CHAPTER 20 - Once You Go In, There's No Turning Back (hwang In Ho X Reader)

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

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——

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the work was relentless.

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

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

Gi-hun.

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

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

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

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

A pause.

“She deserves to choose.”

Jun-ho.

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

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

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

“Surprised?” He asked, his voice steady.

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

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

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

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

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

Your lips parted, but no words came.

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

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

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

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

——

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

But it did. 

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

Humanity or whatever was left of it.

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

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

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

A glimpse of fatherhood.

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

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

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

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

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

You tilted your head. “Believe what?”

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

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

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

“Then how?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

——

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A/N: A bit of a short chapter today as I want to give my all on the last ones. I'm curious if y'all want a sad ending or a happy ending? Or do y'all want alternative endings? Please feel free to leave out your thoughts here, and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶

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