And Then You And I Will Be Enemies, Too. One Of Us Will Have To Kill The Other. Fine By Me.

02 - a piece of me | just another player. (hwang in-ho x reader)

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——

The room was cold. Not from temperature, but from design — sterile and steel-lined, walls pressed tight in perfect symmetry, not a single window to the world outside. You sat among dozens of other guards, each clad in the identical matte uniform, each face hidden behind a black visor with a single geometric shape. You were in a sea of circles - a hierarchy forged not in character, but in obedience.

You felt your breath fog slightly beneath the mask. Even now, after years of wearing it, there were moments it felt like a muzzle.

Then, the door at the far end hissed open, revealing the creator, host, and God of this hell.

Oh Il-nam.

His hair was thinner now, his skin clung tighter to the ridges of his skull, but his eyes — sharp, glinting like polished glass — scanned the room with that same quiet cruelty you remembered from the archives. He walked with a slight limp, supported by a black cane, his mask tucked beneath his arm like a crown he didn’t need to wear to remind you who he was. He was dressed in deep crimson — formal, commanding, and flawless. The color of blood dried into velvet.

He stood before the room of guards and overseers, calm and calculating, as if he were welcoming guests to a dinner party rather than orchestrating death. He spoke softly, but the room bent toward his words like blades of grass in the wind.

“Welcome to the 33rd Season of the Games,”  Il-nam began, his voice low and controlled. “Do you know what that number means?”

Silence answered him.

“It means that the world hasn’t changed. The hunger still lives. That desperation is still the most powerful currency.”

He paced slowly before the first row, hearing his cane tap against the ground with every step.

“The rules remain the same. The games — Red Light, Green Light. Dalgona. Lights Out,” he paused at that, smiling faintly. “Yes, it’s officially part of the cycle now. Chaos has structure. Isn’t that beautiful?”

You remained still, but your stomach twisted. You remembered the screaming, the way the night didn’t hide the dying. You remembered the man bleeding out on the floor, who now sat behind black glass in a tower above, a Front Man forged from your mistake.

“Tug of War. Marbles. And most importantly, the Squid Game,” Il-nam continued. “You will uphold the structure. You will maintain the illusion of order. But most of all—“ he stopped now, facing the crowd directly— “you will not disobey.”

Murmurs didn’t follow — they weren’t allowed. But the tension thickened. Lights Out was once an unofficial chaos was now part of the rulebook. You felt it all rushing back, blood pooling across tiles, and a hand reaching up in the dark. His voice was breathless, shaking, whispering the words, “Why…?”

“Any form of aid to players, any deviation from assigned protocol, any mask that dares to feel… will be punished.”

You flinched, barely, but you knew the sting was meant for you.

“Some of you have already failed us before,” he said, eyes grazing across the room, almost like he could see behind the masks. “You’re here again because we believe in second chances… not forgiveness.”

The word struck like a lash. You didn’t move, but inside, the fire of the truth burned anew. 

The punishment wasn’t execution, at least, not for you. It was service, a reassignment, and a demotion. A demotion that dragged you into night shifts, into silent bedrooms and glided masks, into the leering eyes of VIPs where no screams escaped and no names were spoken. And every morning, you returned to pink.

“Uniforms and role assignments are waiting in Hall B. You will report immediately. Any delay is noted.”

The square guards began barking orders immediately. Role assignments, room numbers, escort teams, firearm calibration checks — all familiar routines returned like a tidal wave. The masked figures rose, each moving with choreographed efficiency toward their fate. 

Season 33 had begun, and you would do anything just to survive.

——

The metal platform groaned beneath your boots as you stood at the edge of the training hall, rows of pink-masked recruits stiffening under your gaze. 

A row of red carpet unfurled like a fresh wound down the center of the pristine room — the designated “escort path.” Gold-painted chairs lined the simulated VIP lounge behind you, perfectly arranged for the demonstration. Surveillance cameras blinked red in the corners. Nothing here was ever unobserved.

“Position one,” you called sharply.

The recruits moved. The pink guard stepped forward to act as the "escort" was young, shorter than the rest, their voice still trembling. Their grip fumbled over the faux decanter meant to mimic luxury service.

They bowed to the mock VIP actor like a civilian would — too deeply, too slowly. You inhaled sharply through your mask. They tried again, offering a drink with both hands, their gloves shaking slightly.

“Wrong,” you snapped, voice cutting clean through the stale air.

The recruit flinched as you strode forward, the click of your boots like gunshots in the quiet room. In one swift motion, you snatched the decanter from their hands and slammed it down on the tray beside the lounge chair.

“You are not a servant,” you said coldly. “You are a symbol. A presence. A product of obedience, not emotion. The moment you show uncertainty, they will know. And they will take advantage.”

Your words hung heavy in the space between you and the trembling recruit. The rest of the class stood rigid, afraid to move, afraid to breathe.

“Again,” you barked. “With your spine straight. Offer the drink like a machine, not a child.”

The recruit obeyed. This time, it was slower and more deliberate. You stood behind them, adjusting the tilt of their chin with the sharp edge of your gloved hand. Their mask tilted toward yours, questioning and fearful.

They reminded you of someone, more of yourself. When you were promoted to square, clean and hopeful, your eyes too bright beneath the black. Before your rank was stripped and your identity erased in silence, not because of failure, but because of mercy.

“Acceptable,” you said finally, though your voice was devoid of warmth.

Training resumed in silence. Hours blurred past drills — posture, presentation, calculated silence. The elite escort role required perfection. Anything less was an insult to the illusion these monsters paid to see.

Eventually, the session ended.

One by one, the pink guards filed out. The doors hissed open, and the cold concrete swallowed them. But one lingered. A square guard, standing by the door with his arms folded, watching you with quiet interest behind the black mask that once mirrored your own.

“They say you were once a square,” he said casually, his voice low and edged with something darker. “What did you do?”

You didn’t answer. He stepped closer. The distance between you was all surveillance and silence.

“Rumors say you saved someone. That you disobeyed for a dying player,” he added. “But they never say why you’re still alive.”

You turned your head, slow and measured. “I follow orders,” you replied flatly. “That’s all that matters.”

“Funny,” he said. “You train them like you’re trying to make them forget what it’s like to be human.” 

You stared at him. “Because being human in here,” you said, “is the fastest way to die.”

You walked away, back into the corridors of steel and smoke, where ghosts wore masks and punishment was survival’s reward. The dim corridor buzzed faintly, the sound of fluorescent lights above flickering like a dying breath. You made your way down the path lined with identical metal doors, the living quarters for the pink guards.

Yours was the last door in the row. Room 427. You keyed in the code. The lock hissed open. Inside was stillness with barren walls, a single bed with starched sheets, and a metal table bolted to the floor. There was no mirror and belongings. Just silence, always silence.

You sat on the edge of the bed, peeling off your gloves like a second skin. Your pink suit was unzipped just enough to breathe. The metal walls echoed with distant footsteps, squares barking orders at newly recruited guards, the crackle of radios, the buzz of the elevator ferrying supplies to the upper floors. But here in your unit’s quarters, it was still.

There was no escort duty tonight. For once, your number wasn’t on the list. That relief was almost as painful as the duties themselves. You stared at your gloves on the bedside table, fingers curled stiff from wear. Blood had once soaked through them. Screams once filled your ears. But now? You were used to it.

That was the point, wasn’t it?

Before the games, you had a name. A life outside the games. You used to dance in the rain.

You lived in colors, not red, black and pink, but golden light from streetlamps, the warm blue of your favorite café, the soft lavender of your tiny rented apartment. You weren’t rich, but you were free. A literature student by day, part-time waitress by night. You wanted to write stories one day. Novels. Maybe even poetry. You dreamed of publishing your own book someday.

Your laughter used to come easily. Your smile wasn’t a mask. You believed in people. Yet in the end, you were the one who stayed.

In a neighborhood where everyone else was desperate to leave, you stayed behind. You watched your friends grow distant and your family grow smaller. It was only one funeral, then came another. Then another. Until the only voices left were the ones in your head.

You weren’t running from anything — there was just nowhere left to go. No final fight nor betrayal. Just… time, taking people from you, one by one. You stopped talking out loud because there was no one to hear you anyway.

So when the pink envelope arrived that was sealed tight, marked only by shapes, it felt like an accident. A glitch in the mail. A strange dream.

But you opened it.

And that’s how it started.

You didn’t become a player. You didn’t owe anything. But you were noticed — someone they could use. Someone who would not be missed. At first, you thought you’d break. But there was no one left to worry about you. No one left to remind you who you were.

Now, you rarely think about your name. It doesn’t come easily anymore.

And maybe that was the point.

——

The order comes like a slap to your already numb consciousness. A square guard, his uniform sharp and flawless, strides over to you in the dark hallway. His voice is cool, matter-of-fact, as if he’s never had to question a thing in his life.

"Fix the Front Man's quarters. Make sure every detail is perfect," he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You simply nod, the sound of the mask moving as you lower your head in silent acknowledgment. You’ve been in this position long enough to know how things go. The Front Man’s quarters, as cold and sterile as everything else in the compound, require absolute precision. The slightest mistake, the smallest imperfection, could result in more than just a reprimand. You’ve seen what happens when others fail in front of the Front Man. There’s nothing kind or forgiving about his gaze.

The square guard watches you for a moment longer, as if ensuring you’ll comply, before turning away, leaving you to your task.

You stood in front of the door, taking in the quiet, lifeless hallway. Everything is perfectly still. No noise. No interruptions. The only sound you hear is the distant hum of ventilation systems and the pulse of your own heartbeat beneath the thick mask. You inhale deeply and push the door open.

Inside, the quarters were as pristine as always. It was cold, empty, and unyielding - not a single trace of humanity remains. The room was meticulously organized, the bed made to military standards, the furnishings aligned with an unnatural symmetry, a single chair in the corner, its back to the wall. Every surface gleams, as if the place is nothing but a shell, waiting for its occupant to step inside.

You walk in slowly, your eyes scanning over every inch, every corner. Your mind runs through the mental checklist: lighting, temperature, scent. Every detail is scrutinized until you’re certain it meets the Front Man’s standards. Your gloved hands trace over the desk, wiping away the faintest trace of dust. It’s almost too perfect. There’s nothing left to fix. The space is an extension of the man who occupies it — cold, flawless, untouchable.

You began to adjust the small things. The alignment of books on a shelf, the angle of the chair, the slight shift in the position of a painting on the wall. Every adjustment feels like an offering. Your body is numb to the motion, your mind detached and mechanical.

A sudden movement at the door catches your attention, and you freeze.

A shadow. A figure standing in the doorway, silent and imposing. You don’t need to look up to know it’s the square guard again. His eyes are cold, but there’s something else, a faint smile at the edge of his lips as he watches you.

“Is everything in order?” he asks, his voice like a dull blade scraping against metal.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Your eyes remain downcast, focusing on the smallest of details. The least of your concerns is his gaze, but you feel the weight of it pressing down on you nonetheless.

The square guard takes a step forward, glancing around the room. His eyes land on the smallest imperfection, a slight smudge on the glass of a picture frame. Without a word, he reaches out, wiping it away with a swipe of his gloved hand. His movements are sharp, deliberate.

“You’ve done well,” he says, his voice softening ever so slightly. But you know better. He’s not complimenting you. He’s simply acknowledging your obedience. The look in his eyes doesn’t change — still cold, still distant.

“Finish up,” he commands. “And make sure the Front Man doesn’t find anything out of place.”

The square guard leaves, his footsteps echoing down the hallway, leaving you alone with your thoughts once more. As you turn to leave, your fingers brush against the edge of the desk, and something about the cold metal reminds you of the past. Of who you used to be. Of the girl who had dreams and laughter in her heart.

You barely register the sounds of the Front Man’s approaching footsteps — but you know they're coming. You can feel him before you see him, a presence that lingers in the room even as the door creaks open. 

The Front Man walks inside with his usual poise, the cold mask covering his face, unreadable. His eyes scan the room like a predator sizing up its prey, each movement deliberate, precise, as if assessing not just the space but the person who prepared it. His footsteps echo softly against the polished floors, louder than they have any right to be.

You stand at attention in the corner, still and quiet, as he takes his time walking around the room. You don’t dare speak unless he orders you to.

His gaze flickers to the desk first. He takes a long pause, inspecting the alignment of the books, the sheen on the surface. His fingers brush lightly over the chair, just enough to feel the exact temperature of the room, the subtle pressure of the cushion. He moves with the kind of deliberate grace that you’ve come to associate with someone who knows their power, their dominance, their control over every detail.

For a split second, you hold your breath, wondering what he’s looking for. Is there something amiss? A trace of imperfection you might have missed in your hasty preparation?

But then his gaze shifts to the picture frame. It’s the smallest detail, the most trivial of things. His eyes narrow, his fingers tracing the edge of the frame with unsettling precision. There is a slight tremor in his hand. Just a hint. But it’s enough to make the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

He simply looks at the picture frame for a few more seconds, as if contemplating something too deep to put into words. His gaze flickers toward the small smudge you couldn’t catch, and for the briefest of moments, you think he might actually speak. But no. His gaze sharpens, and he pulls his hand away.

Finally, he stands still. For a moment, you wonder if the air between you is thick with his thoughts, heavy and pressing. But then, he slowly exhales, a sound barely noticeable beneath the mask. He turns toward you, and the intensity of his gaze makes your chest tighten, your breath stuttering.

"Good job," he said, his tone as cold as ever. "Everything is in order."

Your heart clenched at the lack of emotion in his words. It was a compliment, but it didn’t feel like one. There was no warmth in his praise, no sign that he saw you as anything more than another tool—an instrument to be used and discarded when no longer needed.

"Thank you," you murmured, even though the words felt hollow on your tongue.

He turned his head slightly, his masked face remaining unreadable. "You may leave now."

With a stiff bow, you turned to leave, your footsteps echoing in the silence of the room. As you stepped out into the cold, sterile halls of the compound, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being forgotten.

You were nothing to him, and perhaps that was exactly what you deserved. After all, you weren’t a guard anymore, not truly. You were just a nameless face in the sea of masked figures, condemned to serve in the shadows for the rest of your days.

And yet, despite the cold dismissal, a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder: would he ever look at you again? Would he ever realize that you were the one who had saved him when he had bled out during the chaos of lights out?

But the more you thought about it, the more you realized it didn’t matter. He was the Front Man. You were just a guard—nothing more. The distance between you was as vast as the abyss, and no amount of longing would ever change that.

——

A/N: HAS ANYONE WATCHED THE SQUID GAME TEASER? They just dropped the teaser for Season 3! I am SEATED (and also possibly traumatized) 😳 I think I'm going to be insufferable until June 27 because imagine the teaser making us feel like THAT, then what about the trailer 😨 What are your theories for the next season? I would love to hear about them!

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

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taglist: @roachco-k @goingmerry69

"On your feet soldier, we are leaving!"

Welcome to the 141. Best handpicked group of warriors on the planet.

"I like to keep this for close encounters."

Paradise Lost.

CHAPTER 03 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in-ho x reader)

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----

"If you wish to participate, please state your name and date of birth."

The voice on the other line was cold, but seemingly joyful. It didn't seem like your typical customer service call. You had a feeling that it was unsafe - maybe this call could lead to trafficking. Maybe the games were just a front to invite the so-called players in this scheme. Still, it didn't make sense to you. For some reason, you felt like this was calling for you. Something was going on out there, and you were more than curious to know what was out there.

You looked at the card once again, trying to examine each detail of it. It was hard to decipher what was on it, just the symbols and number there. Yet, you still went on to answer the voice, stating your name and date of birth.

After a brief pause, the voice on the other line replied. "Information confirmed. Your designated pickup location is as follows," you took a deep breath, mentally taking note of the next information. "October 31, 2024. Midnight. Club HDH." Then, the line went dead.

October 31? That was tomorrow, you thought. If it was being held in a club, then there would be a party for sure. You had to blend in and see for yourself what the call was saying, so you hurriedly walked back to your apartment to look for possible clothes you could wear in the party. Though you didn't have much, but you thought of looking a bit like grim reaper, wearing an all black outfit. You unlocked your glass door and slid it open, rushing to your cabinet to see what outfit you can come up with.

In just a few minutes, you heard a truck beeping outside. You turned around for a moment, seeing the truck from the furniture store you bought from. You slid the glass door open once again, signaling a hand wave to let them in.

You went back to your cabinet, still trying to come up with an outfit. You couldn't lie - you were enjoying the thrill of it. Knowing how something was awaiting for you out there, and it's for you to find out. No matter how dangerous it is, you know how to back out. The thrill was just to find out how to.

The workers start to place your furnitures, all wrapped in plastics. They place each furniture carefully. The sound of their footsteps were enough of a white noise for you as you rummaged through your clothes, finding the best one you could have.

There, you hung a black coat, turtle neck, and pants and hooked it on your door cabinet. You smirked to yourself, the image of you wearing the outfit already draws you. This was it. Though you didn't have the scythe blade that a typical grim reaper has.

"That would be all, miss," one of the workers approached you. You turned to him and saw him handing you a pen and paper for you to sign. "You may just sign here to confirm your delivery."

"Alright," you signed the paper, reading its terms & conditions. You handed him back your signed papers, giving him a nod. "Thank you."

The worker gave you a bow, then turned to his colleagues, waving his hand to signal that everything was finished. All together, they bowed once again before exiting your apartment.

After what seemed like hours, you turned to the clock. It was already 10pm. Finally, you wore your grim reaper outfit, its coat gripping your curves perfectly but enough for room to breathe. You pulled up the hood and looked at yourself in the mirror, enough to look like the grim reaper, minus the scythe blade.

You made your way to the Club HDH, hailing a cab this time so you could arrive on time. Groups of people gathered even outside the club, wearing their Halloween costumes consisting of grim reapers, police officers, nurses, anime references, and more. Though a lot of them kept their masks on, you didn't have yours. You didn't bother buying one, just in case you see the salesman to recognize you.

People started to crowd around the club, a long line of them waiting outside to get in. You could hear the bass of the raving music inside. You walked to the front of the line as you saw the bouncer reading a list. It must be the invitation list, so you walked up to him to signal your presence. His tall figure gazed at you, waiting for you to speak.

You cleared your voice as you spoke, "Y/N". The bouncer looked at you for a moment then his eyes went over the list, trying to find your name. His finger stopped at a row, giving you a bit of glance on the list. Your name was listed there. You gave a small smile as he motioned his hand for you to enter, giving him a nod as you went inside.

Inside, the pulsing bass thrummed in the air. You couldn't even hear your footsteps anymore, just the beat of each music pumping close to your heart. Though it wasn't enough to bring you to total deafness, but inside was loud. Very loud. You wondered how the caller would recognize you, or the salesman. You tried to piece some of the things together as you navigated your way inside the club, squeezing yourself as you walked past people.

The air was thick, reeking each person of alcohol as you squeezed through them. You weren't sure if it was cigarettes you were smelling, or something else. Either way, your mission was to be found by someone. You should've asked for a name on the call, but it seemed like they knew who you were. You looked at the stage, seeing numerous people dancing on it. You watched intently, trying to enjoy the party despite being alone.

You felt a tap on your shoulder behind you, turning your attention to the man who stared at you intently, only to be met with a confused look. "What?" You asked, your voice loud enough for him to hear. He kept his eyebrows furrowed which was weird for you. It seemed like he was looking for someone, but it wasn't you.

He said nothing and walked away, your gaze stuck to him as he squeezed himself from the crowd. Confusion was evident on your face, wondering who that man was. The man seemed to be in his 40s, but he seemed tense. As if he was on a mission to find someone. He had an earpiece in his left ear. Maybe he was a cop, you thought. You tried to follow him, but he lost his way through the crowd, nowhere to be seen.

A tall figure stood in front of you, seeing his pink jumpsuit with a mask. You figured out what his costume was, but his mask only had a square symbol on it. You tried to move past him, but he stood still, feeling his gaze toward you. You looked up to him and shot him a confused look. Just as you were about to open your mouth to speak, his muffled voice was loud enough for you to hear. "Player 002, come with me."

Player 002? So, the games are real. The masked man's voice was commanding, as if you had no choice but to follow them. You walked with him, making your way towards what seemed to be the back door. You walked up the stairs, following pursuit to the masked man. He stayed quiet and cold, the footsteps only making its sounds as you were led to a door. The masked man opened it, revealing the outside. A white limousine was there, as if waiting for you. You looked at the masked man, his mask only facing you. You took it as a sign for you to get in, reaching your hand to the door and opened it, greeted with a sight of luxury as you sat on the leather seats. You noticed a golden pig in front of you, its eerie presence enough to send shivers down your spine.

"Player 002," you sat up, shocked by the sudden voice. It seemed as though the sound came from the golden pig, much to your confusion. "Welcome to the games."

You only stayed silent, staring into the golden pig as you tilted your head in confusion. Just when you were about to open your mouth to speak, a cloud of smoke spread on to the air, your eyes feeling heavy as you tried to fight it, only to fail.

You felt your head fell on the back of seat, your hands trembling as your vision starts to blur. Your hearing becomes distorted, but you could see a window behind the golden pig, sliding open upwards. You squinted your eyes, trying to make sense of your vision.

There, you saw a man with a mask, but there were no symbols on it. Only a black geometric mask, staring at you. You felt the limousine drive off, your eyelids closing as you succumbed to unconsciousness.

----

From what seemed like forever, you heard a classical music right out, awakening your senses. Despite your eyes still closed, you could tell the light was on. You slowly open your eyes, trying to make sense of everything around you.

You sat up, seeing stacks of beds. More people came out, wearing a green tracksuit with numbers with a confused look plastered on their faces. You looked down on yourself, seeing that you were wearing the same. You see your tracksuit labeled "002".

You looked around, trying to observe the area. You were at the very top of the deck, enough for you to observe every detail. The walls painted teal, with white tiles forming that seemed to have drawings on it, though you couldn't see it clearly due to the stack of beds. You tried to count the people inside, but there were a lot. Like, A LOT. You looked up and saw somewhat like a piggy bank, a transparent one colored yellow. Then, you looked to your left, seeing a television with the numbers displayed, "456".

You figured there were 456 players inside, indicating that you're player 002, as you would remember the masked man calling you. You saw two doors from each side, seeing somewhat like a guard standing outside the door. From then on, you figured you were inside a dormitory alongside the other players. Not fully trusting the people inside, you thought it was better to be by yourself, and only team up if needed. If you had to team up with others, you need to be careful in trusting to have someone with you.

The classical music stopped, replaced with a buzz from an alarm. You turned your head to the big door, a group of masked men led by a square-masked man, the other guards following the leader, but their masks had a circle symbol. The players formed a crowd in the middle of the room, but you stayed sitting on your bed.

"I would like to extend a hearty welcome to all of you," the square-masked man said, his voice muffled but enough for everyone to hear, echoing through the room. "Everyone here will participate in six different games over six days. Those who win all six games will receive a handsome cash prize."

From what you remember on what the salesman said, if you wanted to see if you were still good at playing ddakji, then you could play more games like it. From the looks of it, the system might let you play kids' games. If this was a gambling house, you would've been beaten to death the moment you woke up. 

"Excuse me," a woman shouted from behind. You looked at her number, "120". She walked down the stairs, looking at the guards. "You said I'd be playing games, but you practically kidnapped me. So, how can I believe that?"

Every player turned their heads to guards, waiting for an answer. You turned your attention to the guard though you couldn't see their reactions, but they just stood still. "I apologize. Please understand that it was necessary to maintain the game's security." 

"What's with the mask then?" Another woman called out. "Is your face also a secret?"

"Yeah!" A man followed to speak. "Why are you hiding your face? Is this some kind of illegal gambling house?" 

The same woman spoke out. "Even the dealers don't cover their faces in those places."

Murmurs start to spread around the room, each player trying to make sense of where they were. You stayed silent, observing the crowd. You shared your sentiments with the other players, but trust seemed like a brutal aspect of this game, and in order to win, you should be careful. 

"To ensure fair gameplay and confidentiality, it is our policy not to reveal the faces and identities of staff," the masked manager stated. "Please understand."

It was more of a command than a request, you thought. Though it didn't make sense to you why the staff wouldn't reveal their faces and identities, but the players' faces were exposed. Though you didn't know each others' identities, maybe it was up to you if you would reveal them or not.

You thought hard, trying to take your attention away from the commotion below. You could hear the other players continue asking their questions on where their clothes were, their shoes being limited edition, and another player requesting if they could wear the pink jumpsuits that the guard had, just because she liked the color pink.

You chuckled to yourself, shaking your head in disbelief. For some reason, this generation always create a way to amuse things up. You notice the guard seem unfazed, ignoring the small laughs in the room.

"I'm sorry, but that is not possible. You must be in your uniforms for the games." 

Player 333 squeezed his way to the front, trying to reach the guards. "What about my phone? Why did you take my phone and wallet? Give them back, please."

You motioned your hands to your pockets, feeling it empty. A shock was sent to you, realizing that you didn't have your phone and wallet with you. You looked around if there were a stash of belongings around, or at least a cabinet or drawer for the players' belongings. Nothing was there. The only thing in there was your presence with the other players and the stack of beds.

"We're keeping your belongings safe," the masked manager said, his voice said strangely reassuring. "We'll return them once the games are over."

"I need to monitor the realtime prices!" Player 333 exclaimed in frustration. "Do you know how much I've invested?"

"Player 333, Lee Myung-gi," the masked manager coldly stated, a remote on his hand and motioned to the television, opening it. A clip of a man playing ddakji was shown then being slapped right after. You observed the clip, the background seemingly familiar to you. It only dawned to you when you saw yourself on the background, watching the game. 

Your eyes widened, realizing that it was the night that you played ddakji with the salesman. He had a hidden camera placed on him, recording the games he played. That was a breach of data privacy, you thought. You were curious what it looked like when you played with the salesman, waiting for your face to be shown on the television. 

"Age 30, used to run a YouTube channel called MG Coin. After convincing subscribers to invest a new crypto coin called Dalmatian, causing losses of approximately 15.2 billion won," the masked manager continued, earning gasps from the crowd as Myung-gi was slapped. "You're wanted for fraud and for violating telecom and financial investment laws." The masked manager briefly paused, then continued to speak again. "Current debt levels, 1.8 billion won." 

"Player 196, Kang Mina, 45 million in debt."

"Player 120, Choi Hyun-ju, 330 million won in debt."

"Player 230, Choi Subong, 1.19 billion won in debt."

"Player 198, Jang Doyeong, 1.4 billion won in debt."

The number of debts seemed to flow like forever, your mouth opened in shock as you absorb the debts you've been hearing. You never knew how people can drive themselves to situations like this, being in debt and failing to pay them on time. As for you, you always paid in time when it came to bills, subscriptions, and such. Your parents worked hard to give you the life you had in California, teaching you how to handle money properly and to be responsible with anything, especially with money. You were thankful for that, knowing how hard they worked to give you a comfortable life.

"Player 100, Im Jeongdae," the masked manager made a brief pause, and started to speak again, as if he was bracing for the crowd's response. "Ten billion won in debt."

The gasps from the crowd were evident, some of their eyes widening, and putting their hands on their mouth, clearly shocked. Even you couldn't believe what you heard. How can someone be in debt for 10 billion won?

"Ten billion? Who's that? Who is it?" The player jumped to look at the crowd, trying to find who Player 100 is.

Then, an elderly man shouted from the middle, earning a gasp from the players beside him. "What are you looking at? Do you think it's easy to get a ten billion won loan? They don't lend that kind of money to just anyone! Only to those who are capable of paying it back."

You shook your head in disbelief. Though you didn't know the experience of being in debt, you understood that maybe, something happened along the way why they became like that. It's either greed for money or any fortuitous event. 

"All of you in this room have crippling debts are now on a cliff edge," the masked manager stated, pausing the murmurs in the room. "When we first came to you, you did not trust us either. But as you know, we played a game and gave you money as promised. And so you trusted us, and volunteered to participate according to your own free will." 

You eyed the masked men intently, absorbing the manager's words. You understood the fact that they aimed to recruit players who were in debt, but you weren't. Did they miss the part where you voluntarily joined the games? Where you were the one who offered to give a 100,000 won to the salesman? You weren't in debt. You weren't in the brink of financial crisis. In fact, money was never a problem to you at all.

Though the only statement that resonated with you was volunteering to participate to your own free will. 

----

A/N: I enjoyed so much writing this chapter that I had to cut it a bit short! At least, I get to start with the next chapter and most probably will be uploaded faster this time. 🤩 Feel free to leave out your thoughts here, and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶

Don't forget to leave a comment in this post to be tagged on the next chapter! ✨

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TAGS: @machipyun @love-leez @enzosluvr

白虎

Hey, here's a concept... Soap's beautiful remastered face in 4k

IM ALIVE HELLO GUYS

yes he's still dreamy

CHAPTER 13 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)

>> MASTERLIST

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——

“Noona?”

The voice sent a shiver down your spine, stopping you in your tracks. His voice was cautious and uncertain but heavy with unspoken questions. You turned sharply toward the door, your heart pounding as you did so. And there, standing in the doorway, your eyes widened in disbelief. 

Jun-ho stood there, his expression unreadable, though his sharp gaze flickered between you and the room behind you. His presence was both a comfort and a threat — he was someone familiar in this unfamiliar place, yet someone who could easily shatter everything you had been trying to hold together.

“Jun-ho…” you breathed out, struggling to keep your voice steady.

“His brows furrowed. “What are you doing here?”

For a brief moment, you considered telling him the truth. About everything, In-ho, the games, the reason you were here. But your self-preservation kicked in, forcing you to piece together a half-truth instead.

“I… I needed a place to think,” you let out a shaky breath. “A friend told me about this place when I was looking for in-ho.”

Jun-ho’s stare hardened. “A friend?” His voice was laced with skepticism. You couldn’t blame him.

You nodded, forcing yourself to look confused, as if this revelation meant nothing to you. “I wasn’t sure if it was his.”

Jun-ho stepped further into the apartment, the door clicking shut behind him. His presence filled the space, tense and searching. His dark eyes darted over the room, scanning the familiar surroundings as if he were seeing a ghost. Then, he scoffed. “You really expect me to believe that?”

You held your breath.

“You’re correct, this is hyung’s apartment,” he continued, stepping past you, his fingers grazing over the furniture. “I came here once before he disappeared.” He stopped in front of a bookshelf, his hand ghosting over a framed photo. You knew what it was — a picture of In-ho before the games, before he was swallowed whole by the world he had tried to escape.

Jun-ho picked it up, staring at it for a long moment. His jaw clenched. “I searched everywhere for him,” his voice was quieter now, but the bitterness in it was impossible to miss. “For years, I thought something happened to him. That maybe he was dead. And then I find out he wasn’t just alive — he was running the damn thing.”

Your stomach twisted as he set the frame down with more force than necessary before turning to you. “And now, I find you here,” his gaze pierced through you. “That’s not a coincidence.”

Jun-ho exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I figured I should let you know,” his voice was rough, like he had been carrying these words for too long. “Maybe it’s because you actually seem like you care about him. Or maybe I just need to hear myself say it out loud.”

A brief silence hung between you, heavy and suffocating. Then he let out a humorless laugh. “He’s the front man, noona. My brother runs the games.”

You flinched at his words, even though you already knew the truth. You averted his gaze.

Jun-ho studied your reaction carefully, his eyes darkened with suspicion. “You don’t seem surprised.”

You felt your heart thrum harder. Your lips parted, but no words came. You only looked at him, seeing his gaze over you.

Jun-ho stepped closer. “Did you already know?”

You felt your defenses crumbling as your thoughts spiraled. It seemed your silence was enough of an answer as he let out a bitter chuckle.

“I used to think I could save him,” he admitted, shaking his head. “I chased a ghost. And when I finally found him… he shot me.”

Your heart clenched.

“I gave up on him,” Jun-ho said, his voice quieter now. “Because he already made his choice.”

“And what if he didn’t have a choice?”

Jun-ho’s gaze flickered with something unreadable after you said it, pausing for a moment before continuing. “Are you saying that you believe it… or because you don’t want to admit the truth?”

The question hit you like a punch to the gut. Jun-ho let out a slow breath, turning away from you and walking towards the shelves. He sifted through a stack of books, letters, and relics of a life that In-ho had left behind.

A life that no longer existed.

“Back then,” Jun-ho started, his voice becoming distant. “I thought my brother was the strongest person I knew. He always had a way of pulling himself out of the darkest situations,” his fingers traced over an old medal, the one In-ho had won in university. “But now? Now, I don’t even know if he’s still my brother.”

You felt the ache in your chest intensify. You couldn’t believe how harshly the world treated these brothers. Then, he finally turned back to you, his gaze softer, but the weight of his words heavier than ever.

“Noona, whatever reason you’re here, whatever you’re holding onto, please ask yourself this,” his voice was low, filled with something almost pleading. “Are you willing to live a lie until the day you die, or are you going to do what’s right?”

Your breath hitched as he spoke.

“Because if you know the truth, you only have two choices,” he continued. “Tell me everything you know about him, the frontman, and save the lives of many… or you can bury this forever.”

The weight of his words pressed down on you like a crushing force. 

Tell the truth. Betray In-ho. Expose everything.

Or stay silent. Go back. Live in the shadows.

Your throat felt dry, the room suffocating. You had fought for survival. You had fought for In-ho. But now, the real fight was beginning, and you had no idea which side you were on. 

Silence filled the apartment long after Jun-ho had left, not realizing he already did. But in your mind, his voice still echoed, lingering like a shadow that refused to fade.

The weight of his words settled deep into your chest, a pressure that made it hard to breathe. You sank onto the couch, staring at nothing yet seeing everything. The past, the present, and the uncertain future that stretched ahead of you.

If you exposed In-ho and the games, the world would finally know the truth — the horrors of the games, the lives lost, the twisted system that had turned desperation into entertainment. But what then? Would it truly end? Would it stop the games, or would the people in power simply replace him and erase his existence as if he never mattered?

Would it change anything at all?

And In-ho…

You pressed your fingertips to your temples, squeezing your eyes shut. It wasn’t just about what he had done, about the blood on his hands. It was about the moments in between — the quiet ones, the fragile ones, the ones where you saw glimpses of the man he used to be.

The man who had once laughed with you on the streets, who promised things he could never give. The man who, despite everything, had let you go when you asked for three days to think.

And then, there was Jun-ho.

Jun-ho, who had spent years searching for his brother only to find a monster in his place. Jun-ho, who had given up on saving him. The memory of In-ho’s bullet sinking into Jun-ho’s body made you feel sick.

Because what if he could do the same to you if you don’t come back?

How much of him was left? How much of the man you once knew still existed beneath the mask, beneath the weight of every decision he had made?

You had seen his hands tremble when he held you. You had seen the way he looked at you in the quiet moments when neither of you spoke — like he was afraid that if he did, the last piece of him that remained human would crack and shatter.

But wasn’t it already broken?

Jun-ho had been right about one thing. You could only do one of two things — expose In-ho and destroy what little remained of him, or stay silent and live with him, carrying this truth in your chest like a lead weight for the rest of your life.

You thought about the others. The ones still trapped in that nightmare, fighting for survival, fighting for a chance to crawl their way out of hell. If you did nothing, how many more would die?

And yet if you betrayed him, would it even matter?

You plopped yourself down to the bed, burying your face in your hands.

Minutes had already passed, maybe even hours. Time felt frozen, meaningless in the suffocating quiet of In-ho’s abandoned apartment.

Then, the black box with a pink bow caught your eye again.

The sight of it made your heart lurch, its place too deliberate and carefully placed. With slow, almost reluctant movements, you reached for it.

Your hands trembled as you untied the ribbon, the silk slipping between your fingers. You hesitated for a brief moment before lifting the lid. Inside, there was an envelope nestled within crisp white paper.

Your breath caught, realizing it wasn’t just any envelope. It had your name on it.

Written in sharp, deliberate strokes, the kind of handwriting you had seen on countless reports, on cold, official documents. But this was different. The way your name curved on the paper felt personal.

With an uneasy inhale, you pulled the letter free, unfolding it with care.

If you’re reading this, you’ve found your way back to me.

The first sentence made your stomach twist. It wasn’t a question, nor hopeful. Rather, it was a statement and certainty.

You asked me once why I did all this. Why I became the Front Man. The truth is, I stopped looking for a way out the moment I realized there was none. There is no justice in this world. Only power and those who wield it. I did what I had to survive.

But if I ever wished for something more, something outside of the choices I made… it would be you.

The words felt like they were cutting into your skin. Your eyes continued down the page, your breath shallow.

It was always you.

Your fingers clenched around the edges of the paper. You inhaled sharply, your pulse hammering in your ears.

You and I have always been the same. You understand survival better than anyone. You understand what it means to make impossible choices. And now, you have another one to make.

Your vision blurred for a second, the weight of the moment pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe.

If you choose to walk away, I won’t stop you. But they will.

But if you stay, then come back. Come back, and I will show you the world beyond this. The world we can build together. I never lied to you about that.

I will give you everything. Not as the Front Man. Not as the overseer. Not as the man who ran the games. 

Just as me. Your In-ho.

Your hands trembled as you lowered the letter, your heartbeat erratic. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you were at a crossroads.

You had spent the last few hours caught between two paths — Jun-ho’s quiet plea for justice, the weight of every life lost pressing into your ribs… and In-ho, the man who had shattered your trust, yet still held something deep inside you that you couldn’t sever.

You could leave and take this letter, burn it, and let the world know what you knew.

Or…

You could step back into the abyss.

The weight of everything threatened to crush you. You ran your hands over your head, fingers digging into your scalp as you tried to steady your erratic breaths. Your chest tightened, your thoughts racing in an endless, suffocating loop.

Jun-ho.

In-ho.

The games.

Their lives, your life, the lives of everyone still trapped in that nightmare.

No matter which path you took, someone would suffer. If you told Jun-ho the truth, you’d be condemning In-ho to a fate he could never escape. You wouldn’t want to know what the system could do to those who strayed too far from their role. They would never let him go. And if they found out about Jun-ho? He wouldn’t make it out alive.

But if you stayed silent, if you kept this secret locked away in your chest, then you were no better than the masked men who orchestrated the deaths of hundreds. You would be turning your back on the people still trapped inside, on the innocent who would be lured into the next set of games.

A sickening weight settled deep in your gut, twisting like a knife. Then, you felt a shift, some kind of pressure. Right near your ear.

Your fingers brushed against something small, firm, and foreign beneath your skin. Your stomach lurched. You pressed against the area again slowly and cautiously, the dread pooling into your veins.

It wasn’t your imagination. It was there.

A cold realization slammed into you like a freight train. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, drowning out all other noise. Your stomach twisted violently, nausea rising in your throat.

You had to get it out.

Your feet moved before your mind could fully catch up. You rushed to the kitchen, yanking open drawers with shaking hands, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The metallic clatter of utensils filled the air as you rummaged frantically until your fingers wrapped around the cool, unforgiving metal of a small knife.

You gripped it tightly, your knuckles white. Your reflection in the window caught your eye — a pale, frantic ghost of yourself as your mouth slightly opened as if gasping for air. A woman on the verge of something irreversible.

You braced yourself against the counter. With one final, shuddering breath, you angled the blade behind your ear and pressed down. Pain seared through your skin, sharp, and unforgiving. Your vision blurred, but you clenched your teeth, forcing yourself to keep going. The blade bit deeper, warm blood trickling down your neck, staining the collar of your coat.

And then, a small metallic object dislodged and tumbled onto the counter with a soft clink. It was a tiny black chip, no bigger than a fingernail, glistened under the kitchen lights, coated in fresh crimson.

Your entire body went still, and then the realization hit.

He had never intended to let you go.

A choked sob bubbled up from your throat. The walls of the apartment seemed to close in, suffocating and oppressive. Your breaths came in sharp, erratic bursts. The betrayal burned through you like acid, scorching every last remnant of hope you had left. Your chest heaved as your fingers curled into fists at your sides, your rage exploding.

With a sharp, guttural cry, you seized the closest object — an empty glass left on the counter — and hurled it across the room. The shatter echoed like a gunshot, fragments scattering across the floor. Your hands trembled, your body convulsing with anger, fear, and betrayal.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You inhaled sharply, wiping the back of your hand across your mouth as you turned toward the door. You couldn’t stay. Not here. Not in this place that reeked of his lies.

You had to leave before they came looking. Before he came looking.

One last time, your gaze swept across the apartment. The relics of the man you once thought you knew. The life he had built on a foundation of secrets.

The letter he had left you still sat on the counter, taunting you. His words, his promises, his confessions — nothing more than ink on a paper. 

It didn’t matter anymore. None of it did.

You turned away, your footsteps slow at first, then faster, more determined. You reached the door, gripping the handle with bloodstained fingers. 

Without another glance back, you slipped into the night, disappearing into the shadows.

——

The car ride was silent.

In-ho sat across from you, though he wanted to sit beside you if only you didn’t avoid him. His fingers loosely curled as if resisting the urge to reach for you. He stole glances at you in the dim light of the limousine, but you didn’t look at him. Not even once. Your gaze remained fixed outside the window, watching the city lights flicker past as if they held answers he could never give. It was all a familiar routine, one that should have been easy and controlled. But today, he felt restless.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

He had granted your request and given you space for three days. Three days apart. Three days to return to Seoul, to clear your mind, to decide whether you could live with the truths you had uncovered.

He stole a glance at you, at the way your fingers toyed absently with the hem of your coat, at the way your jaw tensed as if holding back words you refused to say.

As the limousine slowed to a stop in front of your apartment, he turned to you fully, waiting for you to say something. But you didn’t.

You simply reached for the door handle.

“Three days,” he reminded you, his voice quieter than he intended.

You hesitated for only a fraction of a second before stepping out, but he caught you looking at his lips. But just when he was about to lean in, you exited the car. No goodbye. No glance back. 

The door shut, and that was it.

He watched as you disappeared into the building, his throat tightening with something he refused to name. Then, after a long pause, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers pressing into his temples. He had done the right thing, hadn’t he? He had given you space and time.

And yet, as the car pulled away, he had never felt more like he was losing something he could never get back.

After a moment, he straightened, inhaled sharply, and signaled the drive. “Take me to my other residence.”

——

When In-ho arrived at his apartment, he didn’t immediately go inside. He stood outside the door for a long moment, staring at the numbers etched into the steel. it had been years since he had last bene here, before he had disappeared, before he had become someone else.

The apartment was dimly lit when he stepped inside, a place untouched for far too long. His footsteps were quiet against the floor as he walked through the space, past the memories he had locked away. The air carried the scent of dust and old books, the faintest trace of something familiar — something from a life that had once belonged to him before the games, before the mask.

On the table, he placed the black box with the pink ribbon. Inside was his letter, carefully folded and carefully written. He had thought of burning it a hundred times before, had debated whether you should even read the words he had poured onto the page. But in the end, he had sealed it away, hoping you would find it.

He lingered there for a moment, his fingers resting against the smooth surface of the box, before his gaze drifted toward the shelf near the window. And that was when the memory came back.

The daisies.

As a child, you had loved them. It was the same kind of flowers he’d given you when he wrapped your finger with a paper ring, imitating what you were both watching on the TV. He had never understood why the concept of marriage fascinated you so much—until he did. 

The memory played in his mind like a scene frozen in time, your small hands carefully pressing the petals between the pages of an old book, preserving them as if afraid the world would take them away from you. He had helped you once, collecting the finest daisies he could find, sneaking them into your hands like a secret only the two of you shared. 

That had been a lifetime ago.

He exhaled, pulling himself from the memory before it could tighten its grip any further. There was no use in lingering on the past, not when the present was slipping through his fingers.

Without another glance, he turned and left.

——

Hours had passed since In-ho returned, stepping into the apartment with something unfamiliar clawing at his chest. Something hopeful, perhaps. A foolish, desperate hope that maybe you had come back. That maybe he would find you here waiting. Conflicted, but still within reach.

Instead, the sight that greeted him made his blood run cold.

The counter was stained with small droplets of blood, but enough to send a wave of dread through him. And next to it, lying in plain sight, was the microchip.

His stomach dropped, realizing that you had found it.

His hands curled into fists as he stepped forward slowly and carefully. As if the weight of realization might shatter him completely. His gaze drifted to the black box that was still there, but slightly moved. The ribbon had been undone, the letter taken.

You had read it, but you were gone. 

His pulse pounded in his ears as he turned, eyes scanning the room as if you might still be hiding in the shadows. But there was nothing. Only silence, the remnants of your presence, fade by the second.

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair.

Damn it.

You had left. You had run. And this time, you hadn’t looked back. You weren’t just slipping away — you had vanished completely, disappearing into the shadows before he could stop you.

A flicker of something dark settled in his chest — something sharp, something dangerous. He wasn’t going to let this end like this.

He had let you go once.

He wouldn’t do it again.

Jaw clenched, eyes burning with determination, In-ho reached for his coat, slipping it on with practiced ease. Then, without hesitation, he stepped out into the night, his mind set on one thing and one thing only.

And no matter how far you ran, no matter how well you thought you could disappear, he would find you.

——

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A/N: I've decided to put this series also in AO3 and Wattpad so we could reach more people 🫶 I'm so happy with how these chapters are turning out. I find myself writing for hours (even the whole day) again so expect more updates in the next coming days ❤️ Anyway, feel free to leave out your thoughts here, and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶

Don't forget to leave a comment in this post to be tagged in the next chapter! ✨

TAGS: @machipyun @love-leez @enzosluvr @amber-content @kandierteveilchen @butterfly-lover @1nterstellarcha0s @squidgame-lover001 @risingwithtriples @fries11 @follows-the-life-ahead @goingmerry69 @plague-cure @theredvelvetbitch @cherryheairt (p.s. if i forget to you, please let me know)