Lieutenantbatshit - Kept You Waiting, Huh?

CHAPTER 14 - once you go in, there's no turning back (hwang in ho x reader)

>> MASTERLIST

previous chapter | next chapter

——

He had seen it coming. Hell, he was in charge of everything.

That final game. The one that had changed everything. The one that had you in it.

The air had been suffocating inside the control room, thick with the metallic scent of blood, with the weight of choices that had been made long before the game had even begun.

In-ho remembered how you looked on the TV from the last season of the games, your body barely keeping itself upright during the Red Light, Green Light game. Your eyes were sharper than ever, burning and filled with something that he had never quite seen before.

The way you had looked at him in the limousine at that moment haunted him still.

And then, despite the rebellion, there had been a winner. Deserving, as In-ho thought.

But the man who had risen from the bloodshed, broken, and victorious should have left. But he didn’t.

Instead, a new role had been placed upon him. Not by choice, but by design.

In-ho had watched as the mask was placed over his face, the weight of it settling onto his shoulders like a sentence, as if an inevitability. He had worn that mask once.

But not anymore.

Not after he had been called into that silent, suffocating room where the men in gilded masks sat in the shadows, waiting for him.

The Overseer. A title heavier than the one before it.

A role he hadn’t asked for — one that had been forced upon him the same way he had forced the mask onto the new Front Man. The games had changed, and so had its players.

A knock echoed through the dimly lit room. In-ho turned, his gloved hands resting idly behind his back as the door opened. The knocker’s footsteps were slow and deliberate. Then, a silence came in.

A presence stood across from him, face obscured beneath the black mask that had once belonged to him. For a moment, neither spoke. Then, in the quiet, In-ho exhaled.

“How does it feel?” In-ho asked, his voice smooth but unreadable.

The figure didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was different than before — colder, stripped of anything human.

“It doesn’t matter how it feels.”

In-ho allowed himself the faintest ghost of a smirk beneath his own mask. “Good.”

Then, without another word, he turned away.

The city hadn’t changed. The streets pulsed with life as if the world had never stopped turning, as if nothing had fractured beneath its surface. The skyline still burned with city lights stretching beyond the horizon. People walked from one place to another, drowning in their own worlds, oblivious to the monsters that lurked beneath their feet.

But for In-ho, the world had never felt more empty.

Six months had passed since that night — since he found the blood on his counter and the microchip abandoned beside it. Six months since you had vanished without a trace, disappearing into the shadows as if you had never existed.

It had been six months since he had lost you. And yet, he refused to let go.

He searched everywhere. Every street, every darkened alley, every lead that turned to dust beneath his fingertips. But no matter how far he looked, how many resources he pulled from the depths of his influence, you were nowhere to be found. He scoured the underground, digging into places so deep that even the organization had turned wary of his movements. The weight of the mask no longer felt heavy on his face, but without you, it no longer felt like it belonged.

The realization had settled in his bones like a sickness — an aching, gnawing thing that refused to let go. And yet, he couldn’t stop.

Every week, without fail, he visited your apartment. It was muscle memory now, the way his hand would rest against the doorframe, the way his breath would still in his chest as he listened for any sign of movement beyond the door. But there was nothing.

Always nothing.

There was no warmth inside. No trace of your presence.

You left your key there, but he never once thought of taking it. He never stepped inside, not even once. Because if he did — if he walked into that empty space and saw the dust gathering on surfaces you should have touched, saw the absence of you woven into the very walls — he wasn’t sure if he could keep moving forward.

So instead, he stood there. Every end of the week, in the dead of night, standing like a ghost outside a home that no longer belonged to anyone.

Waiting.

Hoping.

Knowing, deep down, that you weren’t coming back.

——

The news reached him in whispers.

In-ho went back to his other apartment, the one that no one ever knew — only him. The apartment he went home to after every season of the games. However this time, he was searching for you again, locked in on every file. For the first time in months, something inside In-ho shifted.

A body had been found at an abandoned dockyard. A clean execution — one bullet to the head. No struggle, no trace left behind except the corpse of the man who had once been responsible for finding desperate souls for the games.

The organization had been careful. This was no ordinary attack. Whoever had done this had known exactly what they were doing. It wasn’t just a loss of a valuable asset to the operation. It wasn’t just the unsettling fact that someone had gotten close enough to take him out without raising any alarms.

You were still out there. And now, you weren’t just running. You were fighting back.

A slow exhale left his lips as he set the report down. His fingers tightened slightly around the edges of the paper, though his face remained unreadable.

The world had indeed changed in the past six months.

In-ho’s feet moved before his mind worked, entering his car as his fingers curled around the steering wheel, knuckles white from the pressure. The rain drummed softly against the window of his car as he drove towards your apartment. There, he parked outside. Although he had no reason to be there, but he couldn’t help himself.

Another week. Another night. Another moment was spent staring at the door that would never open.

The rain blurred the city beyond the windshield, distorting the world in streaks of color. And for a moment, he let himself remember your voice, your smile. The warmth of your presence beside him.

But then, as his gaze drifted toward your apartment building, something gnawed at the edges of his mind. A feeling — one he had long learned not to ignore. The environment carried a charge, something almost electric, almost alive. It wasn’t obvious at first, not to someone who wasn’t looking for it.

Something was wrong.

Without thinking, he stepped out of the car, the cold rain soaking through his coat almost instantly. His heart pounded as he took the stairs two at a time, reaching your door before he could convince himself otherwise.

Then, he froze. The door was slightly ajar. His pulse quickened, a sharp contrast to his otherwise calm exterior. His breath caught in his throat. Slowly, he pushed the door open, the hinges creaking in protest. And then, his stomach dropped.

The apartment was empty. Not just in the way it always had been — but stripped bare, as if someone had come and erased every last trace of you from existence. The bed was untouched. The air smelled stale. His eyes scanned the space, taking in every detail. Although the furniture was the same, something about its arrangement felt off. As if someone had touched it, moved it, sat on it.

His gaze trailed along the room until it landed on the small table near the window. And then, he saw it.

Your letter.

The envelope was simple. There were no markings, no embellishments. Just his name scrawled in familiar handwriting.

Your handwriting.

His fingers tightened around the edges as he picked it up, his throat constricting. He exhaled, steadying himself before he slipped a gloved finger beneath the seal, carefully unfolding the paper within.

Your scent still lingered on it.

His eyes moved over the words, absorbing them, dissecting every sentence, every choice of phrasing, every hidden meaning between the lines.

I wonder how long it took you to realize I was close. Or if you came here just to mourn the ghost of me, the one you left behind. I wonder if you’ve spent your nights lying awake, picturing my face in the crowd, searching for a glimpse of me in every shadow.

But I already know the answer, don’t I?

You’ve been looking for me. I know, because I’ve been watching you, too.

Do you understand what you did to me, In-ho? It wasn’t just the bullet — it was the choice. It was the cold look in your eyes, the way you pulled the trigger as if my life was nothing more than a means to an end. I wasn’t just another player in your game. I wasn’t someone you could sacrifice for the sake of your throne.

You betrayed me.

And yet, I still think about you. That’s the cruelest part of all.

Even after everything, I still remember the way you used to look at me. I still remember your hands, the warmth of your touch before you became someone I could no longer reach. And I hate myself for it. I hate myself for every moment I miss you.

But I won’t let that stop me from what I have to do. The recruiters are still out there, hunting for the desperate and the broken. And I see them. I watch them from the shadows. I’ve followed them down the streets, through the alleys, watching as they hand out those cursed cards. And every time I find one, I promise myself I will end them.

I wonder, In-ho… will you stop me? Will you try?

Or will you let me disappear into the abyss you threw me into?

You know where to find me. If you’re willing to look hard enough.

By the time In-ho finished reading, his hands had curled so tightly around the letter that the edges crumpled beneath his fingers. A slow exhale left his lips, his shoulders stiff, his mind a storm of emotions too tangled to unravel.

You were near. You knew he was looking for you. And now, you had given him a choice: let you vanish into the darkness or chase after you.

The corner of his lips twitched, a ghost of something almost like amusement, but there was no warmth in it.

You wanted a challenge? You would get one.

Because no matter how far you ran, no matter how well you hid, In-ho wasn’t going to stop. He had already lost you once.

And he wasn’t going to lose you again.

——

The alley was silent. The kind of silence that only came after death.

Even in the middle of Seoul, where the streets never truly slept, there were places like this — forgotten corners between looming buildings, spaces where the city’s neon glow didn’t quite reach. Places where death could slip by unnoticed.

The recruiter’s body slumped against the cold brick wall, his final breath long stolen from his lungs. Blood seeped into the cracks of the pavement, dark and glistening under the faint streetlight overhead. The warmth of it clung to your hands, soaked into the creases of your knuckles, staining your sleeves.

The knife was still in your grip, trembling slightly as the adrenaline burned through you.

Another one down. Another recruiter gone.

Your pulse pounded, loud in your ears, drowning out the distant sounds of the city. This was what you had become. You had made your choice the night you left.

You promised yourself that if you couldn’t stop the games, you would stop those who fed it. And yet, as you stood there, staring at the life you had just taken, a part of you wondered if this was really justice.

Or if it was revenge.

Your breath came uneven as you wiped the blade clean against the recruiter’s coat before slipping it back into your pocket. The blood on your hands had already begun to dry, leaving a tacky feeling against your skin. The weight of it pressed against your chest.

You had to move.

With one last glance at the lifeless body, you turned, slipping into the shadows, disappearing before anyone could find you.

You had never been much of a smoker before, but now, it was a habit you had picked up in the quiet moments between the killings, in the stolen hours of the night when the world slowed just enough for your thoughts to catch up.

The flame flickered as you brought it to the tip, the ember glowing faintly before you took a slow drag, letting the smoke fill your lungs. It burned, just for a second, before settling into something familiar, something grounding. Your mind wandered before you could stop it.

In-ho.

The man who had once been your everything before he became the one thing you could never forgive.

Six months since you had disappeared into the cracks of the city. Since you had left behind the world that had nearly swallowed you whole. Since you had walked away from him.

And yet, he hadn’t walked away from you.

You’ve seen him. Every week. Every damn week, without fail.

Standing just across the street from your apartment building, half-hidden in the shadows, his hands in the pockets of his coat, his gaze lingering on the shadows as if you could step out onto the balcony. He would stand there for hours, unmoving, just watching.

And then, just before the sky began to lighten before the world stirred awake, he would disappear like a ghost. Like a man who didn’t know how to let go.

You had never let him see you, never once stepped out of the safety of your hiding place. But you had thought about it.

God, you had thought about it.

There were nights when you had stood by the window, fingers curled around the curtain, watching him through the sliver of space between the fabric. Careful enough not to make any movement around your apartment, for him to think that you never came back there. Nights when you had imagined walking down those steps, crossing that street, standing in front of him, and asking him why.

Why he had done this.

Why he had betrayed you.

Why he still looked at you like you were something worth waiting for.

And worse, there were nights when you had almost considered it.

Almost considered going back.

Almost considered accepting his offer.

Because for all the blood on his hands, for all the lives he had stolen, there had been a time where he had been yours. And a part of you, no matter how much you hated it, still wanted to believe that be again.

But then, the memories would come back. The pain. The betrayal.

The weight of his gun against your body, the sharp crack of the bullet tearing through you. The way he had looked at you afterward. Not with regret, not with hesitation, but with cold, calculated detachment. Like you had never meant anything at all.

You exhaled, watching the tendrils of smoke curl toward the ceiling before vanishing into nothing. As you stood there in the dim light of the convenience store, with the taste of nicotine on your tongue and the weight of another life on your conscience, you couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how far you ran, no matter how many recruiters you took down, he would always find a way back to you.

The gas station flickered ahead, neon signs buzzing faintly against the dark sky. It sat on the edge of the city, just far enough from the main streets that it felt detached from the world. A temporary sanctuary.

You pushed open the door to the restroom, locking it behind you. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed, casting a sickly glow over the cracked mirror. And then, for the first time in hours, you saw yourself, barely recognizing what you had become.

Your reflection stared back at you, hollow-eyed and exhausted. Slowly, you turned on the faucet, watching as the water sputtered out, filling the sink.

Your fingers shook as you scrubbed. The blood smeared at first, painting your skin deeper shades of red before finally fading down the drain. But even as your hands became clean, the weight in your chest did not lift.

You gripped the edges of the sink, head lowering, and your breath shaky. You had been killing them one by one.

You exhaled sharply, blinking back the exhaustion threatening to consume you. There was no time to dwell on it. Not now.

Pulling your coat tighter around yourself, you pushed open the restroom door and stepped into the dimly lit convenience store.

The bell above the convenience store door chimed as you stepped inside, the harsh fluorescent lights making you squint after spending too much time lurking in the shadows. The scent of cheap instant ramen and cleeaning detergent filled the air, clashing with the lingering smoke of your cigarette, which you quickly stubbed out against the trash bin by the entrance.

You barely spared a glance at the other customers. Just another late-night stop for the city’s restleses — people either coming from work or trying to escape something. The latter fit you right in.

But then, you saw her.

Jun-hee.

Your breath hitched.

She was standing in front of the fridge, reaching for a bottle of water, completely unaware of your presence. For a moment, your mind refused to believe it was real. But she was here, standing right in front of you when, by all accounts, she should have been dead.

Just like you.

Her hair was longer than you remembered, tied back in a loose ponytail, and she wore a thick coat that did little to hide the exhaustion in her posture. But it wasn’t her disheveled appearance that caught your attention.

It was the baby in her arms. Small, bundled up in soft, pale yellow fabric.

Yours and Jun-hee’s eyes met in the reflection of the fridge door. She froze, the bottle slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a dull thud.

“No…” Her voice was barely above a whisper, trembling with disbelief. “You… You’re dead.”

The words sent a chill down your spine. You could have laughed if the moment wasn’t so suffocating. You had to get out.

You schooled your features, masking the sudden rise of panic clawing at your ribs. “I’m sorry, you must have the wrong person.”

Her eyes widened, a million emotions flashing through them. “No, no. It’s you. It’s really you. How—?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you cut her off, voice steady but firm. You turned sharply on your heel and strode toward the door, the familiar itch of danger creeping up your spine.

You shoved the door open and stepped back into the cold air, swallowing down the panic rising in your throat. Your fingers twitched at your sides, muscles tensing as you forced yourself to keep walking, to not turn back, to not run.

Jun-hee won.

She was the winner of the last game. The realization settled like a heavy strone in your gut. She had survived. She had gone through the same nightmare, played the same deadly games, watched people die, and somehow, she had come out alive.

And she had a baby now.

Your mind ran circles around the thought, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it. She had seen you. That was all that mattered. You needed to disappear again and let the city swallow you whole, let the neon lights blur in your peripheral vision, let the sounds of traffic and distant voices drown out your thoughts.

By the time you realized where you were, you were standing in front of a bar. It was dimly lit, old, with a neon sign flickering above the entrance, half the letters burnt out. It was the perfect place to sink into oblivion.

The door creaked as you pushed it open, the scent of liquor, sweat, and stale cigarette smoke hit you instantly, familiar and suffocating all at once. A few patrons lingered at the tables, hunched over drinks, lost in their own troubles. The bartender barely spared you a glance as you slid into a seat at the counter.

Your hands were still shaking, realizing that Jun-hee had seen you.

You drank the night away, the coldness of the liquor etching your throat as it burned, but you didn’t care. You needed to be wasted.

——

A/N: So far, I've been liking the thought of In-ho and Y/N writing letters for each other 🤭 What did you think of Jun-hee becoming the winner of the games? Do you have any theories in mind for the next season of Squid Game? Let's discuss about it! Feel free to leave out your thoughts here, and I'll gladly interact with each and everyone of you. 🫶

previous chapter | next chapter

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 @voxslays @thebluehair23 @coruja12345 (p.s. if i forget to you, please let me know)

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

>> MASTERLIST

previous chapter | next chapter

——

“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.

——

previous chapter | next chapter

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! ✨