Chapter Text
2020
"I think you'd like him."
Inho seemed not to hear anything the old man said. But Ilnam, even on his deathbed, knew well enough how Inho pretended to be deaf. He chuckled, then coughed as he was chuckling. Inho came next to him instantly, poured him a glass of water, repositioned his pillow, and helped him drink. Since Ilnam was able to see his face, he smiled wider.
It was insane, if you asked Inho. How could a man smile so wide while literally lying on a bed, waiting for death? And yet, according to everything Ilnam had done since Inho knew him, Inho was well aware this wasn’t insanity at all. It was normal, in Ilnam’s conditions. And Inho also knew that he was Ilnam’s last possible game to play.
"While calling him here, send him flowers. Put an invitation card in the bouquet," Ilnam said.
Inho was no longer playing deaf, but he still refused to answer his captain.
"It’s up to you to choose which flowers to send." Ilnam smiled. "Bet he’s never received red roses."
Inho was sweating in his expensive turtleneck sweater, blushing uncontrollably. The room was already uncomfortable, and it was getting harder to stand there. Yet he was respectful enough not to leave the side of his captain until dismissed. No matter how sick and weak the captain was. No matter how easy it would be to kill him by simply unplugging a cable.
It was strange. A naive kind of relationship. Ilnam was fond of Inho, of his unique personality, his loyalty, his reliability, his respect. He was like a son to him. A better son than his own sons. And the thing was, Inho had no need to stay next to him and act like his son.
He had once been the owner of 45.6 billion won, in 2015. He didn’t need to work anywhere. With that money, he didn’t even need to lift a finger. Yet he hadn’t touched it, because that money had been for his wife, and by the time he received it, she was no longer alive.
Normally, he should have been rageful when Ilnam reached him after the games. He wasn’t in good condition, the money was untouched, and he was rotting in his little apartment, neglected by himself, isolated from everyone he knew, wilting like a dehydrated houseplant in the dark. Normally, he should have attacked Oh Ilnam. But he did nothing.
He didn’t blame him for the games, or for missing his wife’s last days on earth. In other words, he had played the games knowing his fate, not blaming anyone. Because no one had ever given him a chance to be that rich before, and like everything of worth, that money had to cost something. The rules were known and accepted, maybe not from the very beginning, but certainly after Red Light, Green Light, when the majority was still alive and they had the chance to leave. Yet money was sweeter. And after that, every player, including himself, was half-dead for the last six days.
Knowing and accepting.
As a police officer, Inho was already used to killing when necessary. So he did nothing but treat it like a massive police operation: people killing each other, ready to be killed. Inho didn’t find himself a group of friends, because for a game with one winner, he knew he couldn’t trust anyone.
And eventually, he won.
He won.
He won, and it meant nothing.
He won, and he was welcomed by a world where money was no longer of use. And the most precious part of the world was gone forever.
Ilnam sat in that dark room with the houseplant, Hwang Inho, and told him he felt no different than him. Told him that now both of them were rich, and the most important thing in life was not money but having a goal to accomplish. It wasn’t a pep talk. Ilnam was more sincere than that. He simply made Inho believe he was the only person on earth who could truly understand him. And all Inho needed was to be understood.
He offered him a job that came with a goal, a status, and a place where he wouldn’t need to hide his past, instead, he could live with it proudly. And better, he could leave his miseries behind. Take a new step. Turn the page.
Inho accepted Ilnam’s offer on one condition.
“The games will be fairer. No player will be given a knife privately.”
Ilnam smiled that day, seeing his brighter potential. It even excited him.
Almost as much as meeting Gihun excited him this year. Since the end of the games, he had been telling Inho that he would love Gihun if he ever met him. But Gihun was a softer one, not a tough brat like Inho—whom Ilnam was very much fond of, almost as a father.
“You will be so alone on the island, when I die.”
“You’ll be living, sir.”
Ilnam smiled. He was breathing through machines and hadn’t left the bed for weeks because his legs were useless, so was the rest of his body.
“I will not live forever,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to, either. One should go when it is time.”
Inho was silent.
“I want you to meet Gihun.”
“He is not capable of work like ours, sir,” said Inho.
“You don’t have to offer him a job,” Ilnam said, as if teaching two plus two equals four. And he looked at Inho like he knew his boy was clever enough to understand. “I don’t believe in anything. I don’t believe in genders either. You two still have holes to do it, don’t bother me with details. I won’t buy it. Go. Meet him. Try to get him. Anybody loves a handsome guy like you.”
Inho was patient. He didn’t try to explain that he wasn’t into men, let alone Seong Gihun. He simply said, “I never dated anyone since my wife died.”
And Ilnam looked at him.
“That’s what I’m talking about.”
A day later, Inho arranged a bouquet of red roses as Ilnam dictated and sent them to Seong Gihun, who looked no better than a caveman.