the admission, pleased to have made such a different and meaningful impression this time around.  

“I was going to ask if you were feeling better. You brushed it off earlier but you gave me and Jung-bae– my friend– quite the scare.” 

“Ah… I wasn’t aware. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I’m only glad that I caught you before you whacked your head.”

“Well… Thank you for that.” 

“You’re welcome.”  The man then flits his gaze across In-ho’s form. “Are you feeling better now?” 

In-ho nods and Gi-hun’s face softens. It’s not quite a smile but it's close. 

“Good.” 

After that, silence hangs heavily in the air. In-ho thinks he should probably leave. He’s still standing awkwardly on the steps below and has already said everything he wanted to say. Yet, he finds he’s not quite ready to leave. So, he gestures to the general space in-front of him.

“Do you mind if I join you?” 

“Not at all.” Gi-hun replies, pushing further back against the frame of the bunk to create more space; he pats the edge of the bed.  

In-ho smiles, grateful, before delicately perching on the mattress. 

For a while, neither man speaks, choosing to sit in a comfortable silence that is occasionally interrupted by the snoring of another player. 

Gi-hun breaks the quiet first. 

“Why did you shove me out the way?” He asks, quietly. “During the fight earlier.” 

In-ho looks at him. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

“I could’ve defended myself.” 

“I know. I just didn’t want you to have to.” 

Gi-hun looks away, pondering.

“Hmm.” 

“What?” In-ho asks but the other man merely shakes his head. 

“Nothing.” 

“No, what?”

“It’s just… You didn’t have to do that. You don’t know me, you only met me a few hours ago.”

In-ho huffs a slight laugh, the irony not lost on him. 

Oh Gi-hun, you have no idea. I’ve known you for so long now that I know you better than yourself. 

In-ho doesn’t say that though, choosing to play further into the selfless hero image he’s constructed of himself thus far. “Do I need an excuse to prevent people, even strangers, from being harmed?” He enquires. 

“No.” The other man concedes. “But, not everyone would do the same in your position.”

“Well then, maybe I’m not everyone.” 

Gi-hun stares at him for a moment, a strange expression carved onto his face.

‘Hmm. Maybe not.” 

They sit in silence again. The majority of players now have tucked themselves into bed. Any remaining chatter is muted and fading. 

In-ho chooses to shatter the stillness this time. 

“Why are you doing this? Really?” 

Gi-hun tilts his head at him. 

“Doing what?” 

“This.” He gestures around vaguely. “Playing again. Trying to help these people.” 

Gi-hun looks away. He breathes in deeply, as if to lift some of the weight off of his own shoulders and exhales, returning his gaze back to In-ho. 

“Because…I want to save them before it’s too late.”

In-ho smiles softly. The persistent optimism feels like a soothing balm.

“You know, they won’t thank you for it.” In-ho points out. 

It’s true. In-ho could bet his remaining kidney on it. None of these people, even the Xs, would thank the man if and once they got out. Not once the reality of their situation was thrust upon them again. 

Gi-hun merely chuckles heavily, like it's a burden he’s willing to bear. “No, maybe they won’t… But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try. What happens here is wrong. These people, they’re not racehorses. They’re humans.” 

In-ho’s smile tinges with melancholy as he recognizes the familiar words. 

“And humans are…?” He ponders aloud. 

Gi-hun turns his head, pinning him down with such a charged gaze In-ho nearly feels exposed.

“Worth the risk.” He simply says. 

In-ho, in quiet awe of the man, finds he can do little but nod. 

“Well… Mr 456–” He wipes his hands on the fabric of his joggers “I won’t pretend I agree with everything you say, but I can see you care deeply about all this. I can only hope you turn out to be right.” 

It’s a meaningless lie. In-ho knows he is right. The Gi-hun of his past, now technically future, had died proving it to him. 

Gi-hun, none the wiser, smiles. It’s fragile and small but undeniably present. 

“I hope so too.” 

With heavier topics acknowledged, their conversation grew lighter, focusing on mundane topics like, where they grew up, how old they were, or which was better: Whiskey or Soju? 

In-ho tells him about his wife. This time, instead of just lying that she’s sick, he sketches her with his words for the man to see. He talks about her favourite colour, her insatiable sweet tooth, how she would always steal his jumpers and refuse to give them back, claiming they were comfier than hers. 

All the while, Gi-hun listens earnestly, even laughing softly at times. 

In return, the other man speaks about his daughter. Ga-yeong. Tangible love seeps from the man’s tales, so potent that In-ho feels a lump in his throat as he remembers the girl’s crestfallen countenance as she learnt of her father’s death. 

It’s long into the night when In-ho eventually leaves, bidding the man goodnight. 

Back on his bunk, In-ho fiddles with his bracelet and decides to test his new discovery. 

Ensuring he is lying down this time, he calculates that he can manage approximately four seconds travelling back before the symptoms become almost unbearable. 

It’s not a lot of time but he figures it could still be tremendously valuable in the event that he needed it.

Tomorrow, it was the five legged pentathlon.

In-ho wasn’t concerned about his survival. If he stuck with the same team, he would be fine. It was the matter of progressing further with his mission and making the right choices. 

Eventually, he falls asleep with the events of the day weighing heavily in his mind. 

And, that night, he dreams. He’s back in that void. Stood among scattered ruin and rubble. 

The figure stands in the distance watching him.

In-ho can’t move or speak. 

The figure doesn’t speak but he hears their voice regardless. 

-------------------------

I hope you know what you’re doing, Hwang In-ho. 

--------------------------

Notes:

In-ho: I almost fainted on this guys shoulder and now suddenly he won't leave me alone? I don't understand.
Gi-hun, who has a saviour complex and is instantly attached to those he can help: 𝕴 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖈𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚.

I hope you guys know balancing In-ho's internal character contradictions made me want to pluck my own eyes out and I'm not even sure I'm 100% satisfied with it.

Painful characterisation aside, what are we thinking? Can freakatron really do this? I would love to hear your theories and ideas below.

(P.S I wonder who the cloaked figure In-ho keeps seeing is... 😉)

Chapter 3: go spin the wheel and see where it lands

Notes:

Boo. Surprise Gi-hun POV here.

I know a lot of people probably wanted to see In-ho's thoughts during Six Legs-which you will eventually I promise- but I also wanted to set up and introduce Gi-hun outside of In-ho's current glorified perception of him.
It was refreshing writing the dynamic from an alternative perspective. I think the dynamic between 'Young-il' and Gi-hun is different and softer than the dynamic between In-ho and Gi-hun. At least, that's what I've been trying to communicate so far lol.

it's quite important to establish Gi-hun's characterisation here as it's relevant to what happens later in the story. Though, I couldn't possibly say how or why. 😏
Also, I have casted the briefest eye over this so if you notice an error, please ignore it. I'll get to it eventually. Probably.

Anyways, once again, thank you for reading. I hope you enjoy this new chapter :D

(P.S did I give Gi-hun OCD solely because I have it? Yes. Yes, I did.)

When the players enter the venue of the second game that morning, Gi-hun’s stomach plummets. Cold terror sweeps through his every vein, freezing his blood, and his muscles locked. 

This was not dalgona. 

The games were different this time around, making every single bit of knowledge Gi-hun had, completely and utterly redundant. The worst part was that he wasn’t surprised. If anything, he’d been bracing himself for this the moment he’d woken back in the game. 

Still, the feeling of having the rug swept from under him is a cruel and violent punch to his gut. A harsh reminder that he was not in control here. It was the Frontman in charge and he was always one step ahead of him. 

“Welcome to your second game.” The overhead PA system announces, confirming his worst fears.“This game will be played in teams. Please divide into teams of five in the next ten minutes. I’ll repeat–” 

“Is Dalgona a team game?” Jung-bae innocently questions from behind him. 

He doesn’t know. He hasn’t realised yet. 

Gi-hun, too busy fighting off the rising bile in his throat, doesn't reply. 

He’d really wanted to help these people. He was going to get them out. 

Now, he might not even get the chance. 

God, Jung-bae… He’d promised he’d keep him safe and get him out.  And Mr 001… It was only last night when he’d told him about his wife and their situation. He was in here for her and Gi-hun might be the reason he never sees her again. 

When he gathers the courage, he looks at the other man. The sight that greets him is not the one he expects. Instead of glowering at him, the man is smiling softly. It’s not one born of mocking or pitying but understanding and sympathy. 

He pats Gi-hun’s shoulder and mouths something. Gi-hun thinks it might be something along the lines of It’s okay.

However, other players seem to reach the same conclusion and do not react with the same kindness. They turned their furious, accusing glares toward him instead. 

One player in particular, Player 100, seems distinctly offended. “Aren’t we playing the Dalgona game? 

Gi-hun swallows roughly, his throat feels like it’s laced with glass. “No… it doesn’t look like it.” 

“What are we playing then?” The man presses. 

Yeah, that’s what I’d also like to know. 

“ I’m not sure.” he says instead. 

The other player’s visage only grows stormier. “What? You said you’d done this before. That triangle was the easiest. Was that all bullshit?”

“No!” Gi-hun exclaims “That’s the second game I played here last time. ” 

But the other man doesn’t listen. “You were lying to us. God. There are people here that believed your bullshit, you know? And now they’re going to die and it’s going to be because of you. What are you going to do about that, huh!?” 

The world stills. Panic surges through Gi-hun; his thoughts begin to run wild.

God, was it his fault? Had he really given people false hope? Was he now the reason why they were all going to die?

“That’s enough.” Player 001 cuts through his spiral, stepping forward in front of Gi-hun. He crosses his arms and glares menacingly at the man in front of him. 

Player 100 shakes his head furiously.

“No, aren't you angry!? This man lied to you. He lied to all of us.” 

“No, as a matter of fact I’m not.” The man numbered 001 deadpans. “He already made it perfectly clear this could happen, yet you still chose not to listen.”  He then leans closer, a murderous glint in his eyes. 

Gone was the quiet, introspective man Gi-hun had spoken to last night. In his place, was something predatory. The same beast capable of wrapping its hands around another person’s throat and squeezing until it snapped. 

“If you’ve got nothing useful to say then you should stop wasting your time here and leave. Or else I’ll have to make you.”  

Player 100 stumbles back in fear. He looks at Gi-hun before scoffing and scurrying away. The gathered crowd soon follows, spitting disparaging insults about lunatics under their breath as they go.

Finally, Gi-hun can breathe again. The remaining group stand silently in their wake. 

Gi-hun looks down at his feet. 

“I’m sorry.” He begins, tone unbearably solemn. “You guys were counting on me and I let you down.” 

Jung-bae waves him off.  “Nonsense, Gi-hun-ah. It’s not your fault.” 

From beside him, Dae-ho nods rapidly. “Yes sir, he’s right. You couldn’t help the game being changed. Besides, I think we’d make a good team. If we stick together, then we can accomplish anything.” 

Gi-hun nods slightly and then, bracing himself, looks to the man who had just come to his defence; he just smiles reassuringly at him. 

“For what it’s worth, I still trust you and I know you were being sincere when you said you wanted to help others. That’s why I would like to team up with you guys, if that’s alright?”

Gi-hun breathes out a slight sigh of relief. Not all was lost. There were still people who believed in him. He could still end this. They just needed to live. 

“So… What do we do now?” the young man, 388, asks.

“Find someone to join our team probably.” Jung-bae replies.

“If it’s a team game, then it could be several games at once. Cats cradle, Ddakji, Tuho… All of those can be played by one person.” says the man numbered 001.

“That’s true!” Dae-ho exclaims. “We just have to find another person to join our team. I can do that, sirs! I can find a teammate who will not let us down.” The younger man moves to begin his search but is halted by a hand. 

“Wait-” Player 001 exclaims.

The three men turn to look at him. 

“Since we don’t know exactly what we’re playing, why don’t we find someone different from the rest of us? It might be useful having a diverse range of skills on our team.” 

Gi-hun nods. It’s a sensible idea and one he was happy to follow for a plethora of reasons. His desire for survival being the most pressing of them all. After all, he couldn’t end the games if he was dead. 

“Okay… that sounds fair.” Dae-ho acquiesces. “Did you have anyone in mind?”

The man looks around thoughtfully, adjusting something around his wrist. 

“...Wait here.” He says and then walks away; weaving around people with a clear destination in mind. 

Gi-hun's eyes followed him, but the man quickly vanished into the heaving crowd. The timer ticks on. Before he knew it, it was five minutes until team selection was over, and the man still hadn't returned. Jung-bae tapped his foot, hands on hips, while Dae-ho obsessively fixed his sleeves. 

When he casts his eyes around for him again, Gi-hun can just about catch a glimpse of him through gaps in the gaggle of people. He has his back to him but Gi-hun can see that he is engaged in conversation with a young woman. 

She’s looking at him with plain skepticism and shock. The man in front of her says something and she softens, looking down.  

It’s another two minutes before the man returns, in tow with the same woman. She’s short and has icy blonde tips dusting the ends of her hair. She’s gawking slightly as if she couldn’t believe that she of all people had been sought out to join this team. 

The man sweeps a hand out. “This is Miss 222 and she’s told me she has a particular knack for Ddakji."  

Gi-hun smiles gently, ready to welcome the woman onto the team. However, out of the corner of his eye, Jung-bae and Dae-ho share a look of uncertainty. It’s not done maliciously. No, the two men look more shocked if anything. Obviously, this was the kind of person they were expecting the man to bring. They’d likely anticipated another marine like them. 

The woman, as if sensing this, turns to the two men. 

“Misters, I would be very grateful if you could help me…” she pauses to take a deep breath, hand drifting to her mid-rift.  “I’m pregnant.” 

Oh. Gi-hun looks at the man numbered 001. He’s staring encouragingly at the woman, not a single doubt visible. 

Gi-hun’s chest warms as he realises. He’d still chosen her knowing about her condition. Not many people would do that. They'd view the girl as weak, a deadly handicap to their team and dismiss her callously. 

Which was stupid because, as far as he was concerned, the woman in front of him was amongst the strongest of all here. She was in here fighting not only for herself, but for the child inside her.

She shouldn’t be here.  

None of them should be, but she especially should not be here. This was no place for a pregnant woman.

To Gi-hun, her presence is yet another punch to the gut, a gruelling reality check of the game and the people who ran it. These people didn’t see a young woman, desperate to create a better life for herself and child. 

They saw entertainment. 

Jung-bae softens as he looks to where the girl is softly cradling the slight swell of her stomach. 

“Of course we’ll help you.” He says, smiling softly. He then rams a non-subtle elbow deep into the side of the man beside him. 

“Oww that hur–” Dae-ho begins to say but snaps his mouth shut as Jung-bae glares at him and quickly turns towards Jun-hee with a frazzled smile. “Uhh… Y-yes miss, of course you can join us. You’re good at Ddakji, did you say?” Dae-ho stutters out.

The woman in question smiles slightly, “Yes. At the subway station, I won more times than the guy.”

“Wow, really? I was terrible. It took me nearly 15 tries before I could even flip the damn thing-”

Gi-hun tunes his newly formed team out. This camaraderie they had fostered, new and fragile, was uprooting buried memories of long dead faces he now only ever saw in his dreams. If he is truly honest, the people he’d met while he’d been here were possibly the only positive thing he could remember about his former time in the game. 

And now, it was happening all over again. Gi-hun blinks, shaking himself out of it as the timer beeps, signifying the time for team selection was over. 

As the players sit in rows of teams, Gi-hun turns to the man numbered 001 next to him. “Thank you.”

The man blinks at him. “What for?”

“I know you didn’t do it for me but,” He gestures subtly to the woman at the end of their row. “Asking her to join our team was very considerate of you. Not a lot of people would’ve done that.” 

“Well, in my experience at least, there’s truth to that old saying; Never judge a book by its cover.”  

Gi-hun exhales harshly in disbelief. 

“Yet, you still can’t understand exactly why I want to help these people?” Gi-hun counters, cringing slightly at how indignant it had come out. But, in his defence, the man next to him was infuriatingly contradictory. One moment he was unshakably cynical and the next he was 

The man, not offended by the question in the slightest, just laughs lightly. 

“I only said that not everyone is always what they seem. Some people can also appear ‘good’ and turn out ‘evil’. Doesn’t erase what lurks beneath the surface.” 

“And what is that?” Gi-hun enquires, curiously. 

The man looks away thoughtfully for a moment, tongue poking his cheek. 

“Desire.” 

Gi-hun’s eyebrows raise. 

“ Desire?” 

The player waves a hand around. “Humans, they’re born with a lack in their lives that they want nothing more than to fill. Whether it be with money, love or recognition, the desire to feel whole is what unites us all.” 

The man had said it like it was a fact of life; that all humans were the same. It’s such a pessimistic outlook on life that Gi-hun pities him. The man in front of him had clearly  forgotten how colourful humans could be, how they existed in shades and hues that were entirely unique. 

“That's rather… bleak.” He surmises. 

“Eh, it’s philosophical.”

“Do you have a particular interest in philosophy?” 

The man shrugs, fingers plucking fluff from the sleeve of his jacket. 

“It helps to figure out the world around me. Well it helps me, at least.” He whips his gaze up to Gi-hun, scrutinising him. “Why? Does it bother you?”

“No-” Gi-hun immediately reassures “No, it’s fine. Whatever helps. Healthier than what I do anyways.” 

“Oh really?” Player 001 says, arching a perfect brow. “How do you make sense of the world then?”

“I smoke.” 

The man barks a laugh and Gi-hun watches how his face alights with unfettered delight, observing how his smile- perfectly sculpted- softens his overall demeanour. 

 It had been only a day yet Gi-hun already felt like he knew the man. Not in the way that he knew the man’s favourite food, though he did know his drink of choice was whiskey, but in a different sense. 

Gi-hun felt like he already knew the bones of him. He didn’t know his name but he could trace the outline of him. It was an odd sensation and one he wouldn’t be able to articulate if he was asked. 

All he could say for certain was that there was something tugging at him, nagging him to find out more. 

“What’s your name?” Gi-hun asks, unable to resist.

The man's expression flickers in surprise before his lips curve upwards and he stares at Gi-hun pleased. 

“Young-il. Oh Young-il.” He answers. “And yours…?” 

“Gi-hun. Seong Gi-hun.” 

“Ah, Seong Gi-hun.” His tongue rolls over the name as though he’s worshipping it. Then, he grins mischievously. “Gi-hun, did you know that your last name literally means ‘last name’?” He claps his hands together, laughing like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

Gi-hun doesn’t join him but he feels his lips tug upward, amused. 

“I don’t know.” He replies. “Did you know that your name is your number?” 

In an instant, the man stops looking and snaps his head down to the number on his jacket. 

“Oh yeah .” He exclaims, as if he’s only just realised. 

The room then quietens; the overhead announcement rings out. 

“Players. The game you will be playing is Six-Legged Pentathlon. You will start with your legs tied together. 

“Each member will take turns playing a mini-game at every ten-metre mark, and if you win, the team can move on to the next one.” 

“Here are the mini-games. Number one, the Ddakji-” Jung-bae pumps a fist, looking towards Jun-hee at the end of the line encouragingly. She smiles wide-eyed and wobbly. 

“Number two, Flying Stone. Number three, Gong-gi. Number four, Spinning Top. Number five, Jegi.” 

“Your goal is to win all the mini games and cross the finish line in five minutes.” 

“You were right.” Gi-hun blurted in awe. Young-il brushes him off bashfully. 

“A lucky observation.”

“So-” Jung-bae starts, drawing the teams’ focus to him. “If Miss 222 does Ddakji, I can do Flying Stone… Where does that leave everyone else?”

Dae-ho hesitantly raises a shaky hand. “I can do Gong-gi,” he says. “I grew up with older sisters and used to play it with them from time to time.”  

Jung-bae blinks at him. “You, a marine, can play Gong-gi?” 

Dae-ho nods, hesitantly. “...Yeah.” 

Jung-bae throws an arm around the younger man, jostling him forcibly. “Of course. There is nothing a Marine can’t do.” 

Gi-hun takes that as his cue to step in and bring the focus back. “That leaves Spinning Top and Jegi .” He turns to Young-il. 

“Which do you want to do?”

“I don’t mind.” 

“Okay, which of the two are you better at? Spinning Top or Jegi ?”  

The man looks away, pondering. “I think I’ll have to go… Jegi . If that’s alright with you?” 

Gi-hun nods. “Then I’ll do Spinning Top. ” 

It was decided.

Young-il nods back, looking away before exhaling shakily. 

The first two teams to play end in a bloody, gruesome disaster. 

Gi-hun can feel himself shaking as the PA speaker rattles out the numbers of the eliminated players. 

From behind him, Young-il briefly puts his hand on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. Miraculously, it seems to help; His shoulders hitching down from his ears ever so slightly.

Once the clean up is finished, it’s time for the next two teams. Palpable dread hangs heavily in the air. 

“They’ll do it.” Young-il says assuredly.

Gi-hun looks at him dubiously.

“How can you possibly know that?” 

“Intuition. I can just tell.” 

Five minutes later, Gi-hun Gi-hun grips the man by his shoulders, shaking him, lost in the throes of ecstatic exhilaration as both teams pass the round with seconds to spare. 

Just like the man had said they would. 

-------------------------

Hours later, it was finally their team's turn to play. The arena is now void of the players; most teams going ahead of them.

They start off strong.

Jun-hee smacks the Ddakji tile with professional precision, flipping it on her first try. The group cheers and quickly moves on. Spurred on by the early win.

Jung-bae goes next, topping the stone with a confident and steady aim. Dae-ho follows, throwing and catching the stones at record speed

It wasn’t long before it was his turn to play. The pressure of being responsible for the people beside him weighed heavily on his shoulders, threatening to make his knees buckle. 

Gi-hun grabs the top and rope from the tray provided. But before he can begin wrapping the rope around the top, Young-il grabs his arm, pulling his attention from the top in his hand to him. 

“Wait.” He says. “Pull the rope down, and then wrap it around” He then drops his hand, his expression suddenly going vacant, like it had the day before. Gi-hun feels fear bloom in his chest. 

Was the man about to faint again? Gi-hun wasn’t sure he would be able to catch him this time.

But then, Young-il snaps out of it, gripping Gi-hun’s arm tightly again, this time stabilising himself. “No, scratch that, wrap it upwards instead.” Panting, he urged, “Quickly, c’mon.” 

Gi-hun, who had been watching the man concerned, swiftly redirects his attention back to the top in his hands and begins to wrap the rope around it, just like Young-il told him. 

He’s about to throw it when he’s interrupted again. 

“No. No, hold it like this.” Young-il says as he covers Gi-hun’s hands with his own, positioning them. Gi-hun side-eyes him, slightly disgruntled by the constant hovering. The man, if he even notices, ignores him and continues to adjust his fingers and wrists. 

“Okay, try that.” He says eventually, leaning out of the way to make space for the throw. 

Gi-hun holds the position. Breathes in. Breathes out. And throws. 

The top lands, spinning on the blood stained ground. Instantly, the team erupts with ecstatic yells. They’d completed every round so far with no mistakes.  

Reaching the final station, Young-il grabs the Jegi, kicks once and then freezes. Neglected, the Jegi drops to the ground. The man’s face goes blank before snapping back all at once. He picks the Jegi up and kicks but stills, going vacant. Again. And again. 

“Young-il?” Gi-hun questions, terror creeping into his voice.

“What is he doing-” Jung-bae cries out, horrified. Dae-ho looks up the clock, letting out a sharp swear. 

They had just under two minutes left. 

Young-il growls in frustration, hands pulling at something on his wrist. “ What the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I just kick this fucking thi-”

“Hey.” Gi-hun rests a hand on the man’s shoulder, fingers curling behind the nape of his neck. “Breathe, okay? You’re working yourself up. You can do this. You know you can. Just think of them. They need you, remember? She needs you.” 

Young-il goes deadly still. He turns slowly, looking at Gi-hun with a wide-eyed gaze; his brows twitch and his lips tremble. 

Gi-hun bends and picks up the Jegi from the floor, placing it in the other man’s hands.

“You can do this.” He reaffirms. “I believe in you.” 

“...yeah?” The man asks quietly, his eyes are glassy. 

Gi-hun smiles gently at him. “Yeah. Just breathe.” 

They stare at each other; the world fading away just for a second. 

“Anytime today, man-” Dae-ho interjects impatiently and the moment is broken. Young-il quickly looks away, throwing the Jegi into the air. 

The world slows as he kicks. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.  

Shouts, cries of relief and celebrations explode from each team member. They’d done it. They were going to live. 

And as the timer beeps, signifying the game had ended. 

Gi-hun pats Young-il on the chest, on the back. The man turns to him, throwing his arms around him suddenly. His hands find purchase in his jacket, gripping firmly as if he’s afraid Gi-hun would disappear. Bewildered, Gi-hun hugs him back, patting his back in reassurance. 

It’s okay. We made it. We’re still here. 

It’s only when gun-shots ricochet, bursting their bubble of calmness, that Gi-hun rips away. Anguish slams back into all at once and he finds he can only grapple with the guilt as the bodies across from them are removed. 

Despite everything, Young-il doesn’t let go, only loosening his grip slightly. Gi-hun finds he’s thankful for it; the touch holding him back from the abyss. 

--------------------------

They return to the dormitory not long after their win.

“I’m sorry about earlier, everyone.” Young-il says as they’d settled back in. “I used to play Jegi with my younger brother so I thought I’d be fine. Turns out I’m hopelessly out of practice.” He laughs self-deprecatingly. 

The others dismiss his apology, laughing the incident off politely. Young-il then directs his attention to the young girl of the group. Jun-hee is sitting with the corners of her mouth pulled downwards, one hand rubbing her belly slightly. 

“Miss 222, are you feeling alright?” The man asks. 

The woman jolts slightly before nodding.

“Yes,” she says, bowing her head. “Thank you all for including me on your team.”

Jung-bae grins at him, tapping Dae-ho on the arm as he begins to compliment the girl. 

“She smashed that Ddakji and flipped it on her first try. That was impressive. She did great, even while carrying a baby. We were lucky she joined our team.” 

Jun-hee beams as the praise washes over her. 

Gi-hun watches the group affectionately as they all take turns to gush over each other’s performance. Dae-ho had been right. They had made a good team. 

They exchange names not long after, making Gi-hun glad that he no longer has to refer to the people around by numbers.  

“What’s your name, sir?” Dae-ho asks the man sitting beside Gi-hun.

“Oh. Oh Young-il.” He gives a side-ways smirk at him. “Just like my number.” 

“Oh, that’s right.” Dae-ho asserts. “Your name really does match. Wow. Well, that’s easy to remember.” He finishes with a slight laugh and then turns to Gi-hun.

“And yours, sir?”

“Seong. Seong Gi-hun.” 

Out of nowhere, Young-il bursts into laughter, smacking his knee as he does.

The others look at him strangely; Jung-bae turns to look at Gi-hun, questioning. But he just shakes his head, resisting the smile tugging at his lips. 

It is then that the guards enter, remote control lifting. In an instant,  the room is cast in a golden glow and the money drops. As it drops into the piggy bank, Gi-hun doesn’t see just money, he sees countless notes and bills dripping with crimson. 

The addition is meagre at best and it’s clear the players aren’t pleased with numerous airing their dissent of the game’s outcome.

“Fuck, I almost died twice and that’s all I get? I’d get more money than that if I let someone beat me up.” Gi-hun hears from someone nearby,  and has to swallow the urge to grab the man and shake him until he sees reason. He’s prevented from acting on it as the guards chose to speak again.

“We will now take a vote to decide whether to continue the games or not.”

Gi-hun takes a deep breath and looks to the group beside him. He needed them to vote X, to support him and his cause. He’s not worried about Jun-hee.  She's already voted to leave once and she is actively eyeing where the guards prepare the balloting station with quiet determination. Yes, she wants to leave. 

Dae-ho, who’d voted O previously, is in the process of crushing Jung-bae’s poor shoulders as he massages them, jabbering about all the places they could go for a drink once they got out. The other man hums non-committally along, occasionally wincing as a painful knot is worked out of his trapezius. 

Yeah. Those two should be fine. 

Gi-hun moves his gaze to the final member of the team, scanning his eyes over the shorter man. He was the one Gi-hun was the most nervous about. 

Young-il appears to be lost in thought, staring unseeingly into the space ahead.  He radiates a subtle, anxious tension that bleeds through his stoic expression in his furrowed brow, and pursed lips. He’s still too pale, Gi-hun observes, the events of the past few days clearly beginning to take a toll on him. 

He makes a mental note to give him a share of his next meal if they lose the vote. He is never that hungry nowadays anyway.

Gi-hun drags his gaze lower, eyes following how Young-il’s thumb reverently traces around a bracelet on his inner wrist. From where he’s standing, Gi-hun can see the ornate accessory is decorated with a sapphire gem unlike any he has ever seen before. It’s beautiful and, clearly, it’s a possession Young-il treasures deeply. After all, Gi-hun had seen the man fiddling with it throughout the game earlier, finger tips seeking the charm like it was a lifeline. 

He wants to check in, make sure he’s alright. He’d been meaning to anyway ever since he’d faltered during the game but hadn’t gotten the chance to. If he could sway the man into voting X this time in the process? Well, no one but him had to know. 

He clears his throat, steeling himself for the interaction. “That’s a nice bracelet, where did you get it?” He says, quickly cringing at how clumsy it comes out. His conversational skills had become a tad rusty over the years in his self imposed isolation. 

Yet, Young-il doesn’t even blink. Frowning, Gi-hun reaches out and gently jostles the man’s shoulder. 

“Hey.”

Young-il’s eyes snap to his, flashing with alarm at the unexpected contact. 

“…What?" 

“I asked you something, but you didn’t answer... Are you alright?” 

“I’m sorry, I’m fine.”  The younger man dips his head as he apologises. “I didn’t mean to ignore you, I was just thinking… What did you ask me?”

“Oh, I wanted to know where you got your bracelet.” Gi-hun repeats.

Reflexively, Young-il looks down, covering the chain around his wrist with his palm. "Ah, this?  It was… a gift."

“A gift? Well, it’s nice. Must’ve been from someone very special.” 

Young-il doesn’t react the way he expects. When Gi-hun had mentioned the accessory, he had expected a laugh, maybe, a softened expression as he thought about his prized possession as all do. But he doesn’t do any of that.

Instead, Young-il freezes, staring at him with suffocating intensity. His face is still as stoic as ever, yet there’s a look in his eyes that chills Gi-hun to bone. He doesn’t appear to be looking at him but instead through him.  

"Yes… It was. They were.” He says eventually, voice slightly hoarse. 

Gi-hun eyes brows shoot up sharply, mortification and guilt blooming rapidly in his chest.  “Ah. Were? I’m sorry if I had known that–” 

“Gi-hun.” Young-il interrupts gently. “It’s fine. You didn’t know.”

“Okay… Well, still. It’s nice.”

“Thanks.”  

Below them, there are players beginning to gather, getting ready for the next round of voting. 

Gi-hun redirects his attention to the entirety of his group. “This has to stop now. We have to leave before more people get killed.” 

“I’m telling you, sir. We’ll get out this time.” Dae-ho says and then looks down, casting a disparaging look to the circle on his jacket. 

He then looks to Jung-bae, who is yet to take his eyes off of the front of the room. 

“A Marine should think strategically and know when to retreat. Isn’t that right, brother?”

“Yeah, you’re right. Marines aren’t invincible. We should get out.” Jung-bae replies absentmindedly. 

Gi-hun opens his mouth; a final attempt to rally them all together. “We have to end the games here. I will help you guys when we get out. Please trust me and support this vote.”

 He looks at each of them.

Jun-hee is nodding. Dae-ho rubs his hands together in anticipation and Jung-bae goes back to staring at the front.

Gi-hun then turns to Young-il and sees the man looking at him with an exceptionally solemn expression on his face. He’s about to ask the man what’s wrong before the expression disappears and is replaced by a brighter visage that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Come on, guys. Let’s go home.” Dae-ho’s voice cuts in. The man jogs over to join Jun-hee who is standing amongst the other players waiting. 

Gi-hun follows. He’s almost there when he turns, expecting to see Jung-bae and Young-il right behind him but they’re nowhere to be seen.  

Instead, they’ve hung far back.  Young-il has a commanding grip on Jung-bae’s shoulder, pointing a stern finger on his chest as he lectures the man. He’s hunched slightly as if he’s forcibly maintaining eye contact with the blustering man in front of him.

Jung-bae briefly glances in Gi-hun's direction and his face crumples in guilt. Eventually, he nods and Young-il, as if satisfied with his response, lets him go. Jung-bae doesn’t acknowledge him as he walks past, even when Gi-hun calls out his name. 

And when Gi-hun looks back at Young-il, lifting a single brow as if to ask What was that about?  

The man merely shakes his head.  Don’t worry about it. 

———————————————

The vote had been a complete and utter failure. As if emboldened by their survival, the players' vote had quadrupled in favour of the O side. 

Even Young-il’s interjections, a former O voter, had done nothing to sway people onto their side.  

On the positive side, everyone in his team had voted X. For now, it was proof, the only bit he had, that maybe -just maybe- Gi-hun could sway other players. He would just have to play another round and hope he and the others made it through.

As he and Jung-bae make their way back to the group, provided food in hand, Gi-hun slows and pulls his friend aside.

“What did Young-il say to you before the vote?” 

Jung-bae startles, looking at him like a deer caught in headlights. He laughs awkwardly. “Oh. That. He was just… telling me to think of my wife and kid at home… And you.”

Gi-hun furrows his brows. “Why?”

Jung-bae bristles uncomfortably. “I don’t know, man. The man’s a mystery.” 

“But why would he need to remind you of them ?’ 

“Because I was going to vote O, okay!?” Jung-bae snaps and then sighs. Gi-hun stands silently, stunned by the outburst. 

“Look, debt collectors have been harassing my ex-wife and child for the money I owe. I thought about playing one more round so the prize money could increase and I could leave here with more.” he confesses, hanging his head as if ashamed.

“I almost went through with it but… when it got to my turn, I looked back at you and thought about what Young-il said. Then I got so disgusted at myself for even considering putting money above you.”

Jung-bae stares at him gaze brimming with guilt

“I’m sorry Gi-hun-ah.” 

“You have nothing to apologise for.” 

Gi-hun was being sincere. Jung-bae hadn’t done anything, stopping himself just in time but he also couldn’t lie. The admission stung. To think that his best friend had even entertained the possibility of voting to continue the game left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

“I still considered it.” Jung-bae says as if he’d read his mind.

“But you didn’t go through with it. Even if you had, I wouldn’t have stayed mad at you. Not for long at least. This game wants us to turn on each other and forget who the real enemy is.” Gi-hun’s tone tinges with venom as he mentions the game’s runners. 

Jung-bae exhales in relief.

“Thank you.” He says before walking ahead, shaking his head as he goes. “Ahh, you’re so reasonable now. Where’s the Seong Gi-hun I knew, huh? I hardly recognise you anymore.” He says it jokily but it falls flat. 

Gi-hun feels guilt creeping up his throat. “I’m still me just… different.” 

“I know, I know. It’s just gonna take a while to get used to.” 

Jung-bae turns back.

“I was so worried y’know? Your mum died and you just… disappeared. I went to your house, the races everyday. You were never there. I got so used to waiting for you at my pub, hoping that one day, you’d walk in. Then that fell through and I thought I would never see you again.”

Tears prick at Gi-hun’s eyes and his nostrils flare.

“I’m sorry.” He says. It’s all he can muster. 

Jung-bae brushes him off. 

“Ah, don’t be. Besides,” He waves a hand around. “It’s obvious you had more pressing issues on your mind.” He then reaches forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Just let me take you for a drink once we get out. Like the old times.”

Gi-hun nods, before a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “As long as you’re buying.” 

Jung-bae gasps.

“Yah… you think people change and then bam .” He accentuates the sound with the whip of his arm.  “The Ssamundong Cheapskate appears.”

Gi-hun laughs, punching the other man in the shoulder, pushing him back, lightly. “I still hate that nickname.”

“Oh why, it suits you so much.” 

Gi-hun shakes his head, grinning. Jung-bae throws an arm round him, bringing him close before moving to steer them towards the stairs. Though, before they can start walking, he pulls back. 

“Oh, by the way, can you not mention that I told you what Young-il said to me to him? He didn’t make me swear on secrecy or anything. I just don’t want him to find out or he might-”

“Or I’ll what?” 

Jung-bae yelps and spins around, clutching his chest with fright. A metre away from them, is Young-il, holding a small loaf of bread that has a bite taken out of it.

“ Aish.” Jung-bae swears. “How long have you been standing there for?” 

Young-il shrugs. 

“Long enough to know you were talking about me.” 

Jung-bae laughs, woodenly. “Me? Talking about you? Pfft, nonsense. You must be imagining things, Young-il- ssi.”

The man in question squints before taking another bite out of his bread. The side of his cheek bulges comedically as he chews. “Okay.”

The three of them return together finally, joining Dae-ho and Jun-hee on their spot on the stairs. 

“-about Ji-woo? It means wisdom, intellect and-” 

 "What are you rambling on about?" Jung-bae interrupts the younger man, sitting down with a punched out grunt. 

"Ah, sir, I was just discussing baby names with Jun-hee-ssi here. She said she’s still unsure what she’s going to call it.”

“Yah.. Leave the poor girl alone, will you? She’s already put up with more than enough today.”

Jun-hee shakes her head. "It’s okay. I don’t mind. It’s nice to focus on something normal considering…” 

She doesn’t finish her sentence but Gi-hun knows what she was going to say. 

Considering the outcome of the vote.

There’s a brief awkward pause as the group acknowledges the weight of the failure. But it dissipates instantly as Dae-ho jumps back into his endless list of baby names. 

“What about Haneul? It means sky which-”

As the group gets swept up in discussion of baby names, Gi-hun looks down at the bread on his lap with a frown. 

It’s wrapped up in plastic so he knew he could probably eat it without having to touch it and if worse came to worse he could always use his sleeve. But, after witnessing the onslaught of death earlier,  his appetite was entirely absent. 

Decision made, Gi-hun opens the packet. 

“Jun-hee." He interrupts, splitting the bread in half before offering a half to the girl. "Here you go." 

She takes the bread hesitantly. "Are you sure?" Gi-hun nods. 

"I’m really not that hungry." He then offers the second half to Young-il, who looks at him confused. “You look pale and you keep spacing out. Have it, you need it more than me. ” 

But Young-il doesn’t take the bread. Instead, he shakes his head, frowning at him. 

“No. Gi-hun- ssi, you need to eat something.”

"Don’t bother, Young-il-ssi.” Jung-bae says, causing the man to glare at him in disbelief. “Gi-hun-ah can get a bit pedantic when it comes to his food. That bread was ruined for him the moment he touched it." 

“Huh? How come?” Dae-ho pipes up mid-chew, confused.

Gi-hun looks away, his ears growing warm at the sudden attention. 

"It’s just a… rule I have. I can’t eat the things I touch." He admits, sheepishly scratching the back of his head. 

The full truth was perhaps a tad too intense for the comfortable atmosphere the group had established. 

Gihun had always struggled with doing activities a certain way. In his youth, when he worked at Dragon Motors, he’d established a set routine: Check the car engine, rev it- he always had to rev it twice. Then, test the brake pedal, the clutch and then the brake again just in case he’d missed any sign of sponginess the first time. 

It was just another oddity he’d learnt to live with. Another quirk that made people sigh fondly and say Classic Seong Gi-hun.

But it quickly spiralled out of control after his first games. Now, his hands were forever contaminated by the blood of all those who had died and no amount of hand washing could cleanse him. And it hadn’t stopped there either. 

He’d bought multiple phones because if he didn’t have more than one then he wouldn’t have been able to find the recruiter. The security cameras at the motel had to be running always. If they turned off even for a second he’d be convinced someone had infiltrated his sanctuary. 

That meant several exhausting nights of checking and then double checking the cameras and the locks of the building. What was once a harmless force of habit was now the ritual of a helpless, paranoid man. 

Gi-hun thrusts the bread at the man again.

“Please Young-il. I’m not going to eat it but I don’t want it to go to waste.”

Young-il stares at him before, with a loud sigh, taking the bread reluctantly. He nods his head in thanks and takes a bite. 

Jung-bae, who had been watching the exchange fondly, throws an arm around the other man. 

“Argh, this guy." He ruffles the man's hair playfully. "He’s always so stoic but, at the end of the day, you can tell he really cares.”   

Young-il merely grunts through a mouth full of food at the contact. “I hope it burns when you pee.” 

Jung-bae gapes at him. “What-” 

It’s so random and uttered so petulantly that Gi-hun can’t help but release a peal of laughter; The memory of the failed vote and his incessant compulsions fading momentarily.

Young-il looks at him, his irritation softening momentarily, his eyes glistening amused.

Jung-bae crosses his arms in mock offense. “Yah. That’s not very nice, Young-il- ssi.  I was just starting to think we were friends.” 

The man side-eyes him. “You’ve known me for one day.” 

Gi-hun lets the bickering fade into the background. They’d lost the vote. There was a good chance they’d have to kill each other tomorrow. But Gi-hun allows himself this. He has to. 

It’s a little while later, Jung-bae and Dae-ho have disappeared to the toilet to relieve themselves,  that Gi-hun turns to Young-il. 

“He told me what you said.”

Young-il frowns. “Hmm?”

“Jung-bae.”

“Ah,” his tone now coloured with recognition. “Did he now?”

“Yeah.” 

“I see.” He says and leaves it at that. 

Gi-hun isn’t about to let it drop so easily. 

“Young-il.” The man looks at him.  “Thank you.” 

Young-il continues to stare for a moment before he looks down, breathing out a soft huff. “You have really got to stop saying that. Just think about what you’re doing to my poor ego.”

“I’m sure we have worse things to worry about besides your ego.” 

The man laughs.

 “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

-----------------------------

It’s nearing bedtime and Gi-hun is in the process of directing the others building a makeshift fort when he catches Young-il slipping away from the group

“Where are you going?” He interrogates immediately. The man turns around, caught.

“Ah, I need to go to the toilet.” 

Gi-hun shakes his head.

“It’s not safe to go by yourself. I’ll come with you.”

“No.” Young-il says, stopping him with his palm against Gi-hun’s chest. “No, don’t worry, I’ll be right back.” 

Reluctantly, Gi-hun lets him go but not before he urges the man to be careful.  

Minutes pass, the clock ticking down to lights out and the man still does not return. Gi-hun tears his eyes away from the dormitory door and turns to his friend who was lying down in bed, ready to go to sleep.

“Jung-bae-yah. Have you seen Young-il?” 

“Not for a while, no.” he replies before he notices Gi-hun’s distress.  “Don’t worry, he’ll be back soon. He’s probably still in the toilet. The food here isn’t exactly easy on the stomach, you know.”  

Gi-hun nods numbly. 

Time continues to pass. The man still does not show. 

Gi-hun even watches Jun-hee go to the bathroom with an elderly woman and another tall woman and return. 

An hour had passed since the lights went out when the elusive player finally returned.

“Where have you been?” Gi-hun asks, not bothering to disguise his irritation. 

The man jumps at his voice. Good. “Gi-hun… I was,” Young-il flails a hand behind him. “in the bathroom. Just like I told you I would be.”

“For that long? You said you would be right back.” Gi-hun’s tone was flat, skepticism draping thickly over the dim space. 

“I had indigestion?”

“Are you asking or telling me that?” 

“Uh-” 

“Do you have any idea how dangerous this place is, especially at night?” Gi-hun starts lowly. “Do you know how worried I've been, sitting here, waiting for you to come back? I was half-expecting the guards to come in and announce that you’d died. ”

His voice is growing louder as his frustration boils over. “What could you possibly have been doing? Come on, Young-il. Tell me.” 

“I-” Young-il flounders slightly, midway through an explanation, before his expression goes blank. It’s the same vacant, doll-like gaze from earlier and the day before. 

Gi-hun had been kind not to mention it, especially around the others. But his patience was wearing thin and he was getting rapidly tired of vague answers and blatant 

Gi-hun already knew a lame excuse was coming, but he didn't let him start. Crossing his arms, he scowls at the other man, displeased. 

"You keep doing that." 

Young-il pauses, expression perplexed. "Doing what?"

Gi-hun waves a frustrated hand at him, unable to articulate exactly what he means.

"Going somewhere." 

"I told you I was in the bathroom-" 

"No- not that. You just go." 

"... What? I don’t understand." 

"It’s like– You retreat into your head. Your eyes go blank and when you come back you’re winded and pale. Where do you go, Young-il?"

The man gapes at him, almost comically.

 "I don’t- I don’t know…"

Gi-hun opens his mouth, prepared to launch into a relentless tirade but stops when he hears a sound to his right.

“Hey.” A sleep ruffled Dae-ho emerges, yawning. “What’s going on? Why are you guys fighting?”

The quarreling men speak at the same time. 

“We’re not-”

“It’s nothing-”  

Gi-hun looks at the man incredulously. It’s nothing? The man disappears and it’s nothing? Young-il stares back at him, as if daring to challenge him. 

Gi-hun scoffs. 

“Yeah. Forget it. It’s nothing .” 

He then stalks away, ignoring the faint call of his name as he leaves. 

--------------------- 

Gi-hun wakes up the next morning in a foul mood. The others, sans Young-il and Dae-ho, thankfully don’t seem to notice.

Jung-bae is too preoccupied, checking on Jun-hee, who had awoken that morning with a slight ghostly pallour, though she’d quickly insisted that she was fine. 

He skillfully dodges the glances that both Young-il and Dae-ho throw at him. At some point, he thinks he hears the younger man urging the other to speak to him but Gi-hun walks away before he can finish. 

He’s sitting away from the group waiting for the guards to escort them to the next game when he hears footsteps approaching him.

Blood splattered plimsoles appear in his line of vision. He doesn’t have to guess who they belong to. 

“Gi-hun.” It’s Young-il.

Reluctantly, Gi-hun looks up at the man. Young-il is looking down at him with a solemn expression, fingers fiddling with the bracelet on his wrist. 

Guilt blooms gradually in his chest. Perhaps he had been too harsh last night. Gi-hun had to remind himself that the people around him hadn’t been here before. 

They were still unaware how dangerous this place was, especially for the weak and vulnerable. It wasn’t Young-il’s fault. He didn’t know that people wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if it meant the prize pot would increase.

However, the man had still disappeared without explanation last night and he was a fool if he thought Gi-hun was just going to let it go. 

“What, Young-il?” 

“I wanted to talk about last night.” 

Gi-hun doesn’t respond but he doesn’t refuse the man either, choosing to take a sip from his bottle of water instead. 

Young-il must take it as a sign to go ahead as he begins to speak.

“I’m sorry, okay? I really was in the bathroom. I just,” the man lowers his voice as if ashamed. “I needed some time to myself, okay?”

Gi-hun chokes on his water; heat bursting onto his face. 

Oh. Well if he’d know that then he wouldn’t have harassed the poor man so vehemently. 

How could he still get it up in a place like this? He thinks, deliriously. 

After clearing his throat, Gi-hun hastily apologises to the man, “Oh my god. I’m sorry. If I had known that you were doing… that. I wouldn’t have been so insistent-”  

“... What?” Young-il says, confused, before his eyes widen with realisation. “Oh no, no-  Not that kind of time alone. I just… I needed to think.” 

All at once, an entourage of humiliation floods him. Yeah. That made far more sense than whatever Gi-hun had been thinking. 

Of course that’s what he’d meant, you idiot. 

“Of course.” His face manages to squeak out, face aflame. 

Young-il studies him for a moment before continuing. 

“Yesterday was a lot so I wanted time to process it. I’m sorry if I worried you.”

Gi-hun shakes his head, forcibly pushing past his embarrassment.

 “If anything, I’m the one who should be saying sorry. I was too harsh to you last night…” Gi-hun peers at the man. “Are you alright now?”

Young-il nods. Gi-hun exhales relieved. 

A voice echoes from across the dormitory. 

“Brother Young-il, Brother Gi-hun! Hurry, they’re taking us to the next game.” 

Young-il sighs. “No rest for the wicked.” he says, offering him a hand up which Gi-hun accepts. 

It was time for the third game. They could be working together. They might have to kill each other. Gi-hun didn't know which one lie ahead of them 

All he knew for sure was that there was a storm coming. He could feel it brewing in the distance.

 

Gi-hun could only hope when it came to pass, he’d be ready for it.

-------------------

Notes:

Oh brother, we have only just begun. I'm dubbing this chapter as the calm before the storm begins.

Young-il seems so nice from Gi-hun's perspective. Shame he's actually a massive freak in reality.

Also could In-ho just have chosen the Spinning Top and done it perfectly the first time around? Yes. Yes, he could have. However, Is that at all interesting for the story? No. He does actually have a reason for switching though I promise.

Hope you enjoyed reading and stay tuned for the next chapter. It's one I'm particularly excited for ;))

Chapter 4: kiss your perfect day goodbye because the world is on fire.

Notes:

*Drops this and runs away*

**(TW; Depictions of a panic attack)**

Another day, another game.

In-ho thought as he and the other players ascended the monotonous, vibrant pink stairs to the next game. 

It had been all too easy falling back into the role of the charmingly good Young-il. Like unearthing a coat from the back of the closet, one you’d almost forgotten about, In-ho had slipped it on like a second skin. 

Only this time, the chasm between what was real and fake had collapsed, tangling together in an endless mess of knots. In-ho wasn’t exactly sure where he ended and where ‘Young-il’ began.

His teammates, just like before, had welcomed him with warm, open arms. Fostering fragile, genuine connections with each other, completely unaware of the wolf in sheep's clothing. It had been unsettling, to say the least, seeing them so animated and oblivious to what the future had in store for them. 

Jung-bae was as loud and boisterous as he remembered and where it might have irritated him before, In-ho welcomed it now. He hadn’t fully appreciated how the man could diffuse tension, even the most suffocating kind, with a funny anecdote. 

The older marine was an irreplaceable, chaotic balm to the team. Every pat he gave to his back, every smile embedded in a humorous quip was a subtle twist of a knife in In-ho’s gut. He’d killed the man and yet, here he was, basking in the light of his amiability. Like it had never happened. 

“ You’re thinking about voting O,” he’d said to the man before the vote. 

Why he had intervened, In-ho wasn’t entirely sure. Maybe it had been a rare impulse, a jarring contradiction to his typical detached approach to life. Perhaps he'd simply recalled the vision of the man from the original timeline. Face carved with profound devastation moments before In-ho had shot him.    

“W-what?” Jung-bae had choked before giggling nervously. “Why would you say that? Did you hit your head in the last game, Young-il-ssi?” 

“You’re not denying it.” In-ho countered, seizing the player by the shoulder with commanding force.  Jung-bae tried to retreat, attempting to evade the scalding glower but In-ho didn’t budge. 

“Don’t you have family on the outside? Think about what they would say if they saw you now… Is another round really worth it if you die? What about Gi-hun, huh?"

The older marine only hung his head in shame. 

“You can still walk away from this, Jung-bae.” In-ho said, nudging him. “Hmm? Do you hear me?" 

The man had then nodded, albeit somewhat reluctantly. 

So when Jung-bae had pressed X, In-ho didn’t really know how to describe how he felt. A turbulent blend of satisfaction, apathy and relief maybe. 

His fellow marine, Dae-ho was unrecognisable from the neurotic, petrified man he’d died as. He was first to check in on the team, bolstering team morale with an exaggerated puff in his chest as he spewed endless affirmations. 

The younger man clearly found solace in Jung-bae’s presence, hovering around him with an extremity that only spoke of his attachment to him. In-ho had to wonder about the man’s home life; he couldn’t recall reading anything on his file (albeit he had had to read 456 of them) but it was obvious Dae-ho had been deprived of care and attention for a large portion of his life.

The marine was desperate and sought guidance and praise through any means he could. Which meant that he had boldly volunteered to find his seniors a suitable teammate. In-ho had only just been able to stop the overexciting man before he left to inevitably drag another vexing comrade over. 

Finding Jun-hee had been the priority. Not only had she been a key teammate, she’d played a crucial role in the original timeline. 

Four minutes had passed before In-ho had managed to spot her wandering aimlessly. Mustering every ounce of disarming into his countenance, he’d approached her. Tapping her on the shoulder with a polite Excuse me. Startling when an uncanny gaze whipped up to face him. The familiarity of it caused a realisation to ripple through him. 

Jun-hee’s baby had her mother’s eyes. Looking into them was surreal.  Wide, bright and absent of the resignation they’d held in the moments before her death. What struck him next was just how young Jun-hee was. 

She should’ve had her entire life ahead of her, exploring her youth. Visiting sights she’d never travelled to before, connecting with people she hadn’t met yet. But, instead, she was here. In a death game. And, in the end, it killed her. 

The charm wrapped around his wrist had burnt with endless possibilities. Could In-ho save her life this time too? Grant the woman the second chance she deserved?

In-ho wasn’t a hero, far from it. He’d given in his badge and fallen from grace a long time ago. Yet, he doesn’t dismiss the idea. Maybe he could do this one thing. A fleeting, rare act of kindness that was far more synonymous with a version of himself he considered long dead. It would never be redemption, he was long past that, but it was something. 

When In-ho had asked Jun-hee if she wanted to join his team, she’d stared at him in disbelief, like she couldn’t comprehend why In-ho had sought her of all people. Distrust and skepticism had radiated from her demeanour. An ingrained defensive mechanism, one forged from years of independence; With no parents, no family to support her. The woman had no idea how resilient she was. A flower blooming through concrete. 

In-ho would be lying if he didn’t feel relieved when the girl had eventually nodded her head, agreeing to join his team. 

Jun-hee had suffered unrelenting anguish and loss of agency in her original time in the games; she'd given birth amidst the brutality, witnessed the deaths of those she cared for, and then met her own untimely end, leaving behind a baby daughter she never even got to name. 

In-ho had thought a lot about Jun-hee in the six months he raised her baby. Everytime he would feed, burp and put the young girl down to rest he wondered; Would Jun-hee be relieved to see her child here? Or would she be horrified that the child was left in the arms of her executor? 

He’d brushed the intrusion into his thoughts away. For all intents and purposes, that future no longer existed. He had needed to focus on the task at hand. 

Jun-hee had been an excellent teammate, flipping the Ddakji tile within the fastest time he’d ever seen. By adding her to the team again, he’d not only be ensuring her survival but his and his team. Gi-hun. The man being his number one priority, a burning fixation that eclipsed all else.  

Gi-hun was endlessly fascinating, though this wasn’t surprising to In-ho. Though, the conversations he’d had with the man this time around had been particularly intriguing. 

Gi-hun was subconsciously gravitating to him in a way he hadn’t last time, displaying intrigue and curiosity at him, his philosophy. Something In-ho had happily chatted about. A dangerous indulgence, peeling back the layers of deceit to let a moment of authenticity shine. He hadn’t been able to resist. Philosophy was something In-ho - not Young-il- had genuine passion for. He’d feasted on the attention Gi-hun divulged onto him and not his fictitious personality as though he were starved. The heady rush of being almost seen was addictive. A thrilling, intoxicating rush flooded his brain, making him feel unfathomably high. 

How riveting it had been to return as a player, not only twice, but three times. Getting to delight in the cheers and sympathetic groans that erupted after each round. Be electrified by the contagious team spirit that permeated through the area. 

In-ho had missed it. The genuine, pure human connection, something which had been missing in the last six months of his life. He’d been thoroughly entertained despite already knowing which teams would be successful or not. 

Within his team’s turn, In-ho had chosen to play Jegi instead of spinning top with a racing heart. It was a subtle, meaningless change from the original timeline but, to him, it had felt major. Switching games had been risky. A reckless deviation that had the potential to endanger his entire plan. 

Though he reasoned with himself that it was more efficient. By going last, In-ho could ensure that each of his teammates passed with ease, giving him plenty of time for himself if needed. 

His plan had begun spectacularly. In-ho hadn’t needed to intervene until they’d reached Gi-hun’s station. The technique in which the man had wrapped the Spinning Top was amateurish and clumsy, assuring his failure. A couple quick swipes, one adjustment of Gi-hun’s hand and the top had spun perfectly. 

The team none the wiser to his involvement. 

Disaster had only really struck when it was his turn to go. Each time In-ho attempted to kick the Jegi, the toy would launch and veer away from his foot. It hadn’t been long before his frustration had boiled over; the suffocating pressure of his failure crushing him. Quickly, In-ho had spiralled. Dark irrepressible thoughts had usurped his level-headed mind, taunting him. 

If he couldn’t kick a Jegi five times in a row, how was he supposed to alter the course of time?  Why did he think he was capable of saving anyone? Stupid so stupi-

However, just when he believed he’d been entirely consumed, Gi-hun had reached out. Like a bright, blinding light, he had guided In-ho home, seamlessly cutting through his panic.  

“ Hey. ” Gi-hun’d murmured. “ You can do this. You know you can. Just think of them. They need you, remember? She needs you .” 

The reference to his late wife and unborn child had left In-ho momentarily dumbfounded. Beyond startled to be on the receiving end of a much more intimate pep talk in this version of the events. 

Unknowingly, Gi-Hun had struck him in his Achilles heel and driven the dagger home with an open and trusting gaze. 

“You can do this. I believe in you .” 

Raw, unwavering trust. Something so often unsubstantial, meaningless, easily thrown away. But not to In-ho. Not when it had come from him. 

In that moment, his vision had split, cleavered straight in half, two versions of the same man in-front of him. One spirited and hopeful and the other listless, kissed by death. 

I’m going to get you out. In-ho had vowed silently. You’re not leaving me alone this time. Not again. 

Lights out had just been announced when In-ho realised he still hadn’t enacted the next stage of his plan. Exiting the dormitory at night had been much more of a hassle than he’d anticipated. For one, it had taken several minutes to even convince the triangle guard at the door to let him leave. In-ho had even feigned a stomach ache. 

Yet he was only let go when a frantic square guard rushed over, hushing inaudible hisses at their colleague, fear discernible as their boss stood in front of them displeased by the delay. 

He’d headed straight to his office from there, sneaking in and rotating the phone dial to each digit of Captain Park’s number with grudging defeat. Ringing several times before he’d even received an answer. Captain Park, clearly, hadn’t been happy to receive an unexpected call so late at night, growing only more annoyed when In-ho had commanded him to bring the boat to the island in the next few days. 

“What? Why?" Captain Park had exclaimed, voice thick with sleep and annoyance. "I thought you wanted to keep the detective away from the island. That is what was agreed.” 

“Change of plans.” In-ho had replied curtly, rattling off the instructions again in a tone that didn’t demand co-operation but expected it before hanging up; Cutting the man off mid-protest, severing both argument and connection.

Whiskey, from a bottle he’d swiped off the shelf, was pouring down his throat the moment the call was over. Welcoming the scorch as it went down, In-ho basked in the brief distraction from the cementation of his decision. 

In a day or two, Jun-ho would be here on the island, without a doubt furious. Bellowing questions that extended far beyond a cry of why and In-ho would have to face each and everyone, praying to god that his brother wouldn’t murder him before he had the chance to bid for his co-operation. 

In-ho was balancing a precarious, impossible weight on his involvement this time around, pushing past any lingering desire to remain elusive. 

You can’t run away forever. 

Maybe there was some truth to that infuriating phrase after all.

Whatever. What’s done is done. 

In-ho would just have to hold out until his brother and crew arrived. Then, the vital crux of his plan would really come into play. 

----------------------

Thick, heavy curtains pull back in a dramatic flourish, revealing  a vast, capacious room. In its centre, sits a circular contraption adorned with fanciful carousel horses decorating the top of the platform, emulating a carnival artistry. 

“ Welcome to your third game. The game you will be playing is Mingle. ” The disembodied voice of the PA systems blares out cheerfully, greeting the contestants to the next round.

A collective of murmurs-some fearful, some excited- rippled through the gathered players. While others gawk at the illustrious decor, In-ho’s mind races, rapidly strategising. In theory, mingle should run similarly to the last iteration. 

However, In-ho acknowledged, this was the game which allowed for ample variability. Meaning, if there was any point he and his careful plan were at the most risk of anomalies, it was now. He’d have to be extra cautious and ensure they didn’t pose a detrimental risk to him or his plan.

“All players, please step onto the centre platform. When the game starts, the platform will begin to rotate and you will hear a number. You must form groups of that size, go into the rooms and close the door within 30 seconds.”

Gi-hun, quick to rally the group together, steps forward.

“If the number is bigger than five,” he gestures to the space around them. “We’ll get the additional people we need.” 

Dae-ho raises a wavering hand. “But what if the number is smaller than five? Like three or four?”

Quickly, silence falls on the group, all unsettled by the possibility that they’ll need to split up. All except In-ho who knew the outcome was an inevitability. 

Well, there wasn’t much he could do about that .

“No matter what happens, don’t panic” In-ho says, expertly interjecting through the tension.  “Let’s stay calm, okay? If we just trust in each other then we should all make it out together.”

It was an empty platitude to a team entirely unaware of the power he possessed in a bracelet wrapped inconspicuously around his wrist. But the optimism was clearly appreciated by the group anyway.  

For In-ho, it was absolutely essential for each one of them to make it through this round alive. He couldn’t afford to lose any bargaining chips. Not at the moment.

“Here.” He extends his hand, charm peeking out from under his sleeve.

The others join him, laying their hands onto his. In-ho can feel the roughness of Jung-bae’s palm against the back of his palm. 

“One, two, three. Victory at all costs.”  They chant, before walking to the platform. This game should, in theory, be easy. After all, In-ho was no stranger to using force. The bracelet was merely a safety net. One he wouldn’t hesitate to rely on if needed. 

Just as they join the platform, In-ho hears a small grunt to his right and when he looks, he spots Jun-hee pale and hunched over. Her jaw is clenched, betraying pain.

“Jun-hee- ssi ?” He asks warily. In-ho didn’t remember this from the original timeline. “Are you alright?’ 

The woman straightens, rubbing her bump one last time. “Yeah.” She replies, smiling wobbly despite the evident strain in her voice “Yeah… I just felt a sharp kick, that’s all. I’m fine.” 

In-ho isn’t so sure he believes her but there’s no time. The platform is already spinning. 

He’d just have to keep an eye on that for now.

“ Let the game begin. ”

...

As it turns out, Mingle had been far from easy this time around.

It was only the first round and he’d already had to help Jun-hee, who was blatantly falling behind the others, and Dae-ho after he’d some-how managed to trip on thin air.  

When their team had piled into the room, he was already breaking out in a cold sweat and exhausted, grinding his teeth and hoping his fatigue wasn’t so apparent to the others. Especially Gi-hun who had already called out his behaviour once. But the man was too busy spying out the hole in the door, fixated on the horrifying scene of players being gunned down right outside.

In-ho observes him, tracking the tightness of his jaw to the fidgeting of his fingers that drum insistently against his thigh. A restless energy buzzed around him. One that promised trouble. 

He’s going to want to rebel tonight.

In-ho can’t believe he didn’t notice it the first time. Gi-hun’s revolution wasn't born from impulse like he’d originally thought. No, it was being built before his very eyes, each number announced as eliminated was another brick laid in the foundation of his decision. Grief and guilt cascaded from the man in floods, spilling across the landscape of In-ho’s memory, where it had dulled from time. 

He’d forgotten just how truly passionate Gi-hun had been before his fall. 

A voice jolts him from his musings.  

“You’re all still alive thanks to me!” 

It’s the shaman again. Or Seon-nyeo. In-ho vaguely remembers reading that name from her file. She’s on the prowl, hunting for fresh meat to masticate. Eyes hungry as they land on Jun-hee leant against the wall, perspiring; her face a deathly shade of white. 

Still too pale. Was something wrong? In-ho thought. 

Seon-nyeo, grinned like she’d hit a jackpot before whipping her head to look at Gi-hun. 

“So there is a reason you’ve lived longer than you were destined to.” She sleeks forward, a mystique and predatory aura following her. “There’s a reason you were brought here.” She then smirks, looking back at Jun-hee. 

It’s utter horseshit. Ramblings from a mad, spiteful woman who has drifted through life by doing nothing but crushing others. Though, even he had to admit, her ability to psychoanalyse others was impressive. A skill she had clearly cultivated throughout her years of conning and deceiving others.

Like In-ho, she had clearly observed Gi-hun’s tendency to act as a saviour, weaving it into a ridiculous and melodramatic tale of foreshadowing and fate. He would find her presence amusing, if she didn’t cause unshakeable irritation to prickle under his skin. 

Still, In-ho snorts, unable to hold it back in his fatigue.  

Seon-nyeo’s beady eyes snap to the noise instantly, glowering before she turns to begin studying him. In-ho lets her, intrigued to see what nonsense she could conjure this time. Her pupils shrink, dilate. Her brows wobble, then still. When she reaches a conclusion, she doesn’t smile. She just stares. And somehow, that’s worse. 

"And you.” She begins, modulating sageness into her voice. “You do not belong here. You are meddling with a power you cannot hope to understand. Even now, greater forces are at play, thwarting you from the shadows.” 

Seon-nyeo’s gaze momentarily flicks up to something in the upper corner of the room before she digs an accusing nail into his chest. “You are flying headfirst into a blaze… And you are about to get burnt.” 

The reading lands, chilling him to the bone. The hairs on his arms stand up on high alert. In-ho furrows his brow at the woman before him who holds his stare, unnerved. 

The door clicked open. The shaman saunters out, not even glancing back at him as she goes. 

 “Jesus Christ, that woman is nuts… ” Jung-bae mutters as he exits with the others in tow. 

In-ho lingers, directing his gaze up to where Seon-nyeo had gazed. In the corner, there is the camera, winking at him with a red light. Watching, observing him. 

Whatever. She’d gotten lucky with her prediction this time. 

As In-ho steps onto the platform, the second round going off without a hitch, he prepares for the number three. Immediately scanning the scrambling room of players for Player 149 as it’s announced.

In-ho finds the woman quickly, stood as still as a statue in the midst of sprinting players, and beckons Gi-hun to follow him. They grab her and haul her to a room at record speed. 149, or Geum-ja, immediately folding onto the floor, staring forlorn.

While she was clearly shaken, even now, In-ho could discern the steel edge to her disposition. Despite her warm, motherly nature, this was a woman who had undoubtedly survived war. 

In-ho remembered Geum-ja from the original timeline. Her bond with Jun-hee had been unbreakable, the woman even going as far as killing her son to ensure the girl’s survival. 

In-ho had thought it a shame. A parent should never outlive their child. 

Gi-hun crouches down next to her with quiet concern etched into his face. “Are you alright?” He murmurs, tone gentle, contrasting with the brutality taking place outside. 

Geum-ja blinks slowly at him, resurfacing from her daze before she seems to realise where she is and who they were.

Geum-ja bows her head at the two men, a shaky gesture of gratitude to the two men that had heroically come to her rescue.

“Yes. Yes, thank you, gentlemen.” She murmurs, voice thin.  

Suddenly, there's ringing in In-ho’s ears, a low buzz that builds abruptly, ambushing him violently, swelling into an earsplitting roar. The shaman’s divination echoes in his mind. 

“ You’re about to get burnt. ” 

In-ho can hear Geum-ja still speaking but to him, the intonations of her voice slur together unintelligibly. His senses muddled as though he’s under water. A sharp, blinding pang shoots through his head, so suddenly that it makes him stumble against the wall with a minute, choked grunt. 

“ -saengnim ?” Geum-ja’s voice cuts through, suddenly clear.

He shakes his head, battling through the haze, vision blurring then sharpening to look at the woman on the floor. Geum-ja was gazing at him now, worried lines pronounced on her forehead. Gi-hun was also staring at him, no longer crouching, standing a metre away. His hand outstretched ready to steady him.

“Young-il… You still with us?”

In-ho nods slowly, fighting the need to clutch his aching temples. He’s unable to control what he blurts next. “You and your son need to be more careful. This place will do anything to tear you two apart.” 

Geum-ja gapes at him in shock. She’s about to reply when the door unlocks and the prospect of reuniting with her son overrides and she scrambles to her feet. However, before she rushes out, she spares him one final uneasy glance. 

In-ho just inhales deeply, rubbing his face with his hands to push through the dizziness. As he’s also about to leave, Gi-hun puts a hand on his shoulder and walks in front to block his path. 

“Are you hurt? Is that what’s going on with you?” Gi-hun narrows his eyes at him, scanning In-ho with unwavering intensity. The look from the night before had returned; a glint of worry wrapped up and hardened by suspicion. 

In-ho isn’t sure if he wants to laugh or cry. Gi-hun wouldn’t fathom what’s really going on. His mind would implode if he knew. 

“No. I’m not hurt.” 

He tries to side step him, but Gi-hun- ever his mirror -follows, blocking his exit again. 

“Are you ill, then?” His voice is lower now, more demanding and urgent.  

In-ho scoffs at him with a withering, offended look. 

“No. I’m perfectly well.” He grits out. 

Gi-hun’s expression just grows more skeptical.  “Look. I understand that you might be reluctant to trust anyone here but I-” He cuts himself off with a shaky exhale, fingers coming up to fiddle with his ear nervously. “I’m worried about you. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” 

In-ho bears his teeth at him, a smile that's anything but pleased. He couldn’t afford interrogations like this. Not right now. He had to prioritise getting everyone through the next round. 

“Thank you, Gi-hun. But, really, I’m fine.” He brusquely brushes the man off and finally leaves, not missing how Gi-hun’s jaw clenches as he goes. His glare drilling into In-ho’s back. 

When they join the others, Geum-ja has just spotted her son, rushing to him and scooping him in her arms as he crumbles inwards in floods of tears.  

Vertigo, the same from before, returns with vicious intent. 

In-ho’s vision swims. Suddenly, the man clutching his mother while he wept wasn’t Player 007. In his place was his younger brother, Jun-ho, as a child.

His face, splattered with copious amounts of blood, was contorted, frightened and glistening from his tears . Jun-ho wasn’t just screaming, he was wailing for protection. Something In-ho had never been able to provide. Not fully. 

His little brother had his scrawny arms wrapped tightly around someone. Clinging not to Geum-ja or a stranger, but to him . Clad in his Frontman gear, peering down at the young boy as if he were an insect.

“Hyung, why did you leave me!?” Jun-ho shrieks continuously at him, but the spectre wearing In-ho’s face never answers. 

“N-no-” In-ho stutters.

He had to get away, unable to witness the devastating apparition before him for a second longer. In-ho staggers back, bumping into Jung-bae, the smell of copper and death abruptly overwhelming.

Jung-bae steadies him. “Hey. Hey. You okay, man? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Bitter irony creeps up his spine; A delirious giggle threatening to leave him.  How was In-ho supposed to explain that he just had .

“I thought I saw-” In-ho begins, looking back to where the vision of he and his brother had stood but they’re gone. The mother and son had returned to their rightful place. 

His teammates stare at him with visible concern. Though, Gi-hun appears noticeably more agitated than the rest, looking at him with his arms crossed and eyebrow raised in a sardonic manner that screams Fine, did you say? 

“Thought you saw what…?” Jun-hee enquires quietly.

In-ho’s jaw twitches as he forces a mask of indifference back onto his face. “Nothing. I saw nothing.” 

“Young-il…” Gi-hun’s tone is murkier, tainted with exasperation. “You’re doing it again.”

“Uh- Doing what again?” Dae-ho tentatively asks.

Gi-hun jabs a finger in the direction of In-ho. “Have you guys noticed something strange about Young-il? Particularly during the games.” 

They all blink at him. However, after a few moments of silence, Jung-bae raises his hand hesitantly.  “Well… I didn’t want to mention it but-” 

“See!?” Gi-hun exclaims, whirling around to face In-ho who’s in the process of glaring at Jung-bae with betrayal. 

“But Gi-hun look… maybe now isn’t the best time for this-” Jung-bae backtracks, rubbing the back of his neck in discomfort. He tries to placate the man with a calm hand on his shoulder but Gi-hun just twists violently out of grip, stubborn as always. 

“No- I want to know what he’s hiding.”

In-ho can feel tension bubbling under his skin. When he wanted Gi-hun to see him , all of him, he did not mean this. This unrelenting interrogation. He wanted to scream.  This is all for you. But he doesn’t, because he can’t. He’d promised.

“I said it’s nothing .” In-ho snaps. People in groups nearby turn to look at him, hushing whispers at the scene he was causing. Gi-hun just scowls at him like the outburst only helped to prove his point. 

In-ho bites his tongue, swallowing a ruthless tirade of insults and exhales harshly. “Just… Leave me alone. You have no idea what you’re talking about. Any of you.” 

And with that, he stalks off stomps onto the platform, irritation trailing him like a dark cloud of thunder. He doesn’t look at the others as they join him; even when their wary and anxious stares are drilling into him. 

The lines between fiction, figment and reality were clashing together viscerally in his mind. Fraying and tearing, leaving him disorientated and confused to what was the past, present, and what was merely an illusion. 

He had to focus, remember what he came here to do. Wish they’d just let him fix things now uninterrupted so he could construct a perfectly reasonable artifice later to placate them. Something so quintessentially ‘ Young-il ’ they wouldn’t question it. 

Before he knows, it’s time for the final round. 

The carousel is desolate, marred with sticky puddles of blood, painting a nightmarish scene. The remaining players stand sombre and tense, waiting for the last number to be called; preparing for one last battle to survive. 

In-ho grabs Gi-hun’s wrist before the platform even stops. 

“ Two people!” 

In-ho can hear nothing but his own breath and blood pumping to his ears, utterly fixated on rushing him and Gi-hun to the door. So focused that he fails to spot the threat charging straight for them. 

An errant fist swings, bludgeoning Gi-hun’s face with such force that he staggers and crumples back, limbs flailing and falling away from In-ho’s grip. 

In the next moment, In-ho is caged by arms that ruthlessly drag him backward. He thrashes and struggles, trying to reach the bracelet. But he’s weakened and the person holding him is much larger. 

“Stop wriggling, man-” A voice hisses in his ear. “I’m saving your life here.”

Time only slows as he’s pulled further away. On the ground Gi-hun unsteadily rises wincing as he rests on his elbows. His face twisting from terror as he spots In-ho being dragged into a room without him. 

The door shuts and locks. 

“Young-il!” Gi-hun screams, running up to the door and hammering his fists against it.

In-ho can’t see much else apart from Gi-hun’s eyes and the gash on his cheek which peeks through but the man looks undeniably terrified. His brows quivering, tears glistening in the dim light. 

No. 

This was not supposed to happen. Gi-hun was meant to be in the room with him. Not stuck outside. 

He wasn’t supposed to die here. He wasn’t supposed to die at all. Not this time. 

In-ho had promised. He’d made a vow when he’d taken the bracelet. 

I won’t fail. I swear it. 

This couldn’t be it. This was not how it ended. He refused. 

In-ho snarls, chomping down on his attacker’s flesh until it tears off in his mouth, flooding his mouth with the taste of iron. The man behind him, howls and yanks his hand away. In-ho doesn’t waste a second and propels his elbow back with raw, brute force, twisting out of the man’s grip. 

Before anyone could blink, In-ho’s fingers find the bracelet, rewinding. Pushing further and further. Reality contorts and warps around him. 

One. Two. Three. Four- 

Pressure bursts, sending an onslaught of agony through his skull. 

Five. Six. Seven. Eight. 

Flames lick up at his muscles, bile clogs his throat, threatening to choke him. In-ho doesn’t stop. He keeps rewinding. 

Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. 

Thirteen. 

He almost vomits as he catapults back into the present but swallows stubbornly. This time around, he’s ready for the assault, whirling around to meet the man head on as he rushes up to him.

Gone is the Mingle room and the other players. It’s just In-ho; vengeance flooding his every vein. 

He's back in that dormitory. Sporting a finalist suit numbered 132 that itches at his collar, plunging the dagger into the faceless bodies under him again and again until they stop moving. A ruthless act to save his sick, dying wife and their child.

It disintegrates and suddenly, he’s stood in the control room, paralysed, watching as Gi-hun’s photo fades from the floor; consumed entirely by despair. 

This random player, this interloper , had almost cost him everything and In-ho was going to kill him for it. 

With all his might, adrenaline clouding his every sense, In-ho pounces on the unexpecting man, blinded by pure, unadulterated hatred. He pummelled his fists down until his knuckles cracked and split. Thrashing weakly, the beast below him gurgles and spits, bearing his neck as he attempts to wiggle free. In-ho wrapped his hands around it and just squeezed.

He can only imagine how he looks. Monstrous and growling as he holds the throat in an iron grip; the cartilage creaking promisingly under his fingers. 

It’s just about to snap when, suddenly, strong hands drag him to his feet by his collar. 

In-ho’s own hands curl around the air, scrambling to grasp and kill. 

No. He needs to finish that bastard. Gi-hun was going to die if he didn’t. 

He shouts and writhes with all his might but the hold, unrelenting, throws him into a mingle room and slams the door shut. 

In-ho stumbles against the wall, about to fall, when strong hands brace him up. When he comes to, Gi-hun is standing in front of him, hands finding purchase on his neck, face and then his shoulders. He’s screaming, fear evident in his voice. 

“-ng-il- ssi. Can you hear me? Young-il!"

" Hyung." In-ho breathes out raspily. 

Thick, viscous liquid gushes from his nose and ears in a rushed stream. 

"Young-il… Your- Your nose!"  

" I had to save you, hyung. I couldn’t-” In-ho body quakes, tremors hijacking his limbs “I couldn’t lose you again. "

" What- you’re not making any sense. What do you mean ‘again’?. What’s going on? What happened out there?” 

In-ho doesn’t reply, his head already tipping forward, burrowing into Gi-hun’s neck and chest with a pained whine. Distantly, he’s aware how he’s smearing his blood all over the man, tarnishing the fabric of his t-shirt and jacket, but he doesn’t care. He wants this. He needs to witness the stain of his devotion; pull back and see the evidence. An irrefutable, twisted claim of possessiveness. 

Above him, Gi-Hun is tense, posture rigid as he adjusts to the weight of In-ho leaning against him. Then, slowly and ever so hesitantly, his hands lift from his shoulders; One comes up to cup the back of his head, fingers sliding into his hair, while the other wraps around his back to pull him closer. 

" I had to save you." In-ho whispers into his chest, listening to the heart beating wildly under his temple. Alive. Safe.

It was over. He hadn’t failed. 

Gi-hun tentatively rests his chin on the man’s head. “Okay.” 

They stay like that until the lock clicks. 

In-ho lifts his head up gingerly. His blood is spread all down Gi-hun’s neck and chest. 

In-ho didn’t think the man could get any more beautiful but time after time he was blown away, utterly speechless.

Their faces are inches apart. Gi-hun is scanning him, looking for any sign of distress. In-ho uses his finger tips, reaching up to caress the man’s throat, running a thumb across his Adam’s apple, transfixed as it bobs beneath it. 

In an instant, the atmosphere in the room thickens, becoming heavier, more dense. Gi-hun’s visage shifts from fear to something entirely different. In-ho marvels as it ripples over, vivid and wholly tangible.  It was an expression In-ho had never seen on the man before; equally chilling as it was scalding hot. 

Gi-hun lifts and drags a thumb across In-ho’s lips, smearing the blood, before he looks down and swallows thickly. He has a leg in between In-ho’s and is gazing down at it with discernable consideration. Slowly, he raises his gaze back up. There’s visible hunger in his eyes but it’s restrained like he’s using everything he has not to give. 

That’s when In-ho realises. Gi-hun’s not going to do anything unless he asks him to. 

He doesn’t hesitate. In-ho urges him forward until their chests are almost touching and nods. Whatever this was, whatever was brewing to the surface between them right now, he needed it. He craved it like a man dying of thirst. 

In-ho’s gaze doesn’t stray even when Gi-hun presses his leg down against his crotch. His jaw falls open in a gasp, wide eyes flickering across the other man’s face with rapid intensity. 

Gi-hun, as if encouraged by the response, presses down again, harder this time. Punching another sound from In-ho. Louder this time. A guttural groan. He jolts his hips upward, chasing the pressure with patent greed; His eyes flutter shut as he rolls his head back to rest against the wall behind him. 

The absurdity of the situation was not lost on him. Moments ago, In-ho had been seconds away from watching Gi-hun be shot. Now, he was pinned under him with his hands clutching the man’s hips. Gi-hun cups the back of In-ho’s neck and roughly pulls, forcing his gaze to meet him again. 

He shakes his head at In-ho.

Oh.

So Gi-hun wanted to see , marvel at him as he fell apart and taste the satisfaction, knowing it was because of him. The implication of it all sends heat bursting through In-ho’s lower abdomen. He longed to do nothing more than please the man. 

The corners of Gi-hun's mouth tug into a victorious smirk as In-ho’s composure disintegrates under him. He leans forwards, breathing puffs of air that ghost over In-ho’s face.

“What are you hiding?” He whispers, dark and hoarse. 

“You wouldn’t-” In-ho cuts himself off with another groan. “B-believe me if I told you.”

Gi-hun only cocks his head. 

“Try me.” He says and starts moving his leg in tandem with In-ho’s hips, drawing even more desperate cries from his mouth with every rub of thigh against him. 

How clever he was, interrogating In-ho like this. Pride surged through him, mixing with the pleasure in a lethal concoction. He always loved it when Gi-hun revealed his cunning nature, striking his prey when they least expected it. 

But two could play that game. 

In-ho drags a hand from Gi-hun’s hips to the small of his back, tugging him against his own thigh sharply. Gi-hun chokes, dropping his forehead against In-ho’s with a solid thunk. In-ho coaxes the man back and forth, guiding his movements.

Then, he nudges the man’s nose with his own, painting it with his blood. 

“Why do you care so much, huh? You barely know me.”

“Because- fuck .” Gi-hun breathes out. “I feel like I do know you. There’s something about you that keeps pulling me in. It’s… intoxicating. I can’t look away.” 

“Mmm.” In-ho practically purrs at the confession, at how vulnerable it had sounded.“I feel the same way.” 

He brings his other hand up to gently caress Gi-hun’s face, dragging his fingers over the peak of his cheekbone. Their noses brush again and In-ho flicks his eyes up, meeting Gi-hun’s pupil-blown gaze as it wavers up and then down. 

The moment was incredibly intimate. Born in silence in the wake of violence and anguish. Solid, raw and real. In-ho can scarcely believe it was real and not his conscious running wild.  

Their lips are breaths away from each other, inching closer and closer. 

They’re about to touch just when gunshots fire, causing In-ho to do something he hasn’t done for years. 

Flinch. 

In an instant, Gi-hun pulls away, sobering. “Young-il?” He whispers sharply. 

But In-ho is already lost. Nausea roils in his gut, his teeth begin chattering uncontrollably, and his limbs convulse, making it impossible to hold himself still. The color drains from his skin, replacing any pleasure-induced flush with a deathly pallor.

Gi-hun had been outside that door a moment ago, almost joining the countless other bodies punctured to death with bullet holes. In-ho had almost watched him die. He’d nearly failed. Again. 

His lungs spasm around nothing. It is as though all the air has been sucked out of the room. There is the foggy sensation of hands over him, patting and shaking him but he shrinks away. Then a voice, speaking to him, begging him to breathe. But he can’t. 

In-ho squeezes his eyes shut, shakes his head as he whimpers. Vision tunneling before blacking out. The sound of wet choking and wheezing resounds in his ears. With distant hysteria, he registers that it’s him. At war with his own body.

“Okay…” the voice returns, tinged with panic. “It’s okay. Just wait here, I’ll be right back.” 

The space in front of In-ho becomes cold as he’s left alone to spiral further and deeper into an endless rabbit hole. Had he failed? Was the Gi-hun from a moment ago another figment conjured by his shattered mind? In-ho really couldn’t tell anymore and that terrified him to the marrow of his bones. 

“ I need some help in here! ” Someone bellows out of the door. At once several footsteps come running, echoing as they rush into the room. 

Multiple voices then speak at once, their volume grating unforgivably on In-ho’s senses, causing him to shrink further against the wall.

“What the hell happened to him-”

“Is he dying-”

“He looks like he’s having a panic attack.” 

A squabble breaks out over his head. In-ho thinks he hears snippets of frantic commands— do something, help him —but he's too delirious to verify.

“Brother Young-il.” Someone suddenly says. In-ho winces at how close its sound is. “You have to remember where you are.” 

Young-il? Who was Young-il? His name was In-ho. Hwang In-ho. 

Oblivious to his inner turmoil regarding his identity, the voice continues. Still carefully modulated. Calm. 

“We were playing a game. But it’s over now. You’re safe. We all are. We’re all here with you… Me, Gi-hun, Brother Jung-bae, Jun-hee and–” 

The person pauses briefly, murmuring to something or someone above In-ho’s head. 

“And Hyun-ju, Geum-ja, Yong-sik and Gyeong-seok. You don’t know them but they’re here too. They’re supporting you as well.”

But they were all dead. In-ho had seen it. They were ghosts, gone forever. He was the only one left alive to remember them. 

“No one’s coming to hurt you. You can relax, breathe.”

In-ho shakes his head, tears escaping his eyes as his body continues to shudder uncontrollably.

“I know.” the voice comforts, acknowledging the difficulty. “I know it’s hard but we need you to come back to us, hyung-nim. You just have to try.” 

And he does. In-ho tries to breathe. He opens his mouth and forcibly inhales, battling the burning throb of his lungs. 

“That’s it! That’s good. You’re doing really well sir.” The person exclaims before continuing to chat away.

“When I was little, my sisters would force me to play ‘dress up’. I used to protest, put up a lot of fuss but… it was all for show. Secretly, I would love it when my sisters included me in their games.” 

 In-ho zones in on the voice, using all his energy to concentrate on its intonations, its slight lilt. He can feel a hand intertwined with his own. There was also someone delicately drawing patterns across his palm, the bridge of his fingers. A lifebuoy thrown, ready to rescue him from drowning.

“I kept my hair long for them y’know?” The person sighs, tone growing wistful. “Apparently, braiding someone else’s hair is entirely different from your own. Non-transferrable skills or something like that.” 

“You’d think they would’ve practiced with each other, huh?  I wondered that too. Even asked a couple times, but was always shushed. They claimed it wasn’t the same.” 

The person then chuckles.

“I never understood until I got older. My sisters had just wanted to include me, make sure I wasn’t lonely. My parents expected a lot from me. I’m the only boy in the family for two generations, you see. Yet my sisters never treated me any differently.” 

In-ho can feel his racing heart calm as the dulcet tones wash over him; The hand continues to ground him. 

“It’s funny.” The voice sounds more melancholy now. “You don’t appreciate how far your family will go for you until it’s too late.”  

The admission, spoken so quietly, twinges at In-ho; all too well of the extremities he’d gone to for the ones he loved. After all, it’s what ruined him in the end.

Eventually, His breathing is slow enough to rise and fall with little difficulty. When his vision returns, In-ho shifts his head and looks at the voice who had anchored him back to reality. 

“Hey… Welcome back, Hyung-nim.” 

It’s his brother back in front of him, but older this time, smiling encouragingly at him. His expression holds none of the betrayal or anger it had when In-ho had last seen him. No, his younger brother was beaming at him, like he did before he learnt his older brother was a monster. Like In-ho had hung the stars and moon in the sky.

“Jun-ho…?” He whispers, voice barely audible and wavering from emotion.

As quickly as it had come, the image dissipates, another familiar face appearing in its place.

“Sorry?” Dae-ho asks, leaning forward like he didn’t quite hear him.“It’s me, sir. Dae-ho.”

In-ho just squints, his vision struggles to focus; He lifts his gaze to scan the room, startling slightly as he takes in the collective group above him before blinking owlishly at them. They’re all staring at him with varying degrees of unease and relief. 

The son, Yong-sik, is clutching his mother, Geum-ja. Beside them, Hyun-ju, a tall, slender woman, stands with her arms braced around Jun-hee, supporting the smaller woman. And peering from behind them is Player 246, Gyeong-seok, and Jung-bae. The latter who furiously bites his nails. 

And Gi-hun… is sitting beside him, holding his hand; their fingers intertwined. Still stroking the pad of his index finger against In-ho's skin.

In-ho watches him, lips quirking up softly with relief.  “Did I ruin the party?” He quips hoarsely, mouth as dry as a dessert, drawing gentle chuckles from the group. 

Gi-hun just raises his free hand, brushing In-ho’s sweaty fringe out of his face with tender care. “No, no you didn’t ruin anything.” He affirms with a fragile smile.

Any remaining tension deflates slowly, the players relaxing, comfortable now that In-ho is making jokes. 

“That was so scary.” Jung-bae blurts, with a hand on his chest. “Don’t ever do that again; my poor heart can’t take it.”

Yong-sik chuckles nervously in agreement. “Yeah, thank god. Y’know for a moment there I really thought-” 

Though the man doesn’t get to finish. Interrupted by a sharp, pained hiss. “Ow-” Someone yelps. 

There’s a faint sound of water trickling onto the ground, plunging the room back into a deadly silence before it erupts into chaos. An ear splitting cacophony of voices speaking all at once yet again.

“Is that what I think it is…”

“Oh fuck- ”

“What do we do!?”

Geum-ja, far more composed than the rest, raises a sharp hand, silencing the room. 

“Stop it. We need to stay calm. Hyun-ju-" 

Hyun-ju perks up at the sound of her name. 

“Help me take Jun-hee back to the dormitory. The rest of you can follow.”

Immediately, the group scatters, rushing out of the room with haste, leaving a befuddled In-ho behind. He turns to Gi-hun, who is still holding his hand but is staring at the door, aghast. 

“What- what’s going on?” In-ho asks.

Gi-hun purses his lips, expression grim. “Jun-hee just went into labour…”

“What.” he mutters, stunned. 

His heart stutters for the hundredth time. That was a massive split from the original timeline. One he hadn’t anticipated. God, he’d thought she was ill when he’d observed her earlier. Not in labour. He hadn't anticipated it until tomorrow at the very earliest. 

“C’mon,” Gi-hun says, helping him to his feet by throwing In-ho’s arm over his shoulder. “We need to go…” 

They exit the room just in time to witness the group rushing the labouring woman out of the arena. In-ho watches them go with blank, detached despair. His mind is whirling, tirelessly trying to gauge just what. There’s only one conclusion he lands upon. 

There was something very wrong with time. And In-ho wasn’t sure he was in control anymore. 

Notes:

chat, he doesn’t know… and neither do you 🤣🫵

Brought back Inhun getting freaky in a mingle room purely for the season 2 nostalgia. I can't believe it's been almost a month since S3 dropped btw. I still can't even look at pictures of the characters without wanting to cry.

Anyways, I can finally say the ball is now fully rolling. Sorry if the first few chapters have seemed boring, I've been painstakingly setting the foundations for later in the story. More divergence and plot twists are coming I promise.

I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it, have a spectacular rest of the week and I shall see you in the next chapter.

(P.s for those wondering, Dae-ho isn't lying about being a marine in this because that plot point was stupid and I said so. This is my Squid Game now lol)

Chapter 5: blood, sweat and tears

Notes:

Hey... sorry for the delay with this one. I literally don’t even know what to say, this chapter just got longer and longer.

On the plus side, there are 12k words to enjoy here... yay. Honestly, parts of it could be total buns because it’s so long but what can you do.

That aside, I do also want to say thank you for over 100 kudos and the continued comments. Nothing makes me happier than seeing people enjoy this fic. ❤️❤️

Anyways, enough from me, here is chapter 5. You know the drill, ignore any errors, inconsistencies, medical inaccuracies etc. Their existence in this chapter is more than definite lol

Returning to the dormitory is a complete blur. 

The women have laid Jun-hee down on a free bed, scrambling to prepare the area while curious onlookers peer at them; all of them are eager to catch a glimpse at the kerfuffle in the corner of the room. 

“How long have you been feeling pain for?” Geum-ja asks, fluffing various pillows before placing them under the woman’s head.

“Since yesterday.” Jun-hee replies before groaning as another wave of contractions hit her. “I thought it was nothing. Stress. It only got worse during the night.” 

“Okay.” Geum-ja calculates something on her fingers before turning to a hovering Hyun-ju who is restlessly wringing her hands beside them. “Hyun-ju.”she points to nearby bunks void of any player. “Help me prepare the space. We’re gonna need any spare blankets you can find."

Immediately, Hyun-ju nods. "On it." She says before dashing off in pursuit of gathering sheets from any free bed available. 

Momentarily satisfied, the older woman crouches, patting Jun-hee’s arm reassuringly to gain her attention. "I need to check how far along you are. Is that alright, dear?" 

Jun-hee nods with glassy unshed tears brimming in her eyes. At that moment, Hyun-ju comes running back with blankets in her hand and presents them. 

"Ah, thank you.” Geum-ja takes one and beckons Hyun-ju to follow her. “Come, help me cover her up so the others can’t see anything."  Quickly, they work together to reassure Jun-hee as she quivers with the force of her tears. 

“Hey, hey.” Hyun-ju cradles her hand in hers. “You’re going to be okay.”

“No. Please… ” Jun-hee sobs incoherently. “I’m so scared. I don’t want to give birth here. Not now. I can’t. ”

The woman bawls with endless pleas begging to anyone or anything that will listen falling from her mouth. Beside her the two women stare helplessly, until Hyun-ju laces her fingers with the labouring woman, clearing her throat with a steady resolve.

“Jun-hee.” She murmurs softly, tapping the woman on the shoulder to capture her attention.

Jun-hee’s lips and brows tremble uncontrollably as she locks eyes with the other woman. Hyun-ju uses her free hand to gently tuck a sweaty lock of Jun-hee’s hair behind her ears. The woman whimpers at the contact but the flow of her tears stops. 

"We’re going to be here for you every step of the way. You’re not alone, okay?" Hyun-ju gives her a reassuring smile, adjusting her grip on the younger woman’s hand to hold it more securely. 

Jun-hee’s gaze wanders over Hyun-ju’s visage for a moment before she squeezes back weakly. "Okay." She whispers back before her expression crumples in pain once more.

Diagonally across from them, In-ho sits motionless on a mattress with a vacant expression that betrays nothing of the tempest waging a war on him within. 

In the space of a single game, he had been rendered completely powerless. There were no solutions, no preventatives or warnings for stopping this. No prior knowledge, no foresight. 

No this - This was completely unprecedented territory. A new and unfamiliar diversion from his previous time. 

Before, In-ho had been out of the games for hours when Jun-hee had given birth. From up above, he’d been able to pull the strings under the guise of entertainment. But he wasn’t in that position now, his second command was. Just as they’d planned. 

And In-ho had no idea of the decisions he would make concerning the child. Hell, he had no idea why this child was even coming now instead of later.

Was it a consequence of his meddling? But how? How could that possibly correlate? And what choice did he have? He’d have no other option to use it. Especially now the universe had decided anything could happen. 

What if a rogue player attacked one of his teammates? In-ho couldn’t let that happen even if it was to the detriment of reality. He’d set the world on fire if it meant he had half a chance to get what he wanted.

As if to rub salt in the wound, the figure has returned. Standing tall above the women, clad in their usual cloak. 

In-ho doesn’t think they’re really there, though he couldn’t be certain. However, no one appeared to acknowledge the ominous presence despite their pearly white coat standing out like a sore thumb among the sea of bloodied, dirty tracksuits. 

No, this was a manifestation conjured entirely by In-ho’s imagination. A harbinger of his culpability, mocking his arrogance. He’d gotten complacent, expecting reality to bend obediently to his will without repercussions. How foolish he’d been. There was always a cost to these things and he’d blindly charged through every warning. 

Now, as Young-il, he was practically powerless. In-ho would have no choice but to return to his office. From there, he would retake the reins, regain his control over the situation and adapt. 

Gi-hun’s rebellion would be a fitting exit. It worked marvellously last time. A glorious spectacle that would act as the perfect distraction. In-ho could pull the strings while no one was around to scrutinise him. He could possibly even justify pulling Gi-hun from the game. Not to mention, he would be there for Jun-ho’s arrival.

But, for now, all that mattered was getting to that point. Which meant ensuring, at all costs, that the upcoming vote was perfectly balanced once again.

A little to his left, Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Dae-ho, Yong-sik and Gyeong-seok are gathered. Their urgent whispers, if they even constituted that, didn’t have to travel far for In-ho to hear them. 

He doesn’t look at them, only tilts his head in order to hear them better. 

“This is horrible. Why aren’t the guards doing anything? Don’t they know what’s going on?" That’s Jung-bae, the slight whine in his intonations was irrefutable.

"They won’t do anything." And that was Gi-hun, muttering darkly. In-ho would recognise him blindfolded, his voice as recognisable as oxygen. "What happens to the players doesn’t matter to them.” 

Someone swears. It might be Dae-ho. "God… that’s fucked." 

"This is no place to give birth to a child." This is a new voice, one In-ho doesn’t know. "She could so easily bleed out and none of us would be able to stop it.”

Jung-bae pipes up again. "Are you a doctor on the outside or something?" He sounds genuinely curious. 

"Ah… no. I have a daughter. My wife suffered a sudden haemorrhage after childbirth. The doctors couldn’t save her."

Ah, it was Player 246. Park Gyeong-seok. A widower and father.

There’s a beat. Awkward tension emits from the group.

"Oh. I’m sorry."

“It’s alright. I just hope to god that we won’t see it happen to Miss 222 as well."

The group falls silent. There’s a palpable tinge of melancholy and dread in the air now that the true harshness of their reality has dawned upon them. 

“How’s Young-il?” It’s Gi-hun, clearly desiring a shift in the severity of topics. 

Immediately, In-ho feels several eyes on him, their gazes prickling his skin as if they’re the tip of a knife. He doesn’t react. He doesn’t allow himself to. 

Someone blows out a burst of air. 

“We tried talking to him but-" There’s a pause before a defeated sigh. “He’s completely out of it. Honestly, I don’t think he even heard me. He hasn’t moved since you left him there."

Gi-hun merely sighs. There’s a rustle of fabric which, without looking, In-ho discerns that the man has crossed his arms. 

“What happened during that last round, Gi-Hun-ah?” Jung-bae asks after a few seconds. "And the blood? Where did that come from?" 

Ah, he’d forgotten he was still covered in that. No wonder he had garnered a few odd stares when they returned.

"I don’t even really know. We were running and he just stopped and-"

Gi-hun cuts himself off. Though, In-ho knows that he’s thinking about the player he’d pounced on and throttled. He’s unable to pinpoint how to feel about Gi-hun choosing to omit that truth. 

Why? Why are you protecting the illusion of my humanity? Are you trying to convince them or yourself of its existence? 

" Nothing . He just stopped."  Gi-hun finishes. 

"He stopped ? Is he suicidal?" Yong-sik blurts,  dumbfounded. 

"No!" Dae-ho exclaims fervently before growing unsure. "No… Well, not as far as we’re aware… Right Gi-hun?"

"I don’t think so but…" Gi-Hun responds, uncertainty colouring his tone. "I had to drag him into a room. Blood was just pouring from his nose, his ears and I had no idea how or why." 

" Jesus ." Jung-bae gasps in horror. "Is he ill? Is that why he’s here?" 

There’s a pause. Gi-hun has probably shrugged. "He won’t say." He replies curtly causing multiple murmurs to break out at once. 

They’re all rapidly theorising on his potential circumstances for ending up in the games, ranging from plausible ideas to down right nonsensical speculation. In-ho thinks he hears a theory that he’s secretly a vampire before Gi-Hun’s voice cuts through the chatter. 

“What was that name he said? The one he called you before he realised it was you.” 

In-ho is momentarily stumped. 

Name? He’d called someone a name?

“Oh. Uh… It was Jun-ho or something like that, I think.” Dae-ho replies, causing In-ho fights with every fibre of his being not to flinch.

God he’d really said that, hadn’t he? He’d uttered his baby brother’s name while Gi-Hun was sitting right next to him to hear it. How careless. 

Gi-hun just hums, but it sounds far too knowing.

“...What?" Yong-sik asks, "What does that mean?” 

"Nothing. I was just curious." The man dismisses. Now that was an interrogation In-ho would have to prepare for.

From the front of the room, the door buzzes and the guards enter, dragging the voting station with them. 

"Fuck." Someone mutters. "How the hell is this gonna work?" 

"I don’t know. But we need to win this vote." Gi-Hun responds with vibrant ambition. "For real this time. We’re not playing one more game.” 

Not one more game.

In-ho thinks he might have to agree. He’s not sure if reality could hang on for one more round. 

----------------------

On the tally board, the votes are 36 to 34 in favour of the O voters. 

In-ho has been sitting impatiently, waiting for the moment he’s been anticipating the most to arrive. 

"Player 222." The pink square guard calls out. 

Instantly, he jumps up, stalking to the front, ignoring the startled call of his teammates. The herd of players part with ease, all eager not to stand in the way of the deranged looking man with blood splattered all over his face. 

"what happened to him-"

"Is that blood-"

"Shit, he looks insane."

In-ho ignores them all in favour of reaching his destination. As he approaches, the square guard stiffens subtly. They recognise who he is immediately.

“ Listen .” In-ho hisses as he reaches the front. He lowers his voice so the other players can’t hear him.  “I know you know who I am so let’s make this quick.” He points a finger over his shoulder in the direction of Jun-hee. 

Even from a distance, the woman’s pain is evident. Her skin, which sheens from sweat, is pale and her expression is scrunched in perpetual agony. There was absolutely no chance she would be able to vote, meaning there would be one less vote for the X. The perfect balance would be disrupted. 

And that was simply out of the question. 

In-ho didn’t just need the vote to be equal again. It was essential. If the vote swayed in either direction his entire plan would be ruined and all his efforts for naught. 

He’d simply come too far to give up now.

“You’re going to call someone to stand in for the vote." In-ho spits. "You will let her choose who." He then leans forward, reaping satisfaction from the way the guard shrinks back slightly. 

“And you’re gonna play along for what I do next.”  It’s the only warning he gives before harshly shoving the guard and scoffing with venomous derision.

“Are you serious!?” He bellows, causing the other  players audibly startle. “She needs a doctor. You hear me!? Not a vote! Why won’t you do something!?" Regaining both their senses and balance, the guard straightens. 

“Since Player 222 has signed the contract," they begin tightly, "she is bound by the existing rules which state that the majority of players must vote X in order to terminate the game. We apologise for this inconvenience." 

In-ho scoffs harshly, letting every ounce of his frustration seep out. "So that’s it!? That’s all you can offer us. What a load of bullshit ." The guard exhales harshly. 

Even though a mask obscures their face, Inho can still feel the burn of the murderous glare they’re giving him. “Player 222." The guards grits out. "Please nominate one of your fellow players to vote on your behalf.” 

Numerous heads spin to the back of the room where Geum-ja is frantically relaying the request to Jun-hee. 

The younger woman doesn’t hesitate. She clutches Hyun-ju’s arm with such ferocity that the woman startles. Geum-ja rushes round, taking the blanket from her hands and ushers her forward. Dazed, Hyun-ju nods and makes her way to the front, glancing back worriedly at Jun-hee as she goes. 

The whole room watches as she strides down the room, breath held in anticipation. When Hyun-ju reaches the front, she smashes the X button unceremoniously and practically bolts back; Unbothered by the cheers and groans she leaves in her wake. 

Predictably, the result outrages many O players. 

“How is that fair?” Player 203 bursts through the crowd of players waiting to vote, jostling several players in his path. He jabs his index finger in the direction of the guards. "How come you let that happen, huh!? What if she wanted to vote O?!" 

"Hey dumbass. Can you even hear yourself?" An X voter, 331, interjects, striding forward. 

"Do you seriously think a pregnant woman in active labour is going to want to continue?" He puts his hands on his hips and laughs derisively. 

Fume seems to rise from Player 203’s head as his face turns a violent shade of red. Just like a tomato. 

“The fuck did you just call me? You think you’re all high and mighty just because you’ve voted to leave, huh?" He spits venomously before moving to crowd the space in front of the other player. "X bastards like you have no idea how much that money means. You wouldn’t know shit even if it whacked you in the face."

The X voter just scoffs, “Well it’s not like I need a pair of glasses to spot a deadbeat, son of a bitch when he’s right in front of me.”

“You bastard-“ Player 203 hisses, hurling a fist into the other player's face with brutal force. Player 331’s head snaps back and he crumples to the ground.  He barely has time to recover before Player 203 is on him. Landing kick after kick. 

"You fucking dickhead.” He growls repeatedly. 

Frightened, surrounding players' hush whispers quickly become louder as it’s evident that the man is letting up anytime soon. Out of the corner of his eye, In-ho glances at the pink guards who stand still. 

Why weren’t they doing anything? This was not the plan. They were supposed to allow players to kill each other during the vote. 

In-ho clenches his jaw, scanning the room for a camera. When he finds one, he stares daggers into it. The red light just blinks at him.

" Holy shit. ”

“ Why won’t he stop- 

"The guy isn’t even fighting back."

Soon enough, Player 331 curls inward weakly before stilling. Blood slowly trickles from the man’s mouth. A foreboding herald. When Player 203 eventually grows tired, he slows to a stop. 

The room plunges into dead silence as the guard at the front lifts the remote. 100 million won falls into the piggy back above. 

“He’s dead… You killed him.” An X player stutters fearfully. 

Player 203 looks around nervously, anticipating punishment. But it never comes. 

The room is reeling. Shocked that the prize money actually increased. Scared, now they know that they’re no longer safe in the dormitory. Not anymore.

In-ho hadn’t even used the stone this time. Yet, somehow, reality had still managed to kick him while he was already down. Urgent whispers sweep across the room. Many from the O side. 

"Wait, are they down a player now?"

“Does the vote still count?” 

The guard doesn’t turn their head but In-ho knows that they’re looking at him. In-ho narrows his eyes imperceptibly. The silent exchange goes unnoticed by everyone else. 

“Since the player cast their vote before they were eliminated we have no choice but to.”

"Are you kidding me!?" Player 203 erupts again. "We’re including dead people in our vote now!?" He whirls his head around, scanning for his next target. His gaze lands on In-ho and he snarls. 

“This is your fault.” He spits, striding forward to grab the lapels of In-ho’s jacket. He shakes him roughly. "If you hadn’t such a big deal then none of this would have happened." Growling, Player 203 darts a hand to In-ho’s throat and squeezes with vicious intensity. 

But In-ho doesn’t react. If anything, he narrows his eyes and leans into it. There was no danger, not really, the hold was clumsy and inexperienced. 

The player in front of him gapes at him before snickering mockingly. "Oh you’re fucking crazy, aren’t you?" In-ho just smirks. He opens his mouth to respond before a choke, devastating familiar interrupts him. 

“Young-il-"

Gi-hun is struggling fervently against the hold of Dae-ho and Jung-bae. There’s a hand over his mouth but stark terror shines wildly in his widened eyes. In-ho’s calm expression falters briefly, just for a second. But it’s all Player 203 needs, apparently, following In-ho’s gaze and smirking triumphantly. 

Without taking his eyes off Gi-hun, he leans forward, crowding In-ho’s space.

"I wonder…" He whispers, menacingly. "Should I snap your neck now while he can do nothing but watch. Do you reckon he’d like that?" 

"I’d like to see you try.” In-ho rasps, a muscle in his cheek twitching. “Your grip is weak. Are you even trying to kill me?" 

A vein leaps in the other man’s forehead. 

" Shibal, do you want to fucking die, you bas-"

Finally, a clock of a machine gun reverberates through the room. Behind Player 203, the guards are aiming the weapon, pushing it into the man’s shoulder blades warningly. 

"From now on, we will not tolerate any acts or threats of violence against other players during the vote. Any player who fails to cooperate will be eliminated immediately." 

With great reluctance, the O voter retracted his grip from In-ho’s neck, glaring sullenly at him. “I’m watching you." He says, poking In-ho in the face before stalking away. 

Once more, the door buzzes, stealing the player's attention away from In-ho. More guards enter, hoisting a singular black coffin decorated with a neat pink bow. In-ho blankly watches as the body is lifted before brushing himself off and walking away. 

He’s about to reach his place on the bunk when an errant hand wraps around his wrist. 

It’s Gi-hun looking uncharacteristically murderous, gazed fixated on the scarlet marks now colouring the delicate flesh of his throat. He reaches out to touch, fingers seeking to soothe but In-ho shakes his head. 

"Don’t worry about it. I’m fine." He reassures. The dismissal only seems to make Gi-hun angrier. Before he can challenge him, In-ho is already slipping from his grip and sitting down. Back on his bed, like nothing had happened. 

The vote finishes not long after that. 

Yet again, In-ho is the deciding vote. The room holds their breath as he walks down, exploding with various degrees of elation and disappointment as a long tone rings out.

50 to X. 50 to O. 

A perfect tie. Just like he’d wanted. 

—————————————

A little while later, the atmosphere in the dormitory remains oppressively tense. Food has been postponed,  per In-ho’s order not to distribute it until much later. The vote would be the catalyst for the fight tonight.

Players, particularly Thanos and Namgyu, are already baring their teeth at others with the promise of bloodshed; Their greed ever persisting. Player 333 was yet to go a single minute without receiving a death threat. 

From his left, footsteps approach. Strides long, determined.

“Hey.”

In-ho blinks. Just a metre away stands Gi-hun, extending a hand. 

“Come with me.” 

In-ho frowns. “…Where?” He says, voice still hoarse from earlier.

Gi-Hun sighs and walks forward to stand in front of him. “The bathroom." He simply responds, grabbing In-ho’s arm, hoisting him up. "You need to wash that blood off your face. People… They’ve been staring at you.” There’s something off in his tone; it’s uncharacteristically hollow. 

In-ho doesn’t question it though, assuming the mood is because of earlier events. Instead, he looks at the door where two guards stand and shakes his head. 

“They haven’t let anyone out since what happened during the vote." Another one of In-ho’s orders. "We’re not going to be suddenly allowed to go.”

Gi-hun huffs. “Well.” He clenches his jaw. “I’m not going to stop bothering them until they do.” 

Sighing, In-ho allows himself to be dragged to the dormitory exit, sensing this was just another instance where the man could not be told. Truth be told., In-ho doesn’t think he could run if he tried. Not if the firm press of palm on the small of his back was any consolation. 

“We need to go to the toilet.” Gi-hun states tonelessly.

It must be the same guard from the other night–the one In-ho had dealt with– because they seem to go very still. Swiftly scrambling to open the door under the intense pressure of both the men’s glares.

The man eyes the worker as he walks past, pushing In-ho to walk in front as they’re escorted out. 

When they arrive at the bathroom, Gi-hun languidly saunters in, pushing every cubical door open, ensuring they are completely alone. He nods to himself when satisfied, joining In-ho who was loitering awkwardly by the sinks.

"C’mon." Gi-hun pats the space on the counter. "Sit up here.” 

In-ho regards him for a second before walking forward and to hoist himself up. He barely has a chance to settle comfortably, before the other man unzips his jacket and starts to shrug it off. Throwing his hand out, he grips Gi-hun’s wrist, halting his actions. 

"What are you doing?" 

Gi-Hun only stares at him, confused. 

“I’m going to clean the blood off?"

“So, why are you taking off your jacket?"

"Because that’s what I’m going to use…?" he replies, as if the answer was obvious. 

In-ho swallows, summoning every ounce of willpower not to gawp at the exposed skin of the other man’s arms. "You don’t have to do that." He forces out, glad to hear his voice only sounds marginally strained. 

The other man sighs. 

“It’s fine, Young-il. I really don’t mind.”  He then turns on the tap, putting the left sleeve of his jacket under a slight trickle of water before scrunching the fabric up to remove the excess. 

Using the soft pads of his fingertips, the man tilts In-ho’s head up by his chin.

“God, how are you still functioning ?” He utters absentmindedly as he begins to swipe at the dried, cracking blood on In-ho’s lower face and neck. 

"I feel fine.” In-ho tells him, shrugging. Though, it was a tad bit of a lie. He did still feel slightly queasy. But Gi-hun didn’t have to know that. 

The man in question just tuts at him before he pulls away to soak the fabric again. 

In the stillness, In-ho allows himself the time to admire the beauty close up before him, letting his gaze wander freely over every inch of the man, lingering on the elegant bow of his neck; eyes tracing the shift of muscle as he wrings out water from his soaked sleeve. 

In-ho doesn’t think he could ever get bored staring at Gi-hun. Just when he thinks he’s noticed every single detail, another arises to capture his attention. As if sensing the weight of his stare, Gi-hun glances up at him through his lashes and flushes. The spread of redness blossoms rapidly in his cheeks and the tips of his ears. 

Like that. New details. How simply exquisite the vibrant shade looked on him.

Gi-hun clears his throat. “We should probably talk about what happened. In the last game.”

"Yeah.” 

Using his knuckles, Gi-hun tilts In-ho’s head back with a slight push. “You think I won’t believe you. At least—" He starts, rubbing the fabric downwards to clear his neck. “That’s what you said… Why?" 

In-ho squints at the ceiling as he considers the question. “I don’t think that, I know it.” He replies eventually.

Gi-hun pulls the clothing away.

“But why? What makes you so sure?"

Bringing his head back down, In-ho flattens his lips into a pale straight line. The action only seems to spur Gi-hun further into his desperate interrogation. 

“Young-il." He cups In-ho’s neck beseechingly, using his thumb to sweep across the sharp line of his jaw. "What’s going on? Please .” 

In-ho’s eyelashes flutter as he feels the warmth seep

“I can’t tell you.” He whispers. He looks down briefly at the wet, blood soaked sleeve which has fallen onto his lap. “I promised… someone." He pauses for another beat. "That I wouldn’t." 

"Who?" Gi-Hun furrows his brows. "Who did you promise? Was it another player?”

In-ho shrugs, causing Gi-hun to scoff a humourless laugh. “Let me guess. You ‘can’t tell me’ that either.” 

Slowly, In-ho nods, unconsciously thumbing the edge of his bracelet. Gi-hun’s eyes track the movement; his frown deepens. They continue to stare at each other until In-ho clears his throat. There’s something else that happened in the last game that he needed to ask about. 

“We should probably also talk about what happened…" In-ho gestures from him to the other man. "Between us." Gi-Hun jolts, quickly snapping his hand back to his side as if he’d only just realised it was still there, still tenderly stroking his jaw. 

"Ah… that." He coughs before wincing awkwardly. "I don’t know what came over me during that final round. It was just the heat of the moment and—" Gi-hun bows his head. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable."

"Well, actually–" In-ho starts but is cut off when the other man speaks over him.

"I was just so caught up, worrying about you that… I’m so sorry, it won’t happen aga-" 

“ Gi-hun ." In-ho cups the man’s face, mirroring the touch he’d just been receiving. "It’s fine. I wanted it..."  In-ho pauses to swallow thickly.

"I wanted you ." 

Relief and surprise bloom on Gi-hun’s face. He’s looking down at him with a half-lidded, wavering gaze. 

“Did you want me too?” In-ho murmurs, a slight waver in his tone betrays his increasing desperation. 

Please say yes. Tell me you feel the same. Admit that you needed me as much as I need you. 

Slowly, but ever so surely, Gi-hun nods and leans into the touch, prompting In-ho to shudder in ecstasy. He brings his other hand to clutch the other man’s shoulders, lowering his voice into a gentle whisper. “Do you-“ he shakily exhales. “Do you still want me?”

Gi-hun’s eyes glaze over with softness.

“Yes.” He breathes, barely making a noise. 

"How much?" In-ho demands, tightening his grip. 

Gi-hun’s countenance crumbles, utterly pained and  ruined, begging for something. Something only In-ho can provide.. "More than I've ever wanted anything." He confesses. 

In-ho cups the back of Gi-hun’s head, pulling his forehead to rest against his own. The man sighs into it, like the contact is some kind of alleviating balm. The space between them had completely disappeared. It seemed as if centuries had passed since they had last been here. In-ho could hardly believe it had only been a few hours. 

"Tell me."  He nudges the man’s nose with his own. Gi-hun gasps at the proximity. " Please tell me how that makes you feel."

Gi-hun trembles and presses his forehead more firmly against In-ho’s, closing his eyes. "Terrified." He sighs. "I want to run, hide. But something keeps pulling me in. I don’t even know how or why.” In-ho hums, encouraging him to continue.

Gi-hun’s visage contorts angrily. "When that man touched you… I was so-" he cuts himself off, right at the crux, with a frustrated growl.

"What? You were so…?" In-ho presses eagerly.

"Furious—" Gi-hun finishes.

He dips his head as he talks, caressing the blooming bruises on the pillar of In-ho’s throat with his lips. "That he would even dare to lay a finger on you." He then lays firm kisses there as if he’s reclaiming stolen territory.

In-ho shivers with every press against his sensitive throat. Never before had Gi-Hun shown such wanton possessiveness . The man was positively burning with ardent need and so suddenly too.

Was this another consequence of time? In-ho thought. 

It was entirely possible. Though, it still didn’t explain the shift in behaviour. Was the man slowly reconciling In-ho with the man in the mask? Confusing the vengeful fixation he held for his enemy as lust?

In-ho wasn’t entirely sure. Surely, Gi-hun hated the Frontman. Right? 

As if to challenge that, Gi-hun presses another kiss before he speaks again. "The only person who should be touching you…" He whispers at the chalice base of his throat. "-Is me." 

Gi-hun then travels up quickly, reaching the soft flesh under In-ho’s ear and bites, causing a loud moan to fall from his agape mouth. 

Unexpected pain bursts, amplifying his pleasure by tenfold. Gi-hun laps the skin with his tongue before sinking his teeth back in, undoubtedly leaving a mark of his own behind on In-ho’s flesh. The implication that others will see it sends a hot wave crashing through him. 

Yes. He thinks fervently. Claim me. Make me yours. That’s all I want to be. Let the others see it. 

Gi-hun pulls away, a subtle wet smack sounding as he does, returning his gaze back to In-ho’s. Once again, he’s marvelling at the pleasure clouding In-ho’s expression, flicking his eyes down In-ho’s lips, pupils widening to completely engulf his iris’.

Gi-hun raises a hand to cup In-ho’s jaw, inching forward until their lips brush fractionally. In-ho flutters his eyes shut, leaning in…

When the sound of the door swinging open interrupts them, welcoming Jung-bae and Dae-ho into the room. Both men halt at the incredibly intimate scene they’ve walked in on, staring at both In-ho and Gi-hun in obvious shock.

“Oh-“ Jung-bae blurts. 

Gi-hun snaps his head back, clearing his throat, while In-ho glares at the interruption. 

Jung-bae’s eyes become impossibly wide with realisation. 

" Oh . Uh… We didn’t see anything, did we, brother?" He whacks Dae-ho, causing the man to snap out of his stupor with a choked oof . 

"Y-yeah, that’s right. We saw nothing.” Dae-ho stutters out with a hand pressed to his abdomen. 

"Even if we did, you know, happen to, y’know." Jung-bae flails his hands around. "It would be cool. Totally chill. We wouldn’t think any-"

" Jung-bae ." Gi-hun grits out. The man is practically maroon with embarrassment. 

“Right, sorry. Shutting up now.” Jung-bae snaps his mouth shut with an exaggerated gesture of zipping his lips.

Sighing, Gi-hun turns back to In-ho then, eyes searching over his face. The man wants to leave, In-ho can tell, his gaze clouded with the need to escape from the awkwardness thrust upon them. But, he wouldn’t go if In-ho still needed him. 

In-ho brushes his finger tips over the smoothness of Gi-Hun’s arms and lets a minute smile pull at his lips. 

Go. I’ll be fine, we can talk about this all later. 

The other man instantly understands, nodding with palpable relief before he hurries out, pushing past both men with his head down. 

Jung-bae sighs and ushers Dae-ho to follow him with an urgent wave. 

"Could’ve sworn these two were arguing just a day ago." The younger man mutters as he leaves, jogging to catch up with the retreating man. 

Jung-bae snorts softly in response before he turns back to the remaining man in the room. In-ho’s still sat on the counter. Most of the blood has been cleaned from his face but a few streaks remain. 

The older marine moves to stand next to him, bending down to pick up Gi-hun’s discarded jacket on the floor and putting it on In-ho’s lap. 

In-ho nods his head in thanks, pushing off the counter to face the mirror and stand in-front of the mirror.  The jacket is still damp so he brings it to his face, blotting any remaining crimson from his face. 

Next to him, Jung-bae moves to lean against the sink, facing him diagonally. 

“You alright?” He asks, projecting an air of casualness that suggests anything but.

Skeptically, In-ho glances at him from the corner of his eye. “I’m fine.” He replies curtly. Jung-bae sighs, folding his arms over his chest.

“You know,” he begins, tone slightly wistful. “I can count on one hand the amount of times I’ve seen Gi-hun care for another person like that. ”

"Wow, really?" In-ho’s voice is modulated with blatant disinterest. 

"Yeah, there’s been maybe two no—" the Marine quickly reconfigures the number on his fingers. " Three other people before."

In-ho hums. 

"Groundbreaking." 

There’s a beat where Jung-bae huffs a soft laugh.

"Pretending you have zero interest in what I’m talking about would be more convincing if I couldn’t see the obvious hickey on your neck right now." He emphasises his point by tickling In-ho’s neck. 

Unamused, In-ho slaps the hand away and glares at Jung-bae who tries and fails not to laugh. In-ho shakes his head and refocuses on his task.

“Get to your point." He mutters, wiping his face. "If there even is one." 

"Okay look." Jung-bae sighs, "I’m not going to pretend that this is some cheesy romance drama my ex-wife made me watch or whatever just-“ he stops and blows out a harsh breath as he attempts to find the right words.

In-ho just lifts a brow expectingly. 

“It’s obvious that you two—" the marine gestures  to him vaguely. “share a bond. I won’t lie and say I completely understand how or why but…"

Suddenly, Jung-bae’s eyes grow misty and he looks down, tapping his knuckles against the countertop. 

“Gi-hun’s had a difficult few years. Life has dealt him a number of shit cards and he’s made some even shittier choices.” The man then sighs and shakes his head. "Honest to god, I feel like I don’t even know him anymore. He used to tell me everything but now…" 

Jung-bae trails off, not finishing the end of sentence. But In-ho knows. He was there, monitoring Gi-hun tirelessly after his first game. He’d witnessed how the man had retreated into himself, cutting everyone he once knew off. 

However, what still confuses him, is why he’s saying all this, let alone to In-ho when he hadn’t in the last iteration. 

“Why are you telling me all this?” He quietly asks, folding the jacket, putting it down to turn to the man fully. 

Jung-bae shrugs helplessly with a heavy sigh. 

“Because I want him to be happy again or at least… try to be. Maybe if…" The man quickly shakes himself. " When we get out, he can be. With you." Jung-bae is peering at him so earnestly that In-ho can’t help but look down, guilty. 

None of them understood. How could they? In-ho wasn’t a mere player like everyone else. His hands were soaked with blood, irreversibly scarlet. He’d chosen his role as the Captain and, once upon a time, he had revelled in it. No, there was no redeeming him. Even he could admit that. 

But the seed was planted now, and his imagination was running wild. Weekend gatherings with the group, enjoying the finest. Babysitting Jun-hee’s little girl. Quiet nights at the bar with Jung-bae and Dae-ho. Gi-hun and Jun-ho… 

Could he really be a part of that? Was it even still possible for someone like him?

He wouldn’t deserve it. There was no amount of redemption that would undo the pain and suffering he had caused. But god how he craved that life, to be human once again.

“Besides." Jung-bae says, breaking In-ho from his reverie. "I owe you one.”

"Huh?" In-ho raises an incredulous brow, causing Jung-bae to chuckle.

“You reminded me of what I had on the outside.I want to live for them. Be a better father to my daughter, god knows it’s time I finally stepped up."

Many players had said the exact same thing before. Promising they would turn their lives around, be better. It was almost always false. But once glance at Jung-bae, picking at his nails as potent regret radiates from his form, told In-ho he was being sincere.

"You’re a good man, Jung-bae-ssi." In-ho murmurs. "More than you know." 

Jung-bae swipes the corner of his eye, forcing a beaming grin onto his face. “Just something to think about, huh?” He says with one final, solid clap on the shoulder and walks out, leaving In-ho alone in the restroom.

In-ho doesn’t move until the door swings shut and then turns, meeting his own gaze in the mirror. His expression is characteristically stoic but there are cracks, subtle but undeniable. His lips quiver downward slightly and his eyes gleam woefully.  

The jacket on the countertop whispers at him. It was the very same item of clothing he’d hidden in the back of his closet for six months. Desperately trying to forget about its existence. 

And here it was, back in his hands.  In-ho traces his fingers over the number stitched on the front. 

456.  

How maddening it was that those three digits had become a lifeline. A final tether to his meaningless existence. He brings the fabric to his nose, inhaling deeply.

The aroma of cigarettes and sweat fills his nose. It still smelt the same. Gi-hun’s scent was sweet, and utterly intoxicating. In-ho was confident he could get drunk from it. 

Pain, from a past now forgotten, surfaces. In the six months Gi-hun had been dead, not once had In-ho let himself feel it. But now, as his eyes water, it was all gushing out. He buries his face deeper. When a tear escapes and glides down his cheek he clutches the jacket to his chest in an embrace and just cries. And cries. Choked sobs bounce off the walls. 

In that moment, In-ho looks more like the grieving widower he was once than the heartless Frontman he’d become.

Eventually, when he can finally stop, he dries his eyes and checks himself in the mirror one final time, fixing his hair and splashing  water onto his face and prepares to leave. 

That is, until he glances back at the item, staring at it consideringly. 

Could he…? Fuck it. Why not?

Before he can think about it, In-ho unzips his 001 jacket, tossing it aside, and shrugs on Gi-hun’s instead. 

Finally, he exits the bathroom and re-enters the dormitory. His group welcomed him back, staring at the 456 blazing on his chest with varying degrees of bafflement.

From his periphery, In-ho catches Jung-bae and how he smiles, pleased, jostling Gi-hun playfully beside him. 

The man in question gawps at him. Surprised. But there’s a satiated glint of possessiveness in his eyes. Gi-hun is glad he’s put the jacket on. 

That’s right. I’m yours and I always will be. Never forget that.

———————————

Hours later, the women have moved Jun-hee onto a mattress lying on the floor in between the metal bunk. Jun-hee’s groans have swelled into anguished screams, sounding with increasing frequency. There was no denying it, the baby's arrival was imminent. 

Around the women, clusters of players peer their heads with abject, morbid curiosity; Not scattering when the women or even the men in the group plead for privacy. 

Eventually, Geum-ja’s frustration boils over and she waves her hand insistently. 

“You sirs.” In-ho, Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Dae-ho, Gyeong-seok all stand to attention immediately. She cocks her head in the space around them, "Form a barrier around her. If she’s giving birth here and now, the least you can do is allow her some privacy."

They all dash over, linking arms with each other so the onlooking players are left with the view of their backs. 

Once satisfied, Geum-ja redirects her attention back to a writhing Jun-hee. "My dear, I need you to start pushing, okay?" She pats the woman on the knee. "One, two, three. Push. "

Jun-hee cries out with muffled agony with the sleeve of her own jacket between her teeth; Muscles and veins bulge from her neck as she summons all her energy. 

Geum-ja nods vigorously, "Good. That’s really good. You’re doing really well, dear. Not far to go now.”

Jun-hee just lets out an excruciating shout in response, gripping Hyun-ju’s hand even tighter, who, to her credit, doesn't even wince at the crushing of her bones. Instead, she raises her free hand to wipe away a few stray tears with a gentle thumb. 

"You’re incredible. So unbelievably strong." she murmurs before kissing the woman’s hand with unadulterated awe and admiration. 

Above them, Dae-ho is visibly twitching, sweat dripping from his temples, muttering "Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit , holy shit." over and over again.

Jung-bae just shakes his head at the ceiling. "How the fuck is she doing this? This is insane."

“Not helping, guys,” Gi-hun hushes, causing the men to go silent again. 

Jun-hee cries out as she stops pushing, unable to bear the pain any longer. 

“Come on, you’re so close now, Jun-hee.” Geum-ja encourages. “Another push and– Wait .” she halts, going very still, all of a sudden. 

“What” Hyun-ju asks, alarmed. “What’s wrong?” 

The older woman looks at her with an eerily blank expression.

"The baby’s breach."

"Breach!?” Jung-bae all but bellows. 

Breach? Did this happen last time? In-ho combs through his memory rapidly. He couldn’t remember. He’d been too busy, focusing on Gi-hun on his hunt for Dae-ho that he didn’t know if Jun-hee suffered any complications during her birth the first time.

Why are you doing this? In-ho asks Time silently in his head. Is this a punishment?

"Can you still deliver the child?" Gi-hun asks. 

Geum-ja flounders uncertainly. "In theory. But it’s riskier, more painful. We could be putting both Jun-hee and the baby in grave danger." 

Collectively, the group turns green. The implication hangs above them threateningly, like the blade of a guillotine. This was not a hospital. No one here was a doctor.

"What if we have to choose between her or the baby?” Hyun-ju shakily stutters out. 

Geum-ja stares at her momentarily, countenance haggard, before she looks back to Jun-hee. Her expression morphs into steely resoluteness. 

“We choose her. Always.” She affirms. “But it doesn’t have to come to that.” The older woman clears her throat, "Jun-hee. I’m gonna need you to stop pushing and breathe. Your baby isn’t positioned correctly. Try to relax, okay?"

Jun-hee’s chest heaves from the exertion but she still nods.

Minutes go by painfully with the group all holding their breath as Geum-ja makes careful adjustments, extracting the baby’s feet and then its legs.  

"Almost there.” She mutters, slowly inching the child out.

When the child is finally delivered, Jun-hee throws her head back with audible relief, weeping as she’s released from the pain. Geum-ja cradles the fragile infant in her hands, tearfully grinning down at the child.  

"It’s a girl.” She breathes out. “You’ve got a beautiful princess." 

The group gasps and coos, almost slumping on top of one another, patting each other's backs. Jun-hee huffs a frail laugh, staring down at her daughter with wonder. 

How utterly remarkable. Life born on an island that embodies death itself. In-ho had to hand it to Jun-hee, she’d achieved what no other player had before. 

Though, as the silence and baby remains still, tension builds. 

"Why-" Dae-ho pipes up, tone thick with unease. "Why isn’t she crying?" 

Jun-hee winces as she tries to sit up, ignoring the protests of Hyun-ju beside her, "Is she okay-" She demands, trembling with intense panic. 

Hyun-ju, helping her fully upright, nods her head frantically. "I’m sure she’s okay.” She rubs Jun-hee’s shoulders as if to convince the both of them. “She just needs a second to breathe, right?" 

Geum-ja gives her a grim, uncertain look. 

She assesses the unnaturally still baby held in her hands before her face alights with sudden realisation. With steady resolve, she snatches a blanket from beside her and wipes gently at the baby’s face, clearing the blocked airways. 

Miraculously, a shrill wail pierces the air moments later; Violent and angry. 

Instantly, relieved cries and gasps erupt from the group as the crisis is averted. Jun-hee slumps onto Hyun-ju. "Thank god ." 

There isn’t a dry eye in sight, every man and woman has tears streaming down their face. Even In-ho is affected by the intense, contagious emotions. The corners of Jun-hee’s mouth pull up weakly. 

"Thank you, Halmoni. " 

Geum-ja beams at her, sweetly. “You’re welcome, darling.” The older woman says, cutting the umbilical cord with a blade she’d had pinning her hair. 

Next to In-ho, Gi-hun is looking down at the new mother as she cradles her newborn for the first time. His face is uncharacteristically relaxed, the corners of his mouth tilted up fondly. Yet, his eyes are somber.

He’s thinking of Ga-yeong, In-ho quickly realises. 

Probably relieving all the times he failed her. Which, even In-ho couldn’t really refute. Gi-hun had been a poor father. But he cared and when it really mattered. He had tried. 

It’s not too late. She will see him again. He could make that happen. 

Geum-ja picks up Jun-hee’s jacket, taking the child back to wrap when In-ho interrupts. “Wait–” he says, dashing to where his 001 jacket is discarded and back. 

“Here.” He says, thrusting the item out. “Take this. For a sling.” 

Geum-ja stares at the jacket before she nods her head in thanks. From beside her, Hyun-ju glances at him strangely but she’s turning back to Jun-hee too quickly for him to truly question it. 

A little while later, the guards have finally begun to distribute food out. 

In-ho is standing in the queue. Yong-sik and Dae-ho are behind him, chatting excitedly. 

"You don’t think it could be bulgogi or this time?" Yong-sik enquired. 

Dae-ho scoffs, "Really? With no grill to cook the meat on? No, it has to be something they can prepare before."

There’s a pause as the man ponders the options.

"Could be dumplings. I love those." He begins to list various foods, ordering them based on which is his favourite. 

Yong-sik clearly isn’t listening to a word as he wistfully mutters, "I could devour a plate of samgyeopsal right now" before he moans almost lewdly.  "God how I miss my mother’s cooking." 

Dae-ho barks a laugh. " Dude … I think you’re just craving meat at this point. Do you have a protein deficiency or something?”

In-ho tunes them out as they start to playfully bicker, wandering his gaze around aimlessly. Like a dart finding its target, it eventually lands on a head that repeatedly pops out from the long line of heads in front. 

In-ho identifies him instantly. 

Lee Myung-gi. Father to the newborn baby. The man doesn’t spot In-ho observing him, too busy glancing at Jun-hee over and over. 

Myung-gi had been a particularly nuisance in the last iteration, that much In-ho could remember about him. Every time In-ho thought the crypto scammer would finally meet his end, he survived like a stubborn cockroach that didn’t know how to die. 

Even in the final game, he had held on until the very end. Only succumbing to his death moments before Gi-hun had. 

A sharp pang shoots through his heart. Right. It was because of you that the button never got pressed. The man posed a deadly threat to his plan. Even more so now. What if he wanted to get to Jun-hee or their child? Myunggi would without a doubt kill anyone who stood in his way.

Gi-hun was in danger. Fire rages through In-ho at the mere thought.

Now, he wasn’t a saint and Myunggi was just like any man trying to survive here. Logically, In-ho knew that. But that didn’t ease the vicious stinging in his chest.  

He only looks away when they reach the front of the line, taking his portion of food with characteristic detachment. 

I’ll have to watch him closely tonight.

Walking back, the sound of tinfoil crinkling before a disappointed groan sounds follows him.

"Gimbap!?" Dae-ho exclaims, outraged. "That’s not a meal, it’s barely even a snack."

"Goddamit." Yong-sik sighs before sulking over to sit near his mother.

In-ho makes a beeline for Gi-hun, thrusting the wrapped food with a decisive, “Here." 

Gi-hun raises a brow in response. 

“Have it." In-ho urges. "I haven't touched it or even breathed near it in case you’re worried.” The other man just glances at the Gimbap, watching it like it’s about to grow legs and attack him.

In-ho sighs impatiently. “I promise, Gi-hun. It’s fine.”

After a moment, Gi-hun reluctantly takes the offer, making a conscious effort to not touch the food with his fingers as he puts a cut slice into his mouth. He doesn’t even bite down before he gags. 

"What the hell??" He spits the offending item into his hand. In-ho frowns at him.

That’s odd. It tasted fine the first time round. 

He sniffs the Gimbap. It smells completely normal, not a hint of anything spoiled at all. In-ho’s about to taste a bite for himself when Gi-hun stops him.

"Don’t—"He says before  taking a sip of water. "I really wouldn’t."  In-ho nods slowly, stuffing the tinfoil item in his pocket. Thankfully, he wasn’t that hungry. 

Geum-ja joins the group with her son and Dae-ho in tow, wiping the blood from her hands as she comes. 

"Is she going to be okay?" Gi-hun asks as soon as she’s sat, nodding his head to Jun-hee and her baby resting against her chest. 

The woman picks up the foil and unwraps it. “It’s too early to say, but… she’s stable for now. She just breastfed for the first time and there were no problems so that’s a good sign." 

In-ho glances at Jun-hee, considering her as the two continue to discuss. Before he knows, he moves, approaching her.  Jun-hee, who is staring down at her baby in quiet astonishment, brightens when she sees him. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks, loitering by the edge of the mattress. 

The woman has violet bruises under her eyes which stand stark against the sickly pallor of her skin. Her hair has been tied back and out of her face but frazzled strands of hair hang out, emphasising the strenuous weight childbirth has had on her.

Jun-hee shrugs weakly in response. 

“Tired…” She confesses,  “I think I could sleep for a century after that.” The young mother huffs a laugh but it’s half-hearted at best. 

It's obvious she’s trying to project a forced image of joviality so that In-ho won’t see how terrified she really is. Without a doubt, Jun-hee knows the danger she faces. She knows that she’s a prime target now. But still, she is struggling to accept the help of those around her. Desperate not to be a burden.

Jun-hee looks down as the infant gurgles softly in her arms. “She’s so tiny. I can’t believe that she’s real or that she’s even here at all." 

“Hmm.” In-ho hums, slowly lowering himself to sit on the end of the mattress as the girl continues to talk.

"Isn’t it mad how it was only yesterday that we  were discussing names?" She, shaking her head. "It all happened so…suddenly.”

Yeah. That’s because you weren’t supposed to have her until tomorrow.

But, for obvious reasons, In-ho can’t say that so he nods. " Yes… it all came on rather quickly." 

However, as though she’s read his mind, her expression clouds with conflict.

“It feels slightly wrong… Like it wasn’t supposed to happen. How can that be possible?" She ponders, lifting her lost eyes to him, imploringly. "Does that make me sound crazy?’

In-ho watches her for a moment before he shakes his head, moving to sit at the end of the mattress. "I think a lot has happened here that shouldn’t have." He merely replies. More than you could possibly know is left unsaid. 

However, Jun-hee doesn’t respond, her gaze is fixated on something over his shoulder. When In-ho follows her stare, sure enough, he sees Myung-gi scrutinising them from a bunk bed nearby. In-ho holds the gaze for a second before he lifts a brow challengingly. The other man immediately looks away, cowering. 

Jun-hee scoffs, prompting In-ho to turn back to her. Her lip is snarled, resentment plain on her face, muttering “Such a coward.” before bringing her baby closer in comfort.

“Who’s he?” In-ho asks, regardless of the fact that he already knows. 

“No one.” Jun-hee lies, narrowing her eyes. “Just someone who clearly doesn’t understand that staring is rude.” She then shakes herself, forcing an air of amiability. 

Briefly, In-ho considers challenging her but ultimately decides not to. He didn’t care about the relationship nor did he think Jun-hee would appreciate it if he started to question it. 

We’re all entitled to our secrets. Well, as long as they didn’t interfere with his plan at least.

“Would you like to hold her?” Jun-hee suddenly asks, making him jolt.

“Are you sure?”  In-ho isn’t entirely sure he didn’t mishear her. 

Jun-hee nods, “Yes. I trust you.” She says so earnestly that he has no choice but to accept. 

Opening his arms, the fragile newborn is placed carefully in his arms. In-ho marvels at it. So delicate, cooing softly as if she remembered In-ho. 

Hello again. He greets silently.  It’s been a little while, hasn’t it? 

The baby just gurgles in response, its face is a hue of rosy red. Eyes, only recently opened, peer at him curiously. 

Jun-hee frowns at him, tapping insistently on his left arm. "You have to support her head a little more." she murmurs, adjusting his elbow. In-ho bows, apologising, before he redirects his attention back to the infant cradled against his chest. 

"She has your eyes…" He whispers, allowing a brief candidness to slip. Jun-hee blinks at him, pulling her hand back in shock. 

"Really? You can tell already?" 

He nods. 

"Mmm. She’s the spitting image of her mother." 

Jun-hee lets out a watery chuckle. "Thank god." She mutters proudly.  

It’s mostly quiet after that, with In-ho gently rocking the baby every time the loud thuds of footsteps travelling up and down stairs reverberate, disturbing the baby’s brittle slumber. 

“There’s going to be fighting tonight… isn’t there? Now the others know they can slaughter each other for prize money." Jun-hee whispers, glossy eyes watching him wide and knowing. 

Flattening his lips into a taut, thin line, In-ho doesn’t respond. It was impossible to sugarcoat the truth of what was to come that night. Even in his ‘hopeful’ Young-il personality. 

“Please, mister. Be honest. I need to know.” Jun-hee pleads when he remains quiet, causing In-ho to reluctantly sigh and nod his head.

“Yes. I’m fairly… certain that there will be a fight tonight.” He imparts quietly. 

Jun-hee exhales shakily, tears brimming in her eyes as her composure falters. She clutches the blanket resting on her knees so tightly that her knuckles turn white. 

“I’m so scared .” she confesses, voice barely a hush. “I want to live. Not only for my child but for myself. This was supposed to be a fresh start, a way to turn my life around… What if I don’t get that chance–” She cuts off, pressing a hand against her chest in an attempt to calm herself.

“Jun-hee-ssi.” In-ho says. She looks at him as her chest rises rapidly. “We’re not going to let anything happen to you or your child." 

In-ho knew without a doubt the group would shield the woman and child from any harm. Many of them had already done so in the last iteration and paid the price after all. 

Jun-hee just screws her eyes shut, a tear escaping as she does. “I don’t want anyone to die for me. I wouldn’t be able to handle it.” 

“They won’t.” He replies assuredly. 

No one was dying unless he wanted them to. He had to stone to ensure that, even if it tried to twist from his controlling hold. In-ho would win. He always did in the end.

In the corner of the room, Gi-hun and the others have started to form a circle, discussing the strategy for the night ahead. In-ho meets Jung-bae’s eye and the man beckons him over with an urgent hand. 

“I need to go.” In-ho whispers, gently handing the baby back to the woman who quietly shushes the child as it whines in discomfort. With his thumb, he smoothes the baby’s brow consolingly and then stands, brushing his hands on his joggers as he moves to join the others. 

“ Ajusshi. ” Jun-hee calls from behind him. 

In-ho halts and looks back over his shoulder.  Jun-hee is curled inwards with unrestrained hope and trust painted on her every feature.

"Please be careful.” She pleads. 

It’s a promise he can’t make. Not when he’s going to inevitably break it.

I’m not the man you think I am. I’m not a hero. 

Yet, still, he nods.

She would learn soon enough that she was better off placing her trust in the hands of someone else.  

He passes Hyun-ju who grabs his arm as he leaves, pulling him aside.

"You’re at the centre of this, aren’t you?" She murmurs, lowly.

In-ho blinks up at her, surprised. "What do you know?” He demands, scouring her face for any recognition of the future. 

Hyun-ju just huffs. 

"Nothing. That’s the thing." She replies in a frustrated tone. "There’s just this constant… itch.”

In-ho narrows his eyes.

"Itch?” 

"Yes." The tall woman then flails her hands around as she searches for a way to explain. “It’s like I know something is wrong. Yet, no matter how much I scratch, there’s no relief." 

“…I don’t understand." 

Hyun-ju groans slightly, throwing her head to look at the ceiling hopelessly. "Look, I don’t know how to describe it." She begins. "There are these… instincts that arise after certain things happen."

“No, I got that. What I don’t see is how any of that relates to me.”

Hyun-ju drops her gaze back down to him; Her gaze is eerily piercing. 

“The itch gets worse around you.” 

"Oh." He swears under his breath. 

In-ho hadn’t anticipated that the players could potentially trace any sense of wrongness back to him. That had vast potential to complicate matters, making him a possible target for riled up players who view him as the culprit of their misfortunes.  They might even target those around him just to get to him. 

"Does anyone else feel this way or is it just you?" In-ho asks, urgently, prompting Hyun-ju to shrug helplessly. 

"I don’t know. If they do, then they haven’t said anything. At least to me. But…’ She puts a hand on his shoulder. “I wouldn’t be surprised if there were.”

Despairingly, In-ho puts his face in his hands. “What are you going to do with this itch ?” His voice is muffled by his fingers. 

“Protect the others.” The woman replies before she exhales shakily “My friend… Young-mi. I knew she wouldn’t make it but I dismissed it, calling the feeling crazy.” 

A beat passes.

"If I had just listened to myself then maybe, she would still be here." 

Dropping his hands, In-ho silently observes how Hyun-ju’s eyelashes flutter rapidly as anguish ripples across her face before she collects her composure with steady ease.

How easy it was to forget that the woman in front of him was once a sergeant. Her frame, even now, exuded an aura of authority. In-ho thinks if it weren’t for Hyun-ju’s good naturedness, she would have won the games with ease. 

Strong, intelligent, practical. The woman checked every box as the perfect archetype of the winner. It was obvious she had taken more than a couple scratches and bruises in her lifetime. And there was no doubt she would take a hundred more, if it meant that those she cared about were safe. She’d proven as much in the last iteration.

"I can’t let anyone else die." She states as though it’s one of her many objectives. A task she would not fail. "You understand that, right? Jun-hee-yah…" she trails off, voice wavering slightly. She clears her throat. "I need to protect her. I have to. Even if it kills me."

There’s a beat as the admission hangs in the air. 

It does kill you. In-ho thinks. Selfless people like you don’t last here. 

"Young-il. Hyun-ju." Dae-ho calls out. "You guys coming?"

“One second." Hyun-ju replies before she looks back at In-ho. "Be careful." She says before departing to walk towards Jun-hee to bring her to join the group.

———————————

When In-ho reaches the group, they’re immersed in a heated discussion. Gi-hun is the perfect picture of graveness, a vein protruding from his neck as he speaks sternly. The others hang onto his every word with increasing horror. 

“–If they kill us, they’ll be able to win the vote and increase the vote.” 

“So what do we do?” Yong-sik asks, subtly shuffling closer to his mother. 

“We attack them first.” In-ho declares, drawing the attention of the group. Gi-hun doesn’t speak but the narrowing of his eyes tells In-ho he's displeased. “They’ll assume we’re too terrified to fight back because of what happened during the vote. We can use that to our advantage.” 

Player 047 nods frantically to In-ho’s left. “That’s right. It’d be better to attack them first.” He gestures to the circle. “We have more women and elderly on our side. Not to mention a baby.” 

Jun-hee, who is now sitting on a bed next to the formed circle, tenses. The sleeping baby in her lap stirs slightly as if she senses her mother’s discomfort. 

“Attacking them first would give us a better chance of winning.” 

“I agree.” Another player assents. 

“ No.” Gi-hun cuts in. His voice is almost a growl which makes the other players exchange perturbed glances. 

“Gi-hun, we’re already a vote down.” In-ho massages his own temple. “ If we let them attack us then there will be no chance to get out of here.” 

To his left, Jung-bae fusses with the hem of his jacket. “He’s right, Gi-hun-ah…The guards won’t count the vote again tomorrow. We have to do something. ”

However, the man merely scoffs. 

“That doesn’t mean we should kill each other. That’s exactly what they want us to do.” He spits, pinning each of them down with a look of pure venom.  

“ They ?” Jung-bae hesitantly enquires. 

“Those who created the game. The ones who watch us play. If we’re going to fight anyone… it should be them.” 

Dae-ho shivers next to him.  “Where are they?” He stammers, wringing his hands frantically before wiping the sweat off on his knees. 

Curiously, In-ho regards him, observing the tremors in his frame. Was this what Hyun-ju was talking about? Could Dae-ho sense the upcoming disaster? Or was In-ho reading too much into it? Dae-ho doesn’t acknowledge him. Doesn’t even glance at him. So it was also possible he was just stressed. No weird premonition involved. But it didn’t explain why the young marine’s gaze kept straying to Gi-hun and darting away erratically.  

Is he scared of him? Is he seeing Gi-hun or his killer?

It was impossible to truly tell. 

In-ho bites down hard on his tongue until he tastes a hint of copper. How was he supposed to discern which players were reacting to him and those who were not? 

There was no correlation. No link. Completely random. It was an unsolvable mystery.

He swallows bitterly. How In-ho loathed not knowing. 

"The man in the black mask." Gi-hun’s face spasms. He gnashes his teeth as he speaks, every word leaves his mouth like a curse. "He’s their leader.”  

“How are we going to fight them?” Jung-bae scratches his head. "They have guns.” 

Gi-hun flares his nose. 

“We’ll fight them with guns too.”

“But we don’t have any…?” 

“We will. We’re going to take theirs.”

"How?" 

Gi-hun ponders for a moment, squinting as he considers a plan. 

“Once the fight begins tonight, we’ll have our chance." He raises an arm, pointing to the beds. "When the lights go out, get under the bottom  bunks quietly. Stay there until the fight ends.”

"You won’t be able to hide from them.” In-ho says, inclining his head toward Jun-hee. “Not when there’s a baby with us. One cry will be all it takes for them to find us."

They might not even need that. In-ho thinks grimly. 

The players were  far more volatile this time round. If a single player had a feeling they were shielding under the beds, it would be catastrophic. Not only would In-ho’s plan be at risk, the lives of those around him would be too.

Gi-hun throws his hands up, lip curling as his frustration boils to the surface. “So what then? Are you going to kill each other all night and hope you survive?”In-ho shakes his head with a scowl. 

"People are going to die regardless of what we do." He argues, "By attacking them, we can protect the vulnerable and still carry out your plan." Gi-hun scoffs, rolling his eyes.

Unbeknownst to them, both entirely absorbed in their verbal spare, the group watches them. Like a match of tennis, heads bounce from side to side, waiting for one player to emerge victorious. 

"What if one of us is injured or killed? You said it yourself, we’re outnumbered. We can’t afford to lose this chance at stopping this."

"So you’re going to sit back and let vulnerable people get slaughtered? How is that any better?"

"What choice do I have?" Gi-hun spits. "We have to end these games." 

In-ho can feel his fist clenching. "We can’t sit back and do nothing." 

Gi-Hun juts his jaw. 

"Well we can’t spend all night killing each other either." He finishes. 

Both of their chests heave as they glare darkly, drinking each other in. Gi-hun’s cheeks are flushed. A tinge of red dusting his face as his eyes drill into In-ho’s intently.

In-ho tilts his head back, watching as the man’s gaze darts to the line of his throat before snapping back up. Gi-hun’s expression morphs slightly, the hunger from the bathroom leaking into his anger.

In-ho was fairly confident that, had they been alone, the space between them would no longer exist.

"Okay—" Hyun-ju interrupts, jolting them out of their bubble. "This is getting us nowhere. Why don’t we compromise, instead?" She asks, looking at everyone for permission. 

The others nod agreeably, thankful for the break of tension. Hyun-ju then begins to play with the necklace around her neck.

"We could…let people choose if they want to hide or fight?" She says after a moment. 

Silence descends as the players consider the idea. Various hums and nods follow. 

"Yeah… that could work." Jung-bae mutters as he strokes his chin thoughtfully. 

"Okay." Hyun-ju replies without ceremony. “All those in favour?" 

Slowly, hands rise. Even Jun-hee has her hand in the air. Gi-hun regards them all with pure incredulity before he shakes his head and stands, storming away.

In-ho goes to move but Jung-bae stops him. "Don’t." He says, "Give him some time." 

"We don’t have time." In-ho replies curtly before walking to catch up with Gi-hun. 

The marine sighs and hangs his head. "Why do I even bother?" He asks no one in particular before following In-ho. 

“Gi-hun.” 

Gi-hun doesn’t answer so In-ho grabs his arm, bringing the man to a halt. Gi-hun’s shoulders tense at the contact and he shoots In-ho a hazardous look as he turns around. 

In-ho’s hand travels up to cup his shoulder. “If we’re sacrificing the few for the greater good, then we need to make it count.”

Gi-hun jerks away from his hold. 

"How could you say that?" He sneers down at the number 456 stitched on his chest. "God… to think that I thought you were actually on my side." He says, tutting to himself. 

“I am on your side. You don’t understand, I’m trying to help.” 

“No, you don’t understand.” Gi-hun leans down until his face is inches from In-ho’s, jabbing his finger into his chest. “You have no idea just how far people will go in here, In-ho .”

In-ho feels the blood drain rapidly from his face. 

"What did you just call me?"

Gi-hun pauses, leaning back slightly as confusion washes across his face. Then, he winces, clutching his temples. "Hwang In-ho…" He mutters again; his tongue moves over the syllables as if to test their foreign weight in his mouth. 

"Why…?” In-ho asks, swallowing thickly through a sense of impending doom. "Why did you say that name, Gi-hun?" 

Gi-hun doesn’t answer, breathing through his teeth in obvious discomfort. To the side of him, Jung-bae hesitantly steps forward, wrapping a gentle hand around his friend’s arm.

"Gi-hun… Who’s In-ho?" He asks. 

"I don’t—" the man utters, shaking his head looking lost. "I don’t know why I said that…" Jung-bae turns to In-ho, raising a brow. He doesn’t react outwardly.

"I don’t…" Gi-hun repeats before his expression becomes inscrutable. Simultaneously, hollow and  animated. Slowly, he drags his gaze up to In-ho. His eyes are unnervingly empty. 

"Jun-ho…" he whispers, causing In-ho’s heart to flatline for the hundredth time that minute.

"What." He mumbles, his voice wobbling. 

Gi-huns scrunches his face, squeezing his eyes shut to shake something off. "I— I don’t— Just leave me alone—" he says and then stalks off.

Jung-bae watches him go, baffled. "Who is Hwang In-ho?" He asks, turning to In-ho. 

In-ho can’t speak. He’s rooted to the spot, watching Gi-hun leave, shoulders hitched up to his ears.

The itch gets worse around you. 

He clears his throat, and sculpts his expression into practiced detachment. 

"Nobody important." He grits before he too walks away, leaving Jung-bae endlessly perplexed. 

“ Wait– Didn’t you say Jun-ho in– And he’s gone. Alright. That’s cool. Great chat, guys.”

——————————

The lights are scheduled to go out in ten minutes. In-ho’s pacing when he senses a presence lurking behind him. When he turns, he sees Gi-hun with his fists clenched at his sides, expression stony. 

"Young-il." He strides forward, stopping a metre away. "Convince the others to hide tonight." 

In-ho groans, pinching his nose. “Not this again… We’ve been over this, Gi-Hun. Attacking the other side is the smartest thing we can do."I’m sorry but this is the only way. We have no choice.”

Gi-hun scoffs, throwing him a disbelieving look. 

“There is always a choice.”

“Not this time. If we’re making a sacrifice then we’re doing it right." 

“You won’t be able to just choose who dies tonight? That sacrifice could include you." 

Had the words been directed at anyone else, it would’ve been a solid argument.

However, In-ho wasn’t just anyone. He was the Frontman. He had more than the power of time wrapped around his wrist. If there was a single person in this room who could choose who dies tonight, it was him. 

"Are you prepared to die tonight, Young-il?” Gi-Hun presses.

In-ho wouldn’t. But he could sense that Gi-hun was trying to sow seeds of doubt in his mind. “If it means that you’d get through," In-ho tilts his head, maintaining eye contact. "Then yes.”

Gi-hun shakes his head, biting his lip as he looks away. His gaze has become watery. “Why are you doing this?” He asks tremulously. In-ho simple shrugs. The answer is obvious. 

“I want to get you out of here.” 

A tear falls, rolling down the man’s cheek. "Why?" He breathes, "Why me? What about the others?" 

In-ho raises a hand, brushing the droplet away with his thumb,  soothingly. “There are many things that I can’t tell you but one day, eventually, you’ll understand.”

Gi-hun huffs humorlessly. “What does that even mean?” He asks, prompting In-ho to tap his own nose secretively. The man deadpans. “You are infuriating.” 

“Yeah." In-ho smirks weakly. "Yeah, I know. Not the first time I’ve heard that.” 

Gi-hun shakily exhales. His cheeks puffing as he lolls his head back, staring at the ceiling. 

"What’s wrong?" In-ho jostles the man’s arm. "You’ve been funny ever since we got back in here." 

Gi-hun blinks harshly, lowering his head back down. "I keep… seeing things." 

What?

In-ho’s hand stills. "What are you seeing, Gi-hun?" He asks, purposefully removing the dread from his tone.

“Death. So much death. And at the centre of it is… Me. Sometimes,  you’re there too, but—" the man cuts himself off with a violent shake of his head.  "You’re bleeding. And you’re not alone. A man I know, he’s standing there looking at me in horror." 

A man… Could that be Jun-ho?

If so, that was the most odd side effect yet. For  one, In-ho could not conjure a moment where the three of them had been in the same room. So why would Gi-hun have visions of that? It didn’t make sense. 

Initially, In-ho had assumed time might be imploding on itself but now, he was truly stumped. If time was affecting people, making them intuitively aware of the future, why was Gi-hun sensing one that never happened. 

"I thought I was going crazy until you said his name." 

In-ho looks down, processing the confession “Is that why you called me that name? Hwang In-ho?” He asks, tone lightly curious.

“I don’t know…  Maybe… That was just- It’s just—“ Gi-hun releases a frustrated breath. “There’s this  incessant tickle . Like an—“

“Like an itch?” In-ho finishes, knowingly.

The man reels back, taken off guard. “Yeah.” He blurts. "An itch. 

In-ho hums. That, he’s not surprised by. Gi-hun frowns.

“Are you?” He asks suddenly. In-ho tilts his head.

“Am I what?” 

“Him." The man clarifies, "Hwang In-ho.” 

Staring at him looks for a moment, brows crinkling , In-ho considers how to respond. 

“No. I’m not." He lies after a beat.  There would be a time where the man would learn his true identity, that was not now.

Gi-hun’s eye twitches. “Are you lying again?" He mumbles, a final test, one more plea. 

In-ho opens his mouth. 

"I—" 

“Lights will go out in 2 minutes.” The PA announcement booms above them. 

Saved by the bell.

In-ho shrugs, "Guess we’ll never know." He attempts to jest but it lands flat. Gi-hun’s expression is crumpled, devastated.

Sighing, he cups the man’s elbows, capturing his lowered gaze. “Hey.” He murmurs. "Can you do me a favour?”

“Hmm." Gi-hun replies, tonelessly. 

In-ho inhales, licking his lips. “Don’t join the fight tonight. Hide with Jun-hee."

The man glares at him incredulously. "Are you serious —" he begins. 

" Gi-hun. Please. You can protect her. Let me and the others handle the fight."

“Fine. Just— " he lifts his pinky. "Promise me you won’t die.” 

“I won’t." In-ho hooks his little finger firmly with the other man's. "I promise." 

Gi-hun stares at him, at their interlocked fingers. He shakes his head, hopelessly “ I hope you know what you’re doing, Oh Young-il.” He murmurs before pulling away and walking off. 

I do. More than anyone here does. He affirms. In the distance, there’s a sound of faint cackling. 

“ 10. 9. 8. 7. ”  The speaker crackles to life, reminding the players bedtime was rapidly approaching.

Lying down on his bunk, In-ho lets his fingers slip into his pocket, wrapping them around the fork. Poised and ready. 

“ 6. 5. 4. ”

Tonight would be the first of the many battles ahead of In-ho. And they would only get worse as they progressed. He glances at the bracelet against his wrist. A lifeline. One he could use if he was desperate and pray time would forgive him for long enough to survive. 

Whatever it takes. Victory at all costs . 

" Three. Two. One." 

The room plunges into complete darkness. Only breathing can be heard. Then, the sound of rustling. That was the players moving to hide. Their cue. 

Without further ado, In-ho moves.

Notes:

It's so over for him actually... deserved ❤️

I might release chapters 6 and 7 togethe if they flow right into each other... Hmm. Much to consider.

Gi-hun took In-ho to the bathroom because he lowkey wanted to hit btw.

Hope you enjoyed :)

Chapter 6: ma meilleure ennemie (le pire c’est toi et moi.)

Notes:

GOOD LORD. We’re back.

I'm so sorry for the disgustingly long wait. I went on holiday, assuming I'd be able to work on this chapter but ended up being a lot busier than I thought. I also caught the flu which sucked and then this chapter ended up being even LONGER than the last one so I started getting stressed lol.

Anyways, I am back, feeling better now and should, fingers crossed, be back to a somewhat usual schedule. Trust me guys, this work will NEVER be abandoned. If I don't update this fic after this chapter, assume I'm dead because that's the only thing that will stop me from finishing this. Maybe not even that lmao. I can only pray you guys remain understanding and patient enough to wait for me to whip the rest of this story up. ❤️

I dedicate this to my French bro-hence the French song title- thanks for being super epic and listening to my crash outs over this chapter. You're a real one.

**TW; Very graphic descriptions of violence, murder and injury, strong language used.

(Not a single good decision is made in this chapter. Seriously. Blame In-ho. It's all his fault).

It was all going according to plan. 

In-ho had killed three O players so far. His fork was, unfortunately, long gone, wedged deep in the throat of a random dead player. Regardless, In-ho had still managed to defeat any other players, despite being armed with nothing but his bare fists. 

It wasn’t difficult to cull the herd. 

Even when every strobe of light threatened to give him a migraine and the groans of numerous, wounded players grew deafening, In-ho still managed.

After all, these people weren’t soldiers nor were they fighters. Their movements were clumsy and predictable. And they didn’t stand a chance against In-ho. 

But, to his chagrin, it was rapidly growing exhausting. 

It was a relentless, a never-ending onslaught of ravenous and gluttonous players; All intent on slaughter. A hive mind of merciless and ruthless beasts united by one final goal: Erase the threat. Increase the prize pot.

In-ho was strong but he hadn’t eaten since the day before. Just after the second game. And that had been a meagre meal. What little energy he’d had to begin with was rapidly depleting. 

In addition to that, every time he even considered using the charm around his wrist, he hesitated. If he rewound time and it didn't work, he would certainly die. In-ho could not fight, drained, dazed, and hallucinating. 

Rewinding time had also proven to be erratic. There was no assuring he would travel and land back in the exact second he wanted to. Now, if he was going to use it all, would have to be harnessed in cases of absolute disaster.

In-ho had to ignore the stone even as it screamed for him to use it. He’d simply have to live as it happened and pray he came out the other side relatively unscathed. 

The O voters didn't fight fair, they fought viciously. Never wavering. Never retreating. Because they had nothing to lose. No life to return to. No hope. No future.

This was their last resort. 

People went mad once they believed their life was over, pouring the fuel all over themselves. The game merely handed them the lighter. Yet players lit the match every time.  

That made them dangerous and they knew it. It was written on their faces. Smug, cocky arrogance that gleamed manically in their eyes with every strobe of the lights. 

They truly believed their lack of fear was a guarantee of their survival. 

However, what they didn’t realise was there something far more deadly lurking amongst them. Someone.  

And, unlike them, In-ho had everything to lose. 

So, he narrowly dodges the shard of glass that sharply swishes forward. Curving his spine inward so the blade cuts through the air and not his abdomen. The rabid player before him, intent and ravenous with bloodlust, advances again. This time jabbing the glass near his eye with deadly precision. 

Ducking out of the path of the blade, In-ho grabs their wrist and jerks the weapon away from him. The player fumbles slightly before they adjust their grip and drives the shard inches from his chest. In-ho bares his teeth; His jaw creaks from the effort he spends battling to keep the tip piercing his sternum. Quickly growing impatient, the player leans forward, using all their weight to walk In-ho backwards until he hits a bunk post. A desperate ploy to kill him faster.

In-ho shoves them off. He’s granted a second before he has to stop the next swipe of blade, catching the player’s wrist again and driving it down to strike them in the gut. The O voter falters immediately, providing In-ho with the perfect opportunity to twist their arm, the shard falling from their grip and clattering to the ground. 

However, before he has time to anticipate it, the player quickly recovers and swings his free fist to punch In-ho in the face. He staggers- his foot slipping on a puddle of blood- and falls to the ground.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit– 

In-ho clambers to his elbows. The fluorescent flicker of the lights illuminates the room again for a brief second, casting the shadow of the player towering over him. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck–

The light flashes again and, in that moment, something gleams in his periphery. Relief floods In-ho as he realises what it is.

The glass shard. It was lying right next to him. Forgotten. Abandoned.

In-ho doesn’t hesitate. He snatches it and launches himself up, gutting the player just as they begin to descend. A telltale pop of flesh reverberates down his wrist as the skin gives way, allowing the glass to slide between the layers of muscle. 

The player gasps. Eyes so wide, they’re bulging from their head. A tumultuous tempest of emotion flurrying over their face. 

Horror. Despair. Denial.

This couldn’t be it, They seemed to scream silently at him. This can’t be how it ends. 

In-ho snarls back. 

That’s the thing, he thinks. You think death will never happen to you. That you’re immune from it. It takes dying to finally learn that you’re not. 

He twists the shard, driving it deeper before he brings his free hand and drags the weapon, slicing the player’s abdomen fully open. A spurt and gurgle of blood follows, coating In-ho’s hands and wrists with viscous crimson. He drops the player and they collapse by his feet. 

Dead. Gone before they’d even hit the ground. 

What a pathetic waste. All that just to be another piece of trash removed from the pile.

In-ho grips the glass tighter and scans the room. The X side had suffered far less casualties, despite the fact that they were outnumbered.

"We work in pairs." 

Jung-bae, Hyun-ju, Gyeong-seok, Player 047, Player 015, Dae-ho, Yong-sik and numerous others had gathered around him not long before lights out. All eager to know the plan for the night. In-ho speaks to them quietly, ensuring that no O voter potentially eavesdropping would hear them. 

"Watch each other’s backs. Help our partners if they need it."

"What if there’s more of them than us?” Yong-sik had asked,“Wouldn’t it be smarter to stick together?" 

It was a valid question. But, In-ho knew, it would never work. 

Lights out was a chaotic bloodbath where a team could be torn apart in the matter of seconds. Sure they could stick together as a group and it might start well, but it would inevitably fail. One player would be all it took and their group would have to scatter. 

In-ho had been surprised by the man’s vehement desire to join the team. He’d even gone against his own mother’s wishes, dismissing her pleas that he hide with her instead. Yong-sik had claimed he wasn’t going to sit back and let these people rain terror on them. That he would, for once, be brave and defend his mother even if it was at his own peril. 

In-ho scours the room for his telltale curly mop of hair. When he finds him, he’s pleasantly surprised. Yong-sik seemed to be coping well enough. He has found a beam and is swinging it to the chagrin of the players trying to kill him. Though, In-ho notes, he looks suspiciously clean. 

He tsks. The poor man still can’t kill them even when they’re actively out for his head. 

To the left of him, a squeal of Jun-hee’s baby sounds, causing him to tense. In-ho zeros in every O voter, watching to see if they will turn. 

One does. Spinning around curiously before grinning like they’d just struck gold.  

“Jung-bae.” In-ho calls. Behind him, Jung-bae finishes off another player, looking up at him.

“Yeah?”

In-ho waves his hand. 

“Follow me.”

"One cry will be all they need to find those hiding. If you hear a single sound then you draw them away and attack them in your pair." In-ho glanced at the Os on the other side of the room. "Even the strongest of them stand little chance in a fight against two."

"Jung-bae," the marine starts at the sound of his name. "You’re with me.”

In-ho then points to Dae-ho, Yong-sik, Gyeong-seok and Hyun-ju.

“Dae-ho, you’re with Yong-sik. Gyeong-seok with Hyun-ju.” They all nod with varying degrees of conviction. 

Dae-ho’s is the shakiest. 

Of all the people In-ho had been most hesitant to include in this plan, it had been Dae-ho. As he and Jung-bae successfully lure the player away from the bunks, he catches sight of the man over the older marine’s shoulder. And In-ho knows his concern is well-founded.

Unlike Yong-sik, it was obvious Dae-ho was struggling with the overwhelming action taking place in the dormitory. From the constant echo shrill, chaotic sounds of brutal murder to the lingering stench of death that clung to every inch of the room; The mere sight of humanity lowering themselves to their most beastly, predatory instincts was undeniably harrowing. 

To a mind yet to be numbed to the horrors, In-ho could only imagine how traumatic it all must be. 

But that wasn’t the main reason for his unease. The younger marine wasn’t a slight, potential snag in the cogs of his plan, no, he was an outright flight risk. 

"…Do we have to kill them?" Dae-ho was staring at him, ashen and afraid.

 In-ho had sighed tiredly in response.

"There is no moral high ground here. Either we kill them, or they kill us. It’s simple." He then claps Dae-ho on the shoulder, taking pity on the poor man, before sharing the best advice he possibly could in that moment.

"Don’t let guilt eat away at you. You’re here to survive, so survive. You can deal with your demons later. When you’re safe." 

That wasn’t far off what he’d told himself during his own games. In-ho had repeated until it was drilled into his mind. A sickly mantra that had allowed him to bring a dagger to throat and spill its blood. 

It’s for them, remember? For her. 

In-ho knew his words would have little effect on Dae-ho’s… nerves. But he had hoped it would be enough to remind him of what was at stake. 

Fear, well, that was impossible to eradicate. But so was the will to live. And there wasn’t a single player here who didn’t possess a modicum of that. 

In-ho has just finished grappling with the O player, stabbing downward to silence any howling, when he sees a bunk in front of him begin to lurch and collapse.

The bunks falling were a standard procedure controlled by the games manager, usually In-ho, designed to force any players still lingering at the top into the crux of battle. Of course, on a rare occasion the beds would fall and squish random, unsuspecting players. To the utter delight of the VIPs this was, who would dub any unfortunate person crushed “burnt toast.” 

In-ho was lucky. He was out of the danger zone by a fraction of an inch.

But Jung-bae wasn’t. The man was still fending off another player. Completely oblivious to structure

In-ho had no time to run for him. No time to call out. No time to think. 

He looks at the bracelet, it whispers imploringly at him with hushed, pleading tones, tickling his ear. 

Why did I have to choose Jung-bae to be my partner? 

Without wasting a second, In-ho’s fingers fly towards his bracelet and he rewinds. The frame pauses before slowly lifting as if possessed by some kind of sorcery. In-ho release fighting itself back onto the wall.

Jung-bae and the surrounding players are none the wiser. 

In-ho dashes forward and tugs him back hard; Jung-bae stumbles whilst he tries to keep up with punishing speed that In-ho drags him away, landing on his rear, a metre from the frame clattering onto the ground right where he’d been standing moments ago.

"Holy shit." Jung-bae coughs violently, watching the blood seep out of the skulls of crushed players onto the floor with nauseated relief. "You saved my life." 

In-ho just nods. Time travelling had sharpened the dull ache behind his eyes into a stabbing agony. 

"It’s not over yet." He forces out, blinking away the vertigo. Moving to rejoin the waves of chaos, In-ho turns. However, before he can set off, his foot connects with something on the ground. 

It’s a loose bed frame. 

Yes, he thinks, bending to pick it up, We can use this as well.

He twirls it, testing its weight. It’s well balanced and heavy enough to crack someone’s skull. An extra weapon would come in handy. It would create distance whilst allowing In-ho to attack from further away. 

Suddenly–roaring as they come– a rogue player emerges. 

"Watch out–" Jung-bae yells out. 

The player lunges at him with a pole of their own, whipping it around like a mad man. Instinctually, In-ho ducks and dips under the player’s swing. Now positioned behind them, he whacks the metal in his hands over the player’s head and watches as they crumple onto the floor. Still with blood slowly seeping from their skull. 

Unbothered, In-ho bends, briefly pocketing the shard of glass, and picks up the spare metal beam and looks to the older marine standing across from him.

"Jung-bae," In-ho flings it at him. "Use this as well."

Jung-bae plucks it from the air, fingers closing around the metal as he nods his head with gratitude. He glances down at the corpse by his feet and–for a second–his face wobbles. Reaching out, In-ho jostles him and offers him a brief, comforting tilt of his head. 

Demons later, remember? 

The man nods, face hardening back into steely, determined resolve. 

A little while later, when he is engaged in the throes of a fight once again, In-ho hears a blood-curdling scream. When he spins to locate where it came from, a chill runs down his spine. 

On one of the beds, an X voter – clearly having been dragged from their hiding place–was struggling against a much bigger O voter. 

Instantly, In-ho’s mind begins to race with the endless implications and possibilities. 

Gi-hun was in danger. They know where they’re hiding. 

Now that they’d unearthed one, they would inevitably scour for the rest. 

“Shit.” He hisses, wrenching the shard in his hand from the person before him, “Jung-bae. With me. Now.”

They both dash forward. Ready to defend the rest of the players hiding under beds when they’re met with a mob of O players circling around them like sharks. 

“Just where do you two bastards think you’re going, huh?” One of them, a sweaty, putrid-looking man spits.

In-ho and Jung-bae glance at each other from the corner of their eyes. The older marine tilts his head. 

How do you want to do this? He asks, silently. 

In-ho glances to the pole in one hand to the shard in his other before he looks back up, flattening his lips into thin line.

Together. 

So they fight. Back to back. Fending off the players with fierce determination. Fighting for their lives. Their future. Their friends and family. And, to In-ho’s utmost surprise, they fought well together; Moving like a well-oiled machine, a spontaneously coordinated dance. They drew on each other's strengths, covering each other’s weaknesses. 

In-ho was almost proud of the man fighting beside him. In the last iteration, he hadn’t even considered how valuable Jung-bae was as a team member. He’d viewed him as just a pawn in his tantalising game of chess with Gi-hun. 

Huh. Perhaps I underestimated you, my friend. 

They fought so well together that, eventually, the stream of players began to steadily deplete. 

“They’re retreating.” Jung-bae cries out with a breathy burst of delirious victory. 

It’s true, they were. Clearly observing what little chance they stood against the two of them, players were beginning to hesitate. Switching course to another, more helpless victim to target.  

It was almost euphoric to witness. 

They were winning. 

Naturally, of course, that was when disaster struck.

"Dae-ho?" That was Yong-sik. He sounded terrified.  "Dae-ho!? Where are you!?" 

In-ho snaps his head to him. Yong-sik is alone, now struggling with a group all eagerly trying to reach the people hiding under the bunks, searching around for his friend desperately. 

In-ho didn’t know where Dae-ho had gone or if he was even still alive. But what he was certain of was the glaring hole he’d left in his absence was a colossal threat. One which endangered the entirety of his plan. 

Gi-hun could be under there, his mind whispers. In-ho’s snapping his fingers, beckoning Jung-bae’s attention before he can even think. 

"Jung-bae. Go help him."

"Are you crazy!?” the Marine exclaims, gesticulating to the remaining three players. "What about you? What are you going to do against them?"In-ho just shakes his head dismissively. 

"I’ll be fine.” he says before launching forward to attack the men  surrounding them, giving Jung-bae a path through. “Now go."

Jung-bae stares at him for a moment, a mixture of frustration and anxiety on his face, before he reluctantly breaks into a sprint, leaving him alone.

“That was a mistake.” One of the men laughs as he dodges In-ho’s blow. “What are you going to do now that it’s three against one?” 

Not rising to the bait, In-ho doesn’t respond. Instead, he feigns a jab to the man’s face, swerving at the last second to strike his gut. The player, who had fallen for his ploy, folds at the waist now utterly defenceless. In-ho brings the beam in his hand down onto the back of his head, splitting his skull open to spill his brains out on the concrete below. 

Next to him, the two other men gape at him in shock. 

Huh, In-ho thinks, amused. That must’ve been their leader. 

However, recovering as quickly as they can, one of the men begins to advance. Ready to take his revenge. But In-ho’s too fast, slashing their throat in the blink of an eye; Before they can even move. The man falls to his knees, clutching his neck as scarlet red blood bursts through the gaps of his fingers, gurgling as he goes. 

He collapses by In-ho’s feet and he stabs downward without a thought. The gurgling ceases. 

The final man, rendered stationary by the deaths of his peers, stares at In-ho momentarily with a vacant. Yet ever so suddenly, like a cloud darkening in a storm, his expression twists and he shoots his fork forward. In-ho drops his metal beam as he dodges the stab, launching upward to tackle the man by his waist.

They collapse to the concrete below them in a vicious, ugly brawl. Dropping his forl on impact, the player begins to claw his In-ho with his bare hands; his nails dragging on his skin, tearing it. In-ho just manages to slit the player’s cheek before they headbutt him, knocking the glass shard from his grip.

“Fuck you.” The man spits from under him. His saliva lands on In-ho’s cheek. “You cunt, you’ll pay for what you’ve done.”

“Shut up.” In-ho growls back, aggravated, irritation boiling to the surface.

In-ho doesn’t remember how he manages it but in a flash, he is sitting behind the man with his arm wrapped tightly around his neck. With unrelenting pressure, In-ho chokes the man, crushing his throat. The O voter flails erratically in a desperate bid to free himself yet In-ho still doesn’t budge. Not even when the man taps on his arm. 

A final plea for mercy. 

In-ho doesn’t grant him it. Instead, he tugs the man’s head by his hair and snaps his neck. Instantly, the O voter goes limp. 

He’d done it. He’d killed them all. Now, it was time to refocus on his main priority. 

Gi-hun. 

In-ho shoves the corpse off himself and is shuffling back when a low, dark murmur of  "Found you." sounds from behind him. 

It’s the only warning he receives before a glass bottle smashes against his head, causing him to fall flat on his face to the ground. His vision goes white with greying edges. In-ho tries– with all his might– to push himself up but something slams into his back, pinning him down.

In-ho’s hair strains at its follicules as fingers yank his head up, pulling until his neck strains and spasms. Whoever is above him leans down to whisper in his ear; Their breath is hot. 

“I told you I would, remember?” Then, they shove his face down, pummelling it into the ground repeatedly until In-ho’s nose splinters, iron pouring from his nostrils.  

Who? Who had told him that? 

In-ho combs through his memory of the last three days for a clue to who his assailant was. He’s stumped. 

Suddenly, the weight on his back lifts, the person roughly twists him so he’s facing the ceiling instead.  When his vision clears and In-ho sees.

Player 203.

“I’m watching you” 

He had crept up on In-ho when he was distracted. 

“Hello.” Player 203 smiles devilishly before punching In-ho in the face. 

His head reels back and collides with the floor. The man above is back on him in a flash, wringing his neck. However, unlike last time, his hold is brutally suffocating. 

“Is my grip still weak?” The O voter asks, smirking as In-ho just wheezes. 

A floaty haze is rapidly descending on him, hijacking his limbs and distorting his hearing. 

He was dying. 

With the remaining reserves of his strength, In-ho draws his knee up into the man’s groin. Player 203 grunts and instinctually releases his hold on him. Without wasting a second, In-ho clambers to his elbows, kicking the man away, but Player 203 catches his foot. 

“Ssibal gaesaekkiya–” he growls, lifting his hand to brandish a fork; its metal catches the light, appearing more obsidian than silver, before he stabs downward.

Twisting just in time, In-ho narrowly avoids the fork plunging into his heart. Instead, it connects with his side, sinking into the soft cushioning of his stomach. In-ho releases a ragged cry of pain; he feels the warmth coating his side in an instant. Above him, forcing the prongs of the fork deeper into the sinew of his abdomen, Player 203 cackles.  

“Got you.” 

The muscles in In-ho’s cheek twitches. He moves his free hand over. His fingers strain to reach the stone on his wrist. But he can’t. Player 203 notices this–brows twitching confused– before adjusts his position, pinning In-ho’s left arm down with his knee. The man then leans down until he is a breath away from his face. 

“Nothing can save you now. No one can.” He puts his hand over In-ho’s mouth. “You will die. Alone and forgotten. But don’t worry, he will be joining you there shortly.” 

Gi-hun. He was talking about Gi-hun. 

In-ho’s vision tunnels. His eyes narrow and alight with a blaze that promised to tear the man apart limb by limb. 

Is this what Gi-hun had meant? About the rage. It was a blazing inferno, utterly consuming.

Without warning, In-ho snaps his jaw open and bites the man’s hand. Player 203 yelps, attempting to wrench his hand free. But In-ho sinks his teeth deeper and deeper, anchoring himself there until the taste of copper floods his mouth. Only when the O voter shifts–his hold on In-ho slipping– does he release him to take the opening.

He launches up, ignoring the painful twinge in his side, to grab Player 203’s ear between his fingers and tugs. The appendage rips clean off. A spurting, bloody mess follows. Player 203 roars, stumbling away with a hand shooting to where his lobe had been moments ago. He snaps his gaze to In-ho holding the remains of his ear.  

“You bastard–” He screams as blood drips down the side of his neck before he launches himself at him. In-ho braces for the impact when the O voter is suddenly a blur knocks him off his feet. 

It’s Player 333. Myung-gi. 

And Myung-gi is wrestling Player 203 to the floor; they fall together in a mess of tangled, struggling limbs. In-ho scrambles back until he's shrouded in the shadows of the bunks. He glances down at the fork protruding from his side, tears it out with a pained grunt.

Before him, the two men don’t hold back. Myung-gi kicks, bearing down on Player 203 with all his strength. Though, after a while, it’s evident that the man has lost his advantage. Player 203 attacks him in a brief opening, pinning him in a position similar to the one he’d held In-ho in with his hands wrapped around his throat. 

No matter how much he thrashes, Myung-gi is unable to free himself from the hold. His eyes roam around wildly for a lifeline, catching In-ho’s from the dark. 

Help me, Myung-gi seems to silently scream at him. Please.

In-ho stares before he looks at his fork with considerable deliberation. Should he step in or not? 

He almost does, but hesitates, stopping himself from moving at the last moment. 

Myung-gi would defend him now, but when In-ho was no longer of any use to him? He would happily backstab him. And anyone who was on his side, well, they would just be collateral. 

At least with Player 203, In-ho knew where they stood. The man wore his hatred for him on his sleeve. No alter motives. Just plain hate and greed. Player 203 was just another face amongst the sea of bitter, heartless crowds. A mere nuisance. One that would inevitably succumb to his own greed with or without In-ho’s interference. 

Myung-gi, on the other hand, was slippery and slimy. Myung-gi wore a mask of fabricated altruism. But In-ho knew what lied underneath. There was war taking place under his skin. In-ho had observed it the first time. 

What will emerge victorious, Player 333? Your desire for money or your love for Jun-hee and your child. 

None of it had mattered in the end. Myung-gi had lost both. 

In-ho was doing him a favour, truly, he was allowing the man to die a noble death. Be a hero who sacrificed himself. 

By now, Myung-gi’s face is a violent shade of violet. He’s barely clinging on; a vein popping from his forehead as his lips quiver around one final plea. 

Help me. 

In-ho shakes his head.

You’re not worth the risk.

A flicker of betrayal contorts his face before he stills, expression eternally agape, eyes doll-like and glazed with death. It’s awfully anti-climatic. No dramatic shift. No sudden, impending doom. 

By doing nothing, Myung-gi had become a footnote in the story. Maybe not even that. 

In-ho eyes the man’s corpse with a weak waver of something in his heart. He purposefully chooses not to examine it. 

It had to go this way. He was a threat. 

It didn’t matter that In-ho had planned to return to his quarters, dragging Gii-hun with him. Myung-gi had to go. He just hadn’t realised how every fibre of his being was begging for it to happen. 

Close to his ear. A voice sounds. It’s only a mutter yet, to In-ho, it’s the loudest thing in the room. The tendrils of the whisper entwine around each other in a lovers embrace that makes him feel sick. 

How was he any different from who you used to be? The voice isn’t his. It’s the figure’s. He was playing the game. Just like you did. 

The tone is not mocking. Worse, it’s understanding. Like the Figure knows. In-ho slams his hands over his ears; Eyes screwed shut as he murmurs a desperate mantra over and over again.  

“Shut up. Shut up. Shut. u–”

The baby cries out again. A violent wail which pierces through the air. This time, however, the noise sounds directly to his right. On instinct, In-ho snaps his head to it, meeting the horrified stares of Jun-hee and Gi-hun underneath the bunk. 

In-ho blinks at them. All at once, relief floods him. 

Still safe. 

In-ho allows his eyes to roam over the pair. 

Gi-hun is unscathed. Not one cut, bruise in sight. Though, his brows are furrowed and his mouth is twisted into a surly pout. When In-ho follows his gaze, he finds the man is staring at the side where he’d been hurt. 

Next to him, Jun-hee is visibly devastated; Her eyes are impossibly wide; expression contorted with palpable grief which cascades over her every feature. Tears stream down her face silently. All at once, In-ho is hit with the true weight of his decision. In the heat of the moment, he had failed to consider how Jun-hee would react; how his choice would impact her. 

In-ho opens his mouth. To do what exactly, he’ll never know because in the next second, the room comes to life. The fluorescent overhead flickering and staying on. 

In the next second, gunfire rips through the room, jarring the players from their tussle. 

The fight was over. 

It was time for Gi-hun’s plan.

———————————

When the final bullet had launched from his rifile–embedding itself in the skull of the remaining guard–In-ho let himself relax. Across from him, Gi-hun harshly exhales a burst of air, surveying the room one last time before turning to where they group had begun to gather. With bitter realisation, In-ho notices that it’s around Myung-gi.  

“Shit.” Gi-hun mutters, storming off to join them. 

In-ho follows, the sharp pain in his side slows him down, causing him to fall behind. When he finally reaches them, they’re gathered around Jun-hee who is kneeling by the man’s head. Next to her, Geum-ja and Hyun-ju hover over her, worried and insistent that she shouldn’t be on her feet.

"I told him to hide." Jun-hee says, expression blank. The drying tear tracks on her face are the only remaining evidence of her sorrow. 

"Jun-hee…” Geum-ja says softly. She places a gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder, rubbing up and down soothingly. “Who is he?"

Jun-hee doesn’t reply. In fact, it doesn’t seem as though she is listening at all; Her gaze is glued to the blooming bruises ripening on Myung-gi’s throat. 

"Why doesn’t he ever listen to me?" She whispers to no one in particular. A final lament to the man she had loved once upon a time. 

The group shares a confused glance. But In-ho catches the moment it dawns on Hyun-ju. Her mouth falls open. She rapidly looks at Jun-hee, the baby cradled in her arms and Myung-gi. 

She knows. She’s figured it out.

"The father." Hyun-ju blurts. “He was the father.” 

After a moment, her lip wobbling as she fights for composure, Jun-hee slowly nods. 

Horror sweeps the gathering, all collectively dumbfounded. All except In-ho who already knew. The pain in his abdomen is crashing into him all at once, the lasting dredges of his adrenaline fading away. He groans, falling against the nearest bed frame. His teeth creak with the force of his clenching. Sweat is pouring down his face. In-ho’s hand is coated ruby, clutching his side with a trembling fist.

"Young-il–" 

Gi-hun is next to him in a flash, grabbing his shoulder to steady him.  

“Fuck.” Jung-bae swears. “That’s a lot of blood."

“I’m fine.” In-ho attempts to reassure. “It’s worse than it looks.”

Behind them, there are footsteps speedily approaching them. Whoever they belong to, they're charging straight for them. 

"Yo! Nam-su, look—" Someone shouts. It’s the eccentric rapper, Thanos. He’s cackling as he points at the group. "Seems like the Amazing Mg-Coin finally bit the dust." 

“How many times do I have to tell you? It’s Nam-gy– Holy shit." 

Both men stop and gape at each other for a second before joint, toothy grins light up their faces. 

“Dude.” They exclaim, clutching onto each other's shoulders as they jump for joy. 

Like a pair of hyenas, the two men jeer in unabashed celebration. Completely oblivious to the somber atmosphere not even 4 metres away from them. Unaware of the various expressions of disgust and anger directed towards them.  

On the floor, Jun-hee’s breathing grows more shallow. Her hands are taut, clutching the baby in her hands like the infant is a lifeline. 

"This is all my fault.’ She wheezes in between choked gasps. “This wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for me.” 

"No.” Geum-ja reassures firmly. The woman turns Jun-hee by her shoulders, forcing her to meet her gaze. “You can’t blame yourself. None of this is your fault.” 

Jun-hee just shakes her head, delirium rising.

“No.” She breathes out. “They only fought to protect me. I’m the reason they got hurt.”

“Jun-hee-yah…” Hyun-ju whispers. 

The young woman breaks, frame crumbling inwards from the colossal weight of her grief. Geum-ja immediately reacts, wrapping her hands around Jun-hee to hold her in a comforting embrace. She rests her chin on top of the girl's head, running her hands up and down Jun-hee’s arms to soothe her. The comfort only seems to make the younger woman cry harder. Ragged and broken gasps falling from her lips in a faster frequency.

“Let’s get you back to bed, okay?” Geum-ja murmurs quietly. “You still need to rest.” 

When Jun-hee reluctantly nods–tears still spilling down her cheeks– Geum-ja lifts her up and guides her away. Hyun-ju moves to follow them but the older woman stops her with an outstretched hand. 

“You’re needed here now, Hyun-ju.” She says, smiling weakly. She then pats the taller woman’s arm in reassurance. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her.” 

Hyun-ju sighs, grudgingly watching the two women leave. Her hands are balled into tight, shaking fists at her side. Closing her eyes, the woman shakily exhales, calming herself before she turns back to the group. 

"I knew it.” Jung-bae sighs, blinking harshly as he directs his attention to In-ho. "I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone.”

In-ho just shakes his head. 

"It’s not your fault.” He says.  “I told you to go.”

Across from him, Yong-sik shakes his head fervently. The jacket of his sleeve is slightly torn and his glasses are cracked. 

"No. It’s not your fault, Hyung-nim.” His expression falters, morphing into one that becomes considerably more betrayed. “Dae-ho ran off, you had no choice. I probably would’ve died if it wasn’t for you.” 

Beside him, Gi-hun stills.

"What."

A choked cough sounds from the surrounding bunks. Hiding amongst the metal, Dae-ho is standing, watching them with his mouth flapping open and closed swiftly. His hands are gripping a metal frame. Even from a distance In-ho can tell they’re clammy. 

"I- I’m sorry. I got scared." The man stutters. 

There’s a splatter of blood covering his face, mixed in with the copious amounts of cold sweat dripping from his lips and chin. 

A scoff, so vitriolic it almost makes In-ho jump, reverberates from their circle seconds after the man’s confession. Gi-hun strides towards the marine until he’s only a metre or so away.

He’s furious, In-ho realises. It’s subtle, contained only for now, but he sees how it leaks from the man’s figure. A ticking time bomb that is ready to implode.

"You abandoned the others?” Gi-hun asks, his voice is low, dangerous. Dae-ho doesn’t respond.  "You were supposed to protect each other.” 

The silence was unbearable, filled with tension so thick and impenetrable

Dae-ho winces under the unrelenting stares he’s being subjected to. His fingernails are a stark white colour where his hands clutch the frame.

“No… I didn’t mean–” the man starts to say after a beat but Gi-hun immediately cuts him off.

“It doesn’t matter what you meant to do.” Gi-hun snaps, raising his voice so suddenly that the others startle. He then jabs his index finger forward. 

“Young-il is wounded because of you. A child just lost its father because of you.”

Onlookers observe the interaction with uneasy expressions, shifting from foot to foot. Hyun-ju flits her gaze back and forth between the two men.  Her mouth is open like she wants to say something but she doesn’t know how or when to intervene. Beside her, Yong-sik squirms nervously as he bites his fingernails to the quick. And Jung-bae, he’s frowning at Gi-hun, having a hard time reconciling his image of the friend he once knew with that of the hardened man in front of him.

To everyone else, the outburst is unexpected, uncharacteristic. But to In-ho, it’s only unnerving.  The same dissonance. The same outcome born from a different path taken. Everything was still happening as it had before. 

You know what they say? History doesn't repeat itself, it rhymes. 

"You’re lucky no one else got hurt.” Gi-hun continues, oblivious to the collective scrutiny. “Hell, you should be thankful no one else died.”

“I’m sorry.” Dae-ho says, voice barely audible. His body is visibly shaking, begging for respite from the ruthless tirade. Gi-hun doesn’t give it to him. 

“What were you thinking!? We were counting on you." 

"Okay, that is enough." Jung-bae says, finally intervening. He steps between the two and holds his hands out. “Let’s calm down, alright? What’s done is done. We’re not helping anyone by pointing fingers."

It’s an obvious attempt to relieve the tension and, for the most part, it works. The group releases a collective sigh. Except Gi-hun, who stares at his friend incredulously. 

“You’re just going to let it go?” He asks, voice low.

Jung-bae crosses his arms over his chest, maintaining eye contact with Gi-hun as he nods firmly. There’s an undercurrent brewing in him now, In-ho notices. 

“Yes.” He replies, tersely. “As a matter of fact, I am.” 

Though he doesn’t say it, Jung-bae’s patience is evidently wearing thin. It manifests in his narrowed eyes, his rapidly rising chest. In-ho can’t think of any other time where he’s seen Jung-bae this serious.

“How can you–” 

What In-ho was quickly learning by observing the quarreling pair was their contrasting, fluctuating tempers. Gi-hun’s anger, matured and nurtured by his trauma, smolders under the surface, flaring up in the blink of an eye. Whereas Jung-bae’s anger burnt bright, faster. A dead giveaway of someone less experienced in managing  more violent and potent emotions.

The only question which remained was who would inevitably break first?

It doesn’t take long for the answer to reveal itself as Jung-bae explodes in the following moment. 

"For fuck sake, Gi-hun.” He spits.  “He’s just a kid. That’s why.” 

Gi-hun shrinks back immediately like he has been slapped, silenced and wounded. Just like that, the rage in the older marine is extinguished, and Jung-bae takes a deep breath, composing himself. 

“You weren’t out here. You didn’t see…” He says. Then, his voice clouds with barely suppressed guilt; His fists clenched at his sides. “It was a bloodbath. The things I did tonight to survive, they will haunt me for the rest of my life.” 

Jung-bae holds his friend’s gaze for a moment before he looks away, shaking his head. 

“I thought you, of all the people, would understand that.” 

Gi-hun bows his neck, shame written over his every feature. In-ho isn’t surprised when he feels a tingle of empathy blossoming in his chest. 

This was another unfortunate but inevitable outcome of the game. Its survivors, no matter how strong-willed, grew desensitised over time. Hypernormalisation. That’s how Oh Ilnam had defined it. 

By its nature, the game exposes its players to a flood of unrestrained violence, corrupting and conditioning their minds to accept it as just the way of the world. It happened to In-ho and now… It was happening to Gi-hun again. 

He returned without ever truly realising how warped his perception of reality had become. But, unlike In-ho, he’ll fight it. Just like last time.

“I do…” Gi-hun utters, weakly.  “I’m sorry. I– I don’t know what came over me.” 

There's a beat. No one says anything but the weight of what has passed suddenly becomes crushing.

"I killed someone.’ Dae-ho mutters in the quiet. “It happened so fast and it reminded me so much of…” He trails off with a 100 mile stare for a moment before he screws his eyes shut, shaking himself. 

“I had to get away… I’m a monster, aren’t I?” 

To In-ho’s left, Gi-hun turns his head away, looking as though he’s about to be violently ill. 

“No, Dae-ho." Hyun-ju says, her voice wobbles slightly. "You’re not a monster, okay? You did what you had to do in order to survive… We all did.” 

Her gaze then finds In-ho’s, transporting him back to the conversation only hours before. Hyun-ju wanted to protect them. But with the mounting despair and dissonance amongst the group, one thing becomes clear. 

She feels like she’s failed. 

“That’s right.” Jung-bae says. “We all did things we will regret but it’s over now, so we have to make it count.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, rolling the cartilage between his thumb and index finger. 

“We don't have a lot of time. They’re likely putting this place on high alert as we speak.” Jung-bae then turns back to Gi-hun, a flicker of regret passes over his face before it goes blank.. 

“If we’re doing this, we have to move.” He says, tone flat. 

Snapping out of whatever spiral he was in, Gi-hun sniffs and harshly wipes his eyes with his palms. 

“Okay…" He replies, voice raspy, edged with noticeable sorrow. He gestures to the room still reeling from desolation.  “Grab all the remaining guns you can find and rally those willing to join our cause." 

“Wait, what are you going to do?” Yong-sik asks. 

“Make sure Young-il isn’t about to bleed to death.” 

“But–” Jung-bae begins to protest but Gi-hun is already raising a pleading hand.

“Jung-bae. Please.”  

The man just throws his hands up in surrender, striding off to gather the rest of the guns. Hyun-ju, Gyeong-seek and even Dae-ho—though he gives In-ho and Gi-hun a wide berth as he passes— follow him. Hyun-ju spares one final glance over her shoulder as she leaves. In-ho isn’t able to discern the expression. Yong-sik hovers, floundering comically when he realises he’s been left alone. 

“I-uh- I better go check in with my mum.” He blurts, not waiting for a response and rushes off to find Geum-ja.

Finally alone, Gi-hun exhales a harsh burst of air. In-ho regards him, observing how his shoulder falls down from his ears.

“Are you alright?" He quietly asks despite the fact that the answer is obvious. 

At last, Gi-hun looks at him with a plastered, not quite smile on his face.

"Mmhmm." He hums. "Take off your jacket." 

Sensing it was in his better interest, In-ho obliges, shrugging off the item and placing it on a nearby bed. Now standing in his t-shirt, the injured area is blaringly apparent. Gi-hun’s gaze is locked onto the stain coating his side. His expression remains eerily blank but ln-ho is almost certain that he hears the grind of the man’s jaw. 

“Sit down.” Gi-hun says eventually. 

"You know," In-ho begins, internally wincing when he sees Gi-hun’s eye twitch, " You really don’t have to do this. Like Jung-bae said, we don’t have tim–"

"Sit." Gi-Hun commands through gritted teeth. 

In-ho sits on the bed. 

With a tremulous sigh, Gi-hun softens, forcing himself to relax again. He crouches, settling in between In-ho’s legs, gently lifting the blood-soaked hem of his shirt to reveal an angry, inflamed wound. Jagged and steadily oozing, tainting his otherwise unmarred skin. It wasn't fatal but it didn’t look great. 

Gi-hun’s forehead creases as he frowns. The man then tuts and straightens back up

"Lay back." he says, carefully pushing In-ho back by his shoulder.

In-ho allows himself to be guided down. Quietly curious to what Gi-hun planned to do next. The man watches him for a moment before he leans over him to grab the blanket scrunched at the foot of the bed. Ripping it half, he inspects the cloth before nodding satisfied. Then – without warning– Gi-hun straddles him, bracketing In-ho’s thighs with his knees. In-ho barely suppresses a shout as he feels the solid weight of the man settle in his lap. 

Oblivious, Gi-hun refocuses on his task, biting his lip in consideration.  

Fuck, In-ho swears internally. That’s a sight that he won’t forget. 

Bewildered, he looks up at Gi-hun and swallows thickly, pupil blown and mortifyingly, he can feel blood rapidly rushing south. Gi-hun, who is midway through lifting his shirt back up, seems to sense his stare and freezes, suddenly realising their predicament. 

"I–” he blurts abruptly, “I want to try to clean it."

In-ho’s throat clicks as he nods slowly.

"…Okay." 

After a moment of suffocating awkwardness, Gi-hun clears his throat. He swipes gently at the wound causing In-ho to gasp. His back arching off the bed as white hot pain sparks along his side. On instinct, he grips Gi-hun’s hips, holding onto the man as he rides out the waves of agony.

"Fuck.”

In an instant, Gi-hun withdraws, wincing in sympathy as he goes. 

"I’m sorry." He says, tone apologetic. 

In-ho just shakes his head. 

“S’fine. Just wasn’t expecting it.” He says, hoping to reassure Gi-hun but the man’s hand doesn’t move. It hovers centremetres from In-ho’s abdomen. Using his thumb, In-ho dips his hand underneath Gi-hun’s t-shirt and traces smooth skin there until he feels goosebumps. “Go on, Gi-hun. I can handle it.” 

Gi-hun regards him for a moment before he flattens his lips and reluctantly continues, working silently. In-ho wants to question him but he bites his tongue. This was a quiet Gi-hun needed and he would talk to In-ho when he was ready. 

"I knew this would happen.” Gi-hun mutters after a while. In-ho raises a brow in response, signalling for the man to continue.“I thought I could convince you not to fight. Clearly, I’d underestimated how stubborn you would be."

In-ho chuckles weakly. 

"What can I say? You must've rubbed off on me." He jests, using humour to lighten the atmosphere. A habit he’d developed as Young-il. Or had Young-il had learnt it from In-ho. He couldn’t tell anymore. 

It doesn’t matter as Gi-hun doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even smile. Instead, his hand stops and his expression wavers, crestfallen and guilty. 

He’s blaming himself. 

“Gi-hun. It’s not your fault.” In-ho says, drawing Gi-hun’s woeful gaze to his. “I made my choice and I paid the price.”

Gi-hun shakes his head. 

“I should’ve done something." He says, tearfully, the tone causes In-ho to sigh. 

“You were never going to be able to save everyone, Gi-hun.”

“No…” The man acquiesces.  “But I could have stopped this.” He gestures down In-ho’s side. 

“Maybe, but it’s happened now. There’s no point in dwelling on things you cannot fix.”

The hypocrisy of his own words was, unfortunately, not lost on him. Considering the ‘what ifs’ was the only reason why In-ho had returned to this place. It was almost comical. Here Gi-hun was, blaming himself for events only In-ho could dream to control with a mere stone resting on his wrist. 

Gi-hun shrugs, resuming his work. Though not before he mutters,“I’m not stubborn by the way.” Petulantly, making In-ho gasp a laugh.

“Apologies.” In-ho replies, injecting as much sarcasm into his voice as he can. “You’ve been nothing but docile and care-free this entire time." 

Above him, Gi-hun huffs, a minute smile pulling at the corners of his lips. His crows feet crinkled subtly. However, as quickly as it had come, the expression falters. Instantly replaced by an ashamed wobble of a man disgusted at what he’d just done. That he’d shown even a modicum of amusement despite being surrounded by nothing but suffering and death. 

In-ho frowns. 

"No, Don’t—"he says. His hand travels from Gi-hun’s hips and cups his waist. "Don’t do that.” 

Gi-hun’s mouth falls open. His eyes trail up to where In-ho’s hand rests. The emotion on his visage is unreadable.  

"I’ve been meaning to ask." He says. 

In-ho tilts his head. 

"What is it?" 

"…Your wife."

Ah. His wife.

In-ho had forgotten he’d told Gi-hun the same white lie of his late wife. At the time, it had seemed logical; The fastest way In-ho could ingratiate himself with the man. Gi-hun had a tendency to grow attached to the helpless. However, as time had progressed and spiralled out of control, so had their relationship. 

He’ll understand, His conscious whispers. He deserves to know. 

Maybe it’s the blood loss. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s running out of time as Young-il. It doesn’t matter. The truth tumbles out of his mouth before he can even think about it. 

"She’s gone, Gi-hun." He murmurs quietly.  "She’s been dead for almost a decade."

Gi-hun gapes at him, reeling back from the shocking revelation. 

"What!?" He exclaims. His face twists with mounting confusion. "But you said that–" 

"That she was sick and I needed the money. I know." In-ho finishes. 

"Then why…?” 

Because I think there’s still a part of me that hasn’t accepted she’s actually gone. Because you are the only person to stir something in me since she left. Because I’m scared I’m going to fail you again like I failed her–

"I don’t know.” In-ho says instead. “Why does anyone lie about anything? Sometimes, the truth is just too painful to bear."

Gi-hun eyes him, his confusion morphing into something pained, sombre and empathetic. 

"You must have really loved her." He whispers using his free hand to cradle the base of In-ho’s throat. 

He nods, rapidly blinking to clear the tears forming in his vision. 

"I did. She was… everything. Apparently even time cannot heal some wounds." 

Above him, Gi-hun releases a punched sigh. The sound floods In-ho with relief. 

He understands. I knew he would. 

"My mum… She’s the reason I joined the game the first time. Well, rejoined. It’s a long story." He says, waving his hand dismissively.

"In short, I was a terrible son. A burden in every way you could imagine. By entering this game, I promised that by entering this game, I would make it up to her… In the end, it was too late. She’d died before I even made it home."

Of course, In-ho already knew this but the raw, abject vulnerability Gi-hun shared this secret floored him all the same. 

They were so similar. Two sides of the same coin. Both sent down the same path. Both were forced to endure the same horrors. Yet, they had made completely different decisions. Light and Darkness. They were a lunar eclipse; In-ho was the moon, reaching out for just a glimpse of the warmth of the sun. 

I will reach you this time. I promise. 

"I’m sorry." 

That’s all In-ho can say, all he needs to. The weight of their shared understanding transcended words. Gi-hun just smiles sadly in response.

"I’m sorry too."

A beat passes, a lingering stare, before Gi-hun bows his head and refocuses on In-ho’s injury. The quiet has returned. Only this time, it’s gentler and more settled. 

In-ho unabashedly watches him as he works. There was no amount of pain in the universe that could stop him from drinking in the vision above him. At one point, Gi-hun chews on his lip. It’s an innocent, unconscious habit that causes a surge of affection to ripple through him.

"You remind me of her..." He whispers quietly. 

Briefly, Gi-hun flits his gaze up to him, quirking a curious brow before he looks back down. 

"How?" The man asks. 

"You are kind, compassionate…stubborn" In-ho lists off, ignoring how Gi-hun rolls his eyes at the latter word. "… Beautiful."

Gi-hun halts, returning his focus back to In-ho’s face. He scoffs in disbelief. 

"Now, that’s blood loss talking." Gi-hun then curves his head, shying away from In-ho’s glare. I’m not beautiful." He mumbles. 

In-ho doesn’t let the man evade him. He reaches up with his thumb and index finger and pulls Gi-hun’s chin up. 

"You are." He insists. "To me, you are.” 

Gi-hun stares at him, breathless. A reddish hue dusts his cheeks at the tips of his ears. In-ho smirks. He’s really starting to adore how the flush brightens Gi-hun’s features. He looks healthier. Alive. 

“Uh—" Gi-hun stutters nervously. He abruptly clears his throat, shaking himself from the stupor. Yet In-ho notes, with much glee, how the blush remains. 

"You’re going to need stitches. This wound… It’s deep." 

Gi-hun hesitates, mouth opening and closing as he considers what to say next. In-ho already  knows. Whatever Gi-hun says, he isn’t going to like it. 

“Maybe…" The man starts, strained. "Maybe you should stay behi–"

“No.”

Gi-hun scowls. 

“You cannot be serious.” 

“I am. I’m coming with you.” 

Gi-hun lolls his head back, directing his gaze skyward. A silent prayer for strength. 

"Young-il." His voice is edged with barely restrained irritation. He speaks to In-ho as though he’s trying to communicate with a toddler. "The last person I saw wounded like you died here." 

It wasn’t hard for In-ho to discern who Gi-hun was talking about. 

Player 067. Kang Sae-byeok. 

In-ho remembered her. He hadn’t been there for her death– he’d been dealing with Jun-ho at the time– but the fallout was vivid in his mind. Gi-hun had developed a particular attachment to Sae-byeok. A paternal instinct to protect. One founded in the memory of his own daughter, Ga-yeong. Out of all the deaths Gi-hun had witnessed during the time in his first games, In-ho thinks Sae-byeok’s had stuck with the man the most.

"I can’t– I can’t go through that again. It will break me.” Gi-hun shudders. There’s a visible bob in his throat as he forcibly swallows back his grief. “I don’t want you to die, Young-il.”

"But you’re happy to make me wait here while you risk your life out there?” In-ho counters, shifting onto his elbows. Gi-hun glares at him. 

“That’s not fair. I’m not the one bleeding.”

In-ho shakes his head. His participation in the upcoming uprising was vital. Without it, the fate of Gi-hun would be out of his control. In addition, to his utter chagrin, In-ho needed to return to his quarters. He couldn’t afford to be stuck here any longer. In-ho’s prepared to plead with Gi-hun if he has to. 

“I have to come with you.”  

“Young-il…”

“Please.” 

Sensing it was a losing battle, Gi-hun sighs. Haggard and defeated. He points at In-ho with a stern finger.

“You owe me a drink when we get out of here. Multiple."

In-ho just chuckles.

"Trust me. If we get out of here tonight, I’m buying you all the soju you want and more."

"I’ll hold you to that." Gi-hun says through a peal of wet, breathy laughter. 

After that, the sombre mood returns, hanging over both of them like a thick cloud. The reality of what they were about to face was impossible to ignore. Gi-hun finishes cleaning his wound to the best of his ability. He leans back on the heels of his feet and regards his work. In-ho can tell he isn’t satisfied by the wrinkle that forms on his nose but the man nods anyway.

"Sit up,” He says, tapping In-ho on the arm. He holds up the spare piece of blanket. “I need to wrap this around your back." 

Gi-hun helps In-ho sit up, leaning over him until their chests touch and wraps a makeshift bandage around his waist. The brief proximity comforts In-ho who rests his face in the crook of the man’s neck, his eyes half-lidded and relaxed. Absent-mindedly, he raises his hand to clasp around Gi-hun’s back. His fingers clutch the fabric of the man’s t-shirt. 

From now on, In-ho knew he would have to savour these moments. Time was running out. By the end of this fight, Young-il would be dead. In-ho would return to his role as the Frontman and the second half his plan would come into action. 

“Gi-hun-ssi” Hyun-ju calls from the front of the room just as the man finishes tying the bandage. “We need you.” 

“Okay.” Gi-hun replies, pulling back. He eyes In-ho with evident uncertainty. 

“You better go see what they want.” In-ho says, cocking his head to the group gathered at the front. "Go. I’ll be right behind you.” 

Reluctantly, Gi-hun nods. He jogs over to where Hyun-ju and the others are waiting for him and is immediately pulled into conversation. In-ho allows himself a brief moment of respite before he stands, using the frame of the bed to help. 

As he’s walking, his foot collides with a guard’s body strewn across the floor. In-ho almost steps over it but the symbol on the masked man captures his attention. 

It was a Square. He had been killed this time. 

Immediately, In-ho’s eyes shoot to the remaining guard and, sure enough, they are a triangle. 

Shit. That mask isn’t cleared to enter the management area.

Biting back a groan as his injury twinges, In-ho bends and plucks the mask from the body below. A blank, death kissed face is revealed, staring back at him with lingering fear. "Young-il-ssi" Someone from the team at the front calls out. "We’re about to leave."

In-ho straightens and discreetly stuffs the item into his pocket. 

"Coming." 

He would need it later.

—————————

Climbing up the stairs, In-ho can’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. 

He’s amongst the same team of players from the original —sans Dae-ho who had been forced to stay behind by a stern Jung-bae—scanning their surroundings, paranoid and twitchy, ready for bullets to rain down upon them. His side throbs and twinges with every movement he makes. The pain is a blazing fire that burns the sinews of his abdomen, leaving him nauseous and shivering.

In front of him, Gi-hun shepherds the triangle guard forward with an iron grip. The hostage in his hold isn’t outwardly reacting to the pistol pointed at his temple. If anything, the man seems bored as if the player’s uprising is a tiresome nuisance and not an extreme threat to the games security. 

Another addition to the growing list of deviations that made In-ho’s skin prickle with unease. Every split from the original timeline promised spontaneous and unpredictable threats. One he wasn’t sure he could overcome in his current state. 

In-ho yearned for his whiskey; Tongue salivating at the mere thought of the precious, alcoholic elixir. He craved the burn on his desiccated throat.  He craved the reprieve, however brief, from the onslaught of chaos he’d faced in the past few days. 

"All players, it is bedtime now." The speaker says. It’s the final warning to the revolting players. One last act of mercy. "Please return to your quarters immediately. Otherwise you will be eliminated from the game. Let me repeat—"

Behind him, Jung-bae shudders. 

"I think I’ll be hearing this voice in my dreams, don’t you?" He asks no one in particular under his breath. 

In-ho doesn’t entertain the thought, too focused on monitoring the perimeter of the room. 

Any moment now–he thinks, resting his finger on the trigger of his gun– the shooting will begin. 

In-ho doesn’t entertain the thought. 

Any moment now... He thinks, resting his finger on the trigger of his gun 

"—return to your quarters immed—" Reaching the end of his tether, Gi-hun shoots the speaker. On cue, a flash of pink materialises from the balcony above them.

"Down!" Gi-hun yells.

Instantly, the line of players ducks behind the stair wall, sheltering from the cacophony of bullets. The smell of gunpowder and plastering floods the air nostrils. 

“Cover me!” Hyun-ju bellows from the back of the line

The woman rushes up the stairs, positioning herself on the landing at the top of the stairs. Firing at the guards with a vengeance with startling precision that has In-ho questioning how the woman hadn’t been recruited as a guard. 

In-ho manages to strike down three himself before the pain overwhelms him and he has to rest against the wall, lungs seizing for air. He would need to conserve his energy if had any hope of getting to his quarters. 

When the bullets slow and eventually cease with corpses cladded in pink either slumped or draped over the balcony wall, the group hesitantly rises and surveys the room. The evidence of the brief altercation is written on every wall, smouldering gaping holes decorating the once peach paint.

"Is everyone okay?" Gi-hun asks, hoarsely. The responsibility he feels for the team leaks from his every limb. 

He receives quiet, shaken hums in response. 

"Then, let’s go." He says, ruthlessly tugging the guard up and resuming their journey. 

They slink through the corridor, reaching the door that leads to the management area, all stop as Gi-hun pulls the guard to a halt. 

“How much further?” He growls, twisting the guard when he remains silent. “Is this the right way?” 

The triangle guard squints, cheek twitching in mild irritation at the pistol aimed at his face, and points to the door in front of them. 

“The entrance to the management area is around that corner.” He says, turning back to Gi-hun, expression warping into one of projected helplessness, and he gestures down to his pocket where it bulges from carrying his mask. “But I can’t get through without my mask.”

No, you don’t. It won’t work. It’s a trap. 

Gi-hun’s gaze flickers down and he tersely nods; gun lowering ever so slightly. 

In-ho’s powerless to stop the disaster. There’s nothing he can say that won’t draw suspicions. He can only watch as the guard snarls and snatches the pistol from Gi-hun's hand, holding him in a chokehold.

The group gasps in collective horror, guns rising on instinct, but Gi-hun is raising his hand to stop them in the next second. It’s obvious that he’s scared, chest rising in a frequency that betrays that he’s close to hyperventilating, but an undercurrent of acceptance accompanies it. Gi-hun believes this fight can go on without him. 

Behind him, In-ho feels Jung-bae move to point and shoot the guard anyway, ignoring the command. In-ho grabs the muzzle and frantically shakes his head. They couldn’t afford to risk Gi-hun’s life like that.

“Ah,” The guard says, noticing the attempt, moving Gi-hun to shelter himself more. “I don’t think so. I wouldn’t do that if I were you, not if you want your precious hero’s brains to remain in his head.” 

He runs his gaze over all of them, landing on In-ho, pinning him down with a venomous glare. In-ho had a sneaky feeling whatever he said next was a message meant only for him. 

"Those at the top aren’t too pleased with how things have been handled down here.” He snickers, distracted and oblivious to how Gi-hun is reaching for the machine gun resting on his front. "The thing about leaders…They can be so easily replaced." The guard finishes, baring his teeth, finger moving to the trigger. 

A gunshot echoes a second later, but it’s not from the pistol. It’s from Gi-hun. 

"Fuck–" The guard barks, hands flying to his stomach as blood seeps from his wound. Gi-hun thrusts his elbow back to shove the man off and dives toward In-ho as a bullet flies through the air and embeds into the guard’s skull, silencing him.

“Get down!” In-ho roars, yanking Gi-hun with him to cover them both from the second wave of bullets.

Once again, the team is thrown into the rage of battle. All but one unlucky player, body loaded full of metallic pellets, manage to duck just in time. On the wall next to him, Gi-hun stares at the guard he’d inadvertently killed, gaze clouded and troubled. 

“Are you alright?” In-ho yells at him over the chaos of the room. Gi-hun’s eyes snap to him, dazed, before he shakily nods. 

Shaking himself, Gi-hun turns and begins to fire at the guards across from him. In-ho scrutinises him for a moment before he does the same, leaning against the wall for support. It’s a vicious, brutal, back and forth fight from there. The players hold their ground just as well as they had the previous time, ducking from the assault and shooting when they can. However, what is immediately apparent is how neither side appears to be winning or losing. They were simply wasting ammunition. 

“I’ll go look for the management area.” Gi-hun says to In-ho after firing a round. He’d noticed the problem just as In-ho had. 

“Will you be able to find it?” He asks, following the same script he had last time. Should I come?” 

In-ho is fully expecting Gi-hun to choose Jung-bae again. It was logical. The man was his friend, he was the person he could trust and rely on the most. Yet, determined to constantly surprise him, Gi-hun’s gaze flickers down to his side and he makes a different choice. 

“Okay.” He says, nodding, waving to get the Marine’s attention

Oh. 

In-ho blinks. He hadn’t expected the immediate agreement. He smothers his delight, though a flutter of warmth still spreads through his chest. 

You chose me. 

“Jung-bae. We’re going to look for the management area.  I need you to buy us some time.” 

The man glances at both of them, assessing, and nods. 

“Be careful.” 

Without wasting a second, Gi-hun scrambles towards the door ahead, scooping the mask from the floor. In-ho follows closely behind, ignoring how the sudden rush of movement makes him dizzy. They storm the corridor together. Gi-hun frantically throws open every door that lines the hall, pointing his gun into each of the deadended rooms like he’s expecting a pink soldier to pop out of any one of them.

In-ho copies him on the opposite side but he’s well aware nothing, no danger or path ahead, lies behind them. He knows these corridors like the back of his own hand. He could walk them blindfolded. The door Gi-hun was searching so desperately for was at the end of the corridor. 

In-ho taps him on the arm, pointing to the scanner above the door.

“This must be what he needed the mask for.” He says, expertly acting as Young-il, a man making a clever deduction, instead of In-ho, the leader of the entire organisation. 

Gi-hun makes a noise of gratitude and holds the triangle mask up to the camera. 

“Authoriasation denied.” The automated voice announces, just as In-ho had expected it to. 

Gi-hun swears under his breath, throwing the mask onto the floor, and scans the area for anything they could use to open the door instead. 

“I need to go back.” He mutters, surly, moving to rush back the way they had come, but In-ho stops him. 

“Wait,” he pulls the square mask from where he had stuffed it in his pocket. “Try this.” 

Gi-hun’s fingers brush his as they take the item. 

“Identify confirmed.” The voice rings out this time, the door gliding open to reveal the management area. 

In-ho hopes Gi-hun doesn’t question why he’d chosen to pick up the square mask, but, thankfully, he doesn’t question it. For once, choosing not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Instead, he nods tersely and beckons him through the doorway and into the indigo hallway. In-ho kicks the discarded triangle mask to prevent the door from completely closing as he enters the area.

“Why did you bring me instead of Jung-bae?” In-ho can’t help but ask as they creep down the hallway. 

Gi-hun doesn’t turn to him, only angles his head so his profile is visible in the minimal light. 

“The last time I left you alone you got hurt.” He replies tonelessly, rounding a corner. 

Apparating from a pathway on the stairs above, a guard shoots, making them both crash against the nearest wall. 

“Young-il." Gi-hun calls out. He lifts the square mask hanging from his arm and In-ho nods, immediately understanding what the man was planning. 

Slowly and steadily, Gi-hun inches the mask out, baiting the guard’s fire. When the masked man emerges, inevitably falling for the ploy, In-ho doesn’t falter. He shoots, his bullet striking its target. Gi-hun pats him on the shoulder as he passes and, this time, In-ho doesn’t bother to hide his elation. 

As they navigate their way further through the amethyst maze, the spasm in In-ho’s muscles becomes impossible to ignore, weighed down by unshakeable fogginess and fatigue. He’s starting to lag behind, fumbling with reloading the ammunition into his gun, even as his limbs refuse to obey the commands that his brain sent; Buckets of icy sweat race down his face and neck. At this point, he is running purely on the fumes of his adrenaline. Every breath he takes is a rattle. His vision blurs, his hearing fading into indistinguishable static, and he crumples against the nearest wall blinded by the piercing pain in his side.

When he forcibly blinks, Gi-hun is in front of him, arms braced around on his midriff, palms resting on his elbows. 

"Let me see." He says, voice urgent, gesturing to his side. 

In-ho doesn’t protest. He unzips his jacket with clumsy fingers, letting Gi-hun lift up his shirt to inspect the makeshift bandage. Whatever he sees has the colour rapidly draining from his skin ashen. Like cracks in glass, Gi-hun’s ashen face cracks and shatters into tiny pieces. 

That couldn’t be good…

In-ho touches his fingertips to his side and, sure enough, they come away wet and ruby. He was running out of time. He needed to get back to his office and fast, or In-ho wouldn’t last much longer with no proper medical attention. 

"Gi-hun!” Jung-bae’s voice sounds as the man rounds the corner. “Have you found the control room?” 

Gi-hun shakes his head. 

“I think it’s up those stairs but we can’t go that way.” 

In-ho frowns, scanning his surroundings. He’d had no idea how much time had passed or how he’d even reached the final set of stairs leading to the control room. 

Shit. Things must be much worse than he initially thought.

"We’re all low on ammo."Player 047 peeps up from behind Jung-bae, holding up his weapon. "We need to make a move and we have to do it now."

In-ho raises his hand to draw their attention. This was his cue. 

"The layout here. It’s a maze." He says, waving to the space around. "That means there has to be multiple pathways. If there is one behind those guards, we can attack them from the back."

The men nod. It’s the same clever idea. One that would’ve probably worked if In-ho hadn’t sabotaged it.

"Yeah, we can do that." Jung-bae agrees, grateful for In-ho’s ‘quick’ thinking. 

"I’ll go." In-ho pants.

Gi-hun shoots him an incredulous look. 

"No. Absolutely not.” 

“Gi-hun,” In-ho groans, impatiently. “We don’t have time to argue. You’re needed here with Jung-bae. Our success is entirely dependent on your survival.” 

The other man shakes his head, forever stubborn. 

“I’m not letting you potentially walk yourself to your death for me, Young-il. I won’t allow it.” 

In-ho just smiles sadly.

“I thought we didn’t get to choose who we sacrificed.” He says, echoing the man’s words from the night before. 

Gi-hun opens his mouth to protest but is interrupted before he can speak. 

"Let him go, Gi-hun-ah.” Jung-bae murmurs, face haggard. He knows. This is the only way. "We are running out of time." 

Flattening his lips into a thin, pale line, Gi-hun shuts his eyes and bows his head, removing his arms from In-ho’s midriff, a weak acquiescence. One In-ho takes regardless, pushing from the wall. 

“You two,” In-ho points to Player 047 and Player 015, “With me.” 

The two men nod, following In-ho as he drags himself to the pathway. 

"Wait.”Gi-hun says, grabbing him by his bicep, and thrusts spare ammunition at him “Take this." 

In-ho stares at the innocuous item. It’s the same magazine. The same blind, unwavering trust. The same pure, abject care for his wellbeing. But everything preceding this moment is different. 

He’s attached now, more than he had ever been, and it’s clear, even if he can’t truly understand why, Gi-hun is too. Saying goodbye, even if it was only temporary, sends a tidal wave of grief through him. 

"I’ll be right back.” He says, quietly, taking the magazine with a sorrowful, teary smile. 

Before he can leave, Gi-hun pulls him into a firm, but careful embrace. In-ho sinks into it, fingers finding purchase in the man’s t-shirt, burying his face in the crook of his neck.

“Swear to me.” He whispers. “No matter what happens. You don’t lose yourself this time.”

"I will, but only if you come back to me alive." Gi-hun replies, In-ho sears the vibrations of his voice into his memory. He may never experience this again.

“I promise.” He lies, pulling back to look the man in the eye. 

Gi-hun moves his palms from his back and cups his jaw, cradling it one final time. 

In-ho turns his head to press a kiss to the centre of one and walks away. Unable to resist, he glances back over his shoulder one final time as he leaves, sending a silent apology. 

I’m sorry, Gi-hun. I really am. 

Together, the three men sneak up the stairs, all the while In-ho fights not to black out, willing his mind to clarity as they advance behind the guards. He beckons them forward, allowing them to shuffle to their positions and lifts his gun. Ready to shoot. However, as he moves his finger to the trigger, pain crashes through him. His legs give, slamming onto the floor beneath him. The impact sends a ricochet from his knees, causing him to groan and brace his knuckles as his side spasms. 

"Hey—" One of the players begins to say before he is cut off by a burst of bullets that sound far too close for comfort. 

In-ho twists on instinct. His hands fly to his weapon, ready to shoot the unknown assailant but he freezes. The man standing behind him is not a random guard. It’s the Masked Officer, his second in command, lazily holding a gun in one hand and In-ho’s mask in the other. 

"What are you doing here?" In-ho blurts, genuinely surprised at the appearance of the officer.

The masked man doesn’t respond, sauntering forward until the machine gun hovers mere centimetres from In-ho’s forehead; Finger hovering over the trigger with considerable deliberation. In-ho squints down the barrel at him. For one delirious moment, he genuinely believes that his second in command is about to put him down like a frail dog. 

You always were envious of my job. 

A crackle from the radio lying on the ground, discarded, startles them both. 

"Young-il?" Gi-hun’s worried voice blares out. "Are you alright? What’s going on? You haven’t attacked yet."

With a visible sigh, the masked officer lowers his gun and bends to pick up the radio.

"Player 456." He says. 

There’s a beat before Gi-hun’s voice echoes again. Lower this time, darker.

"Who is this…? What have you done to Young-il?" 

A breathy, soulless peel of laughter sounds from behind the officer’s mask, shoulders shaking with each huff. He was clearly enjoying this.

"Ah, yes. Young-il." He practically purrs, tone rich with vindictive amusement. "He’s here. Still in one piece." The masked officer then turns the radio towards In-ho, kicking him right in the gut. In-ho barks in agony as the curve of the man’s foot connects with his injury. 

"Though, he might not be for much longer." 

Bastard.

“What–” In-ho hisses through his teeth, back curled from the pain, scowling furiously at the man. “What are you doing?”

The masked officer cuts the connection of the radio with a click and jerks his head in the direction of Gi-hun. 

"I’m ending it." He says and waves the radio in In-ho’s face. 

"Stop it. Don’t hurt him. Where is he?”

The Masked Officer scoffs.

"God. He’s persistent, isn’t he?" He says and then shoves the walkie talkie into In-ho’s face. "Go on, I’ll let you say your tragic little goodbye." 

In-ho glares at him before he turns his attention to the radio. Words evade him. This was it, there was no turning back from here. In-ho was hanging on the edge of a precipice, the future that lay ahead was uncertain. 

“Gi-hun. I’m sorry. It’s over.” 

“No. Young-il, don’t you dare. You promised.” 

“You have–” In-ho groans as his side twinges, “You have to get out of here. Please.”

Even though his face is concealed by a mask, In-ho spots the faint tremors of the masked man’s shoulders. He’s laughing, not even attempting to hide his delight. 

“No. Not without you."

“You don’t have a choice. It’s over. Please. Just surrender. Live. For me.” 

It isn’t hard to muster the despair of a dying man. The performance alone makes In-ho sick to his stomach.

“Young-il–”

"Sorry to intrude on this crushing moment, Gentlemen.” The officer interrupts, bringing the radio back to his face. “But your time is up.”

"No.” Gi-hun protests, voice pleading. “Stop this. You want me. Leave him alone. Leave them all alone. They have nothing to do with this."

"My, my, my." The masked man responds, tone condescending like he’s dealing with a petulant child. "You know full well that they have everything to do with this."

He lifts the machine gun, aiming for his target, and speaks into the radio for the last time.

"It’s over, Player 456.”

"Don’t do this. Please, I’m begging you–" 

But the Masked Officer doesn’t listen, shooting the unmoving corpse strewn beside In-ho who watches how blood lazily pools from the additional bullet hole.

For a second, the world stills, atmosphere thinning. It’s silent. Then, a voracious cry rips through the air. 

"Young-il!"

In-ho clenches his jaw against the mist growing in his eyes, snatching the radio from the Masked Officer, switching the channel. 

“Start wrapping things up.” He demands. “Tell the guards to apprehend the players and return them to the dormitory. Alive.” 

“Yes, sir." 

He throws the radio to the ground. Above him, his second in command holds him hand out, offering to help him stand. It’s an act of kindness that feels anything but, leaving a bitter taste on his tongue as he reluctantly takes it. 

“You didn’t have to kick me.” He says, bracing against the wall. 

“Sorry,” The man replies, not sounding sorry in the slightest. “I had assumed you were going for realism.” 

In-ho sighs, shaking his head. He massages his temples, hopelessly willing the pounding in his head away. 

“Whatever.” He mutters. 

He would have to deal with the blatant transgression later. 

"Here.” The masked officer thrusts his geometric mask into chest with a grandiose flourish. “Welcome back, sir." He says, clapping In-ho on the shoulder before standing back, waiting for him. 

In-ho looks down at the item. It’s heavy. A shackle he’d never managed to truly break from. He exhales, turning it over, and lifts it to his face.

This wasn’t over yet.

——————————

Making his way down the stairs is no easy feat. In-ho’s head pounds rhythmically, a tolling bell. He’s cladded in his usual attire, an omen dressed as death descending to an execution, praying that the blood from his abdomen isn’t soaking through onto his coat. 

“Player 456.” 

The distortion of his mask is an uncomfortable familiarity, but he doesn’t begrudge it, not when the cool plastic covering his face severs him from the desolate men in front of him. Behind it, In-ho doesn’t have to conceal the quiver of his jaw. On the floor, Gi-hun doesn’t look at him, figure radiating with palpable anguish, bereft and trembling. 

In-ho’s heart quickens at the sight, simultaneously warmed and chilled. The misery written plain as day on Gi-hun’s face was for him. Once upon a time, the expression might have amused him, satisfied him even, but now his stomach sinks as if lined with lead. 

He lifts his gun. His hand wavering ever so subtly.

"Was it worth the sacrifice?” He asks. Gi-hun doesn’t react, remaining as still as a statue as if In-ho’s words are unintelligible garble to him, utterly meaningless in the wake of his failure. 

“Now, witness the consequences of your little game.” 

He moves the gun, aiming at Jung-bae, who stares down the barrel with no fear swirling in his iris, only tired resignation. Like he knew, in the end, he was always going to end up here, like it was his fate. The Marine’s words, uttered in the quiet of the bathroom just the day before, ring in his ears and time slows.

"I want to live for them. Be a better father to my daughter, god knows it’s time I finally stepped up."

Killing Jung-bae had been monumental the first time. In-ho hadn’t planned for it to happen, it had just been an unfortunate consequence of the circumstances. A predestined evil, albeit radical and extreme, to validate his philosophy. A twisted, philanthropic necessity to prove that the games were needed for the benefit of others. 

But he can’t shoot him, not again. In-ho hadn’t returned to repeat the same unforgivable choices. So he doesn’t pull the trigger. 

Instead, he swings his arm back into arc and brings the butt of the weapon to the man’s head. Jung-bae crumbles back from the force, unconscious, blood already beginning to trickle down his temple. 

Gi-hun barely has time to react, a choked, "No–" falling from his lips, before In-ho swings his arm back again, and strikes the man out cold.

"Return Player 390 to the dormitory." He says, addressing the surrounding guards. He watches the slow rise of the two men’s  "Bring Player 456 to my quarters."

In his periphery, the masked officer slowly turns to him, scrutiny tangible even when hidden behind a mask and offers a curt nod, following the order.

In-ho leads the guards holding Gi-hun up the stairs and into the lift, pressing the button up to his quarters and leaning against the wall for support, closing his eyes in relief. 

It was over. Young-il was dead. Now, it was time for the next stage of In-ho’s plan. 

An enthusiastic ping announces their arrival, doors rolling open to the decadent living space, black tiles golden and shimmering, dazzling chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. In-ho braces himself against the wall as he exits the lift, walking down the corridor with his sights set on his leather chair. When he reaches the door to his room, he jerks his head, halting the guards trailing behind him. 

"Detain him in there for now. I’ll deal with him when I’m ready."

"Yes, sir." The guards say in toneless unison. 

In-ho leans against the doorway, peering into the room to watch the guards lay Gi-hun on the bed and cuff his wrist to the frame behind. 

From a distance, ignoring the blood and bruises, In-ho marveled at the tranquillity of the man’s expression. The lines that usually occupied his face were smooth, making the man appear younger and carefree. 

Squinting, In-ho thinks he could trick himself to believe that he tripped and into a reality where it’s just the two of them, living together away from the games and adjusting to domesticity as well as two broken men could. It’s a delusional daydream, one that he steals in the quiet of the moment to feed the starving yearning grumbling within him. 

How In-ho craved that life. Longed for it, despite knowing, deep down, it would never be his. 

A luminescent light, separate from that of the chandeliers and lamps, breaks him from his reverie. Frowning, In-ho looks down, almost flinching when he’s confronted with the source.  The stone from his bracelet is glowing, radiating a flickering gleam of vivid, otherworldly cerulean. 

What? 

In-ho slaps his hand over the accessory purely on instinct, palm hugging his wrist tightly to trap the light, checking to see if the guards had noticed the glare. As he does so, an ominous click sounds, causing him to almost buckle from the wave of electricity that saps through him. In-ho latches harder onto the wall and tries to breathe through the tempest of sensations. 

All at once, he’s boiling then freezing. Flying then falling. Drowning then floating. 

Every fibre of his being, every molecule is thrumming with an unexplainable hum. It was as if he'd been electrified, seized painfully taut, begging for mercy. 

After an agonising wait, he’s finally granted it. But it’s different. A buzz,  that hadn’t been there before, thrummed through his veins, settling in his skull, his finger tips tingling. 

What the fuck was that? 

Behind him, the lift pings again, announcing the arrival of his second in command. 

In-ho straightens, brushing off the incident for now, and continues on his way to his chair. 

—————————
Time for Act 2…

Notes:

I am sure that wound will have no consequence later on in the story. *laughs nervously with the chapter eight ending hidden behind my back.*

R.I.P Myung-gi. You were a pretty shit guy most of the time but you didn't deserve that. I had to avenge my beautiful Hyun-ju. ❤️

Also, I have a really rough draft of Gi-hun's perspective from chapter five if literally anyone is still interested.

Notes:

Thanks for reading :)))

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of arcane inspired squid game au