Lieutenantbatshit - Kept You Waiting, Huh?

for the very wonderful esteljune

The M1911

‘Even if I have to sacrifice everything’.

▪legend ▪

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

previous chapter | MASTERLIST

——

The plan was set. The weight of it sat heavily on your shoulders as you checked your gear, strapping a handgun to your thigh holster and ensuring the spare magazines were secured. Your hands trembled slightly, but it wasn’t from fear. It was the quiet, lingering uncertainty deep inside you—the kind you couldn't afford to acknowledge right now. You felt In-ho’s presence before you even saw him.

“You’re hesitating,” he said lowly, standing just beside you, his voice quiet enough that only you could hear.

Your fingers hovered over the strap of your vest before tightening it. “I’m not.”

His gaze flickered down to your stomach. It was subtle, but you knew him well enough to see the moment of hesitation in his normally calculating eyes. His hand clenched at his side, the leather of his gloves creaking slightly.

“You don’t have to be here,” he said finally.

You let out a short breath, tilting your head toward him with an almost bitter smile. “And do what? Hide while everyone else fights? Pretend none of this is happening?”

His jaw tightened. “You have more to lose.”

Your heart clenched at those words, but before you could respond, Gi-hun’s voice cut through the tension.

“Everyone ready?”

The room shifted.

Hyun-ju was tightening the bandages on her wrist, tucking a blade into her boot. Jun-ho was checking his firearm, his expression unreadable as he stood near the doorway. No-eul adjusted the strap of her guard uniform, her fingers steady. Gyeong-seok exhaled through his nose, shifting his weight as he cracked his knuckles.

They were ready, and so were you.

But before you could step forward, In-ho caught your wrist. You froze as his gloved hand closed over your arm—not in restraint, but in something gentler. 

You turned to him. He didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he reached down and pulled something from the inside of his coat—a sleek, customized handgun. He placed it in your palm, closing your fingers around it.

Then, for the first time in a long time, his eyes softened. “I’ll protect you,” he murmured, voice quiet but firm. “No matter what happens.”

The words were a promise. One that neither of you knew if he could keep. Your throat tightened, but you nodded. “We protect each other.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Stay close to me.”

Then, without another word, he released your wrist and turned to the others. The tension in the room shifted once more.

Gi-hun gave a sharp nod, rolling his shoulders back. “Let’s move.”

With that, the group stepped forward, the war ahead looming like a storm. The fight was coming and there was no turning back.

You moved as thoughts started to cloud your mind. You weren’t sure when you lost yourself.

Maybe it was the moment you stepped into the games, out of sheer reckless curiosity, thinking you could outsmart something designed to break people.

Maybe it was when you ran for six months, evading shadows, haunted by memories of the bodies that had fallen around you—names you never knew, faces you would never forget.

Or maybe it was when you put on the mask. When you stood above the very system you once despised, playing the role of the overseer, whispering orders that made the machine turn, knowing that every command meant another life lost.

The moment you ascended to power, donned in black, speaking in commands that turned life and death into a cold transaction.

The mask was supposed to be just that—a mask. A tool to hide behind. A way to survive. But at some point, you had begun to wonder if you had become the mask itself.

And now, here you were. Again.

But this time, you weren’t running.

You were trying to end it.

Your fingers tightened around the edges of the table in front of you, knuckles turning white. The room was empty, save for the distant hum of the facility’s systems and the echo of your own ragged breathing. Your body ached, exhaustion weighing down on you like chains, but the real war was inside your mind.

What if, after all of this, you weren’t meant to be saved?

What if you had already become everything you once swore to destroy?

The thought sent a deep, twisting nausea through you.

You had spent so long convincing yourself that you weren’t like the others. That you had control over your fate. That despite all the blood on your hands, you were still human. But were you?

If you were, why did the sight of death no longer make you flinch?

Why had you learned to speak in orders and sacrifices, calculating loss like it was just another variable in an equation?

You clenched your hands into fists, feeling your nails dig into your skin. You needed to hold onto something real—anything that reminded you that there was still something left of you beneath all of this.

And then you thought about the life inside you.

You placed a hesitant hand over your stomach, your heartbeat hammering against your ribs. You were carrying life in a place built to destroy it.

For a second, you almost laughed. How cruel, how ironic, that in the heart of this machine of death, something so fragile—so pure—was growing inside of you.

Would they ever know the truth about you? About what you did?

Would they see you as someone worth saving, or would they only see the monster that history had made of you?

Your chest felt tight. You pressed a hand against it, as if that could steady the whirlwind inside you.

Was there anything left of you beneath the mask?

The door creaked open behind you. You didn’t turn immediately. 

You knew who it was.

In-ho stepped inside, his presence solid, grounding. He didn’t say anything at first, only watching as you stared at the reflection in the dark glass—your own face staring back at you, tired, fractured.

"You’re overthinking again," he murmured, stepping closer.

You let out a bitter laugh. “Am I?”

There was silence, then something was softer. “What are you thinking about?”

You exhaled slowly. “That I don’t know who I am anymore.”

In-ho’s gaze darkened, but there was no judgment in his expression. Only understanding.

“I was a player,” you continued, voice quieter now. “Then I ran. Then I became an overseer. And now, I’m here. Back where I started. Tearing it all down.” You turned to him, eyes searching his as if he had the answer. “So tell me, In-ho. Who am I supposed to be?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached for your hand, gloved fingers closing over yours. His grip was steady. Warm.

"You are who you choose to be," he said finally. "And right now, you’ve chosen to fight.”

Your throat tightened.

Fight.

You had fought for the past few months, hadn’t you? For control. For survival. For something greater than yourself.

What if fighting only turned you into another cog in the machine?

What if you were too far gone to be anything else?

Slowly, In-ho lifted his other hand and rested it gently over yours, over where it still hovered against your stomach. His gaze was softer now, his touch careful, almost reverent.

“You still have something to fight for,” he murmured.

For the first time in a long time, you felt fragile. Breakable. A lump formed in your throat, but you forced yourself to swallow it down.

Maybe there was no clear answer to who you were.

Maybe there never would be.

But right now, you knew one thing.

You weren’t going to let this place define you anymore.

Slowly, you exhaled, steadying your hands. Then, with newfound clarity, you met In-ho’s gaze.

“Let’s finish this.”

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you had control over your own story again.

——

The cold night air pressed against your skin as you and the others moved through the shadows of the island, weaving between steel walls and towering storage units. The moon hung overhead, half-veiled by storm clouds, casting eerie streaks of light over the empty pathways.

Jun-ho moved ahead, his camera clutched tightly in his hands. His fingers trembled slightly—not from fear, but from adrenaline. Each click of the camera shutter echoed in the silence, capturing the horrors of the island one frame at a time.

“Keep moving,” In-ho whispered beside you, his voice barely above the wind. His presence was steady, a contrast to the chaos in your mind.

You adjusted your grip on your gun, scanning the area. Every flickering shadow, every distant noise, sent a wave of paranoia through your veins. This island was alive, breathing, waiting to swallow you whole.

You turned to Gi-hun, who was watching Jun-ho carefully. “How much proof do you have so far?”

Jun-ho glanced down at his camera. “More than enough to make sure the world never turns a blind eye again,” he murmured.

But was it enough to stop them? The organization had power—more than any of them had ever imagined. Even with evidence, they needed to make sure this wasn’t just another buried story.

That meant one thing.

They needed to get out alive.

Hyun-ju let out a sharp breath. “We can’t just keep sneaking around. We need to hit them where it hurts.”

Gi-hun nodded. “That’s why we’re heading to the control room.”

You swallowed. “That’s the most dangerous place in this facility.”

Gyeong-seok, standing beside No-eul, flexed his fingers over his stolen rifle. “Then let’s make it count.”

There was no turning back now. You followed the group through the winding paths, past lifeless halls and silent corridors, deeper into the heart of the island. The closer you got, the heavier the air became.

Then, you saw it.

The control room.

A fortress of reinforced glass and steel, glowing with monitors displaying every part of the island. The pulse of the entire operation. If they could get in, they could override the system. Send the footage out. Tear down the organization from the inside.

But as you took another step forward, something felt wrong.

Too quiet.

Too easy.

Your instincts screamed just as the first shot rang out.

“AMBUSH!”

The world exploded. Gunfire erupted from above, from the sides, from the very walls themselves. Dozens of guards stormed in, masked and armed, their weapons aimed with deadly precision.

Your body moved before your mind could catch up. You dove behind a stack of metal crates as bullets shredded through the air, sparks flying from every surface.

Gi-hun fired back, his expression a mask of fury. Hyun-ju ducked behind a column, reloading as Gyeong-seok and No-eul tried to hold the right flank.

Jun-ho barely managed to shield his camera as a bullet shattered a light overhead, raining glass down on him.

You felt a hand on your wrist—In-ho, pulling you back as another round of bullets whizzed past where you had just stood.

“They were waiting for us,” you gritted out, pressing yourself against the crate.

“They knew we were coming,” In-ho muttered, eyes scanning for an opening.

A guard charged towards Jun-ho, gun raised. Before you could react, In-ho was already moving, raising his weapon and firing a clean shot. The guard collapsed, but another took his place, then another.

You turned, firing rapidly, each shot precise, controlled. Your months full of training, of surviving, had honed your skills into something deadly.

But the guards weren’t just trying to kill you. They were herding you. Pushing you back. Forcing you into a trap.

“We need a new plan!” Gi-hun shouted over the chaos.

You looked up. The control room doors were still sealed, reinforced. The only way in was through a direct override—or through the bodies standing in the way.

The choice was clear.

No turning back. No surrender.

You locked eyes with In-ho. “We fight our way through,” you said.

His gaze flickered to your stomach, hesitation flashing through his expression for the briefest second. But he knew you wouldn’t back down. “Then we do it together,” he murmured.

You nodded. Then, gripping your gun, you took a deep breath and ran straight into the fire.

Bullets shredded through the air as you sprinted forward, your heart hammering against your ribs. The floor beneath you trembled with each deafening blast. You moved purely on instinct, firing into the chaos, ducking and rolling behind a control panel as guards swarmed the entrance. The others were right behind you.

Gi-hun took cover behind an overturned console, his jaw clenched as he reloaded. Jun-ho was crouched near a metal pillar, his camera slung over his shoulder, his gun shaking slightly in his grip.

In-ho was beside you, his movements precise and ruthless. He fired clean, methodical shots, covering Hyun-ju as she darted to the other side of the room, her rifle slung over her shoulder. Gyeong-seok and No-eul worked in tandem, their stolen weapons spitting fire as they tried to clear a path forward.

But there were too many.

Guards poured in from the upper levels, rifles trained on your group like predators circling prey. You counted at least two dozen, their numbers closing in.

A bullet grazed your arm, the burn searing through your flesh. You clenched your jaw, shoving the pain aside. You couldn’t afford to hesitate.

“We’re getting pinned down!” No-eul shouted, ducking behind the cover as bullets ripped into the wall beside her.

“We need to move, now!” Gyeong-seok gritted out, his breathing ragged.

In-ho scanned the control room, his sharp eyes locking onto something across the room. The main terminal. The heart of the facility.

“We have to get to the override panel,” he said. “It’s our only chance to take control of the island’s systems.”

“Then let’s make a path,” you said, gripping your gun tighter.

You and In-ho moved together, breaking from cover in perfect sync. Your weapons fired in unison, dropping two guards blocking the path to the panel. The others followed your lead, pushing forward with relentless force.

Hyun-ju threw a stolen flash grenade, the explosion of light and sound sending the remaining guards into disarray. “Go! Now!” she yelled.

In-ho grabbed your wrist, pulling you forward as you weaved through the chaos, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You reached the main terminal, its screen glowing with layers of security protocols.

Jun-ho rushed in behind you, typing furiously on the control pad. “I can override the security feeds, but I need time!”

Time was the one thing you didn’t have. Guards regrouped, their gunfire tearing into the walls. No-eul yelped as a bullet grazed her leg, Gyeong-seok dragging her back behind a desk for cover.

Gi-hun gritted his teeth, turning to you. “We have to hold them off.”

You nodded, your body aching, but your mind razor-sharp. You lifted your gun and fired, refusing to let them take another step forward.

And then, a voice crackled through the speakers.

“You really thought you could win?”

Everything stopped as your stomach twisted as the voice reverberated through the room. Cold. Amused. Unshaken by the battle raging inside the control center.

It was one of the overseers. Though its voice sounded from… a woman.

“You think you’re exposing us? You have no idea what you’ve done.”

The screens flickered, revealing a horrifying sight.

Outside the facility, massive cargo ships loomed on the horizon. Heavily armed. Reinforcements.

Jun-ho’s fingers froze over the keyboard. “They knew we were coming.”

Your grip on your gun tightened. The weight of everything—your past, your choices, your unborn child—pressed down on you like a crushing force.

“We can’t stop now,” you said, your voice steely.

In-ho turned to you, something fierce and unyielding in his gaze. “I won’t let them take you.”

You swallowed hard, your hand instinctively resting on your stomach.

No one ran. No one surrendered.

The next battle had just begun.

Thick iron chains rattled against the damp ground as you and the others were dragged forward. The cold bite of steel dug into your wrists, the weight of captivity pressing down on you with every step. The guards flanked you in a tight formation, their rifles primed and ready to fire at the slightest resistance.

The sky was dark, storm clouds swirling like an omen above the endless stretch of ocean. Massive cargo ships loomed ahead, their floodlights cutting through the night, illuminating the dock where your fate awaited. The air reeked of salt, gunpowder, and something else—something metallic and final.

A line of masked overseers stood at the edge of the dock, their robes billowing in the wind. Their presence alone was suffocating, a silent reminder of the power they wielded.

At the center stood one of them. A woman with a single black mask, wearing a red long dress that fit her shape. An unmistakable symbol of control. She was someone you’ve never seen before, even In-ho seemed confused seeing her.

The overseer inched forward, exuding an aura of absolute dominance. The guards shoved you and the others to your knees, forcing you to look up at the figure towering above.

The overseer’s slow, deliberate applause echoed against the crashing waves.

“Well, well,” the voice purred, smooth and amused. “Look at you. The rebels. The revolutionaries.” A pause. Then, with venomous delight. “The failures.”

A low growl rumbled from Gi-hun’s throat, his wrists straining against the chains. In-ho remained still, his gaze locked onto the overseer, his mind calculating every possible move. Your breath hitched, your pulse hammering at the base of your throat.

The overseer paced in front of you, slow and measured, relishing every second of your humiliation.

“Did you think you were the first?” Her voice was mocking, dripping with condescension. “Did you really believe you could ‘expose’ us? That the world would shun us in horror?”

A bitter chuckle.

“Oh, how naive.”

A monitor buzzed to life behind the line of overseers. The screen flickered, revealing something none of you had expected.

Millions of people were watching. The world wasn’t horrified. They were entertained.

Live feeds, interviews, and even betting pools flashed across the screen. People weren’t condemning the games. They were celebrating them.

Your stomach twisted violently.

The overseer gestured toward the display. “You see, the world doesn’t want justice. They want a spectacle. And thanks to you, dear rebels, we’ve given them just that.”

Gi-hun’s fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “You’re lying.”

The overseer tilted her head. “Am I?”

The screen shifted again, showing news anchors praising the system, social media posts glorifying the brutality, commentators analyzing ‘strategies’ for future contestants.

“People have stopped questioning the morality of it all. They’ve accepted it.” The overseer’s voice lowered to a chilling whisper. “They want more.”

A sickening wave of nausea rolled over you.

The overseer crouched down, inches from your face. “And you,” she murmured, “were always meant to be part of it.”

Your breath hitched as they lifted a gloved hand and traced it along your jawline—then lower, hovering just above your abdomen. Your blood ran cold.

“I must say,” the overseer drawled, “I’m impressed. Even after all the carnage, you still found time to create life.”

Your entire body stiffened. Beside you, In-ho’s head snapped up, his entire posture shifting from composed to sheer, unfiltered rage.

The overseer’s voice dropped to a lethal whisper. “I wonder… how much longer it will last?”

In-ho lunged as the chains snapped as he surged forward, a raw, animalistic fury igniting in his eyes. The guards reacted immediately, striking him across the face with the butt of a rifle. He hit the ground hard, a sharp crack echoing as blood splattered against the dirt.

You gasped, jerking forward, but the guards yanked you back, forcing you to watch as In-ho writhed, his chest heaving, his head bowed.

The overseer smirked. “How predictable.”

In-ho lifted his head, a slow, dark smile curling at his lips despite the blood dripping down his chin. “You have no idea what’s coming.”

The overseer merely chuckled. “Oh, but I do.” She straightened, dusting off their coat. “You see, the three of you—” they gestured between you, In-ho, and Gi-hun “—were always meant to be the pillars of this system. A former winner, a perfect enforcer, and a rogue overseer. The power of the games could have been yours.”

A pause.

“But you chose defiance.”

She turned to Gi-hun, her expression unreadable behind the mask. “And you, my dear 456… you were never meant to win.”

Gi-hun inhaled sharply, his body going rigid.

The overseer took one last step closer, looming over you. “But now, you get to witness something far more tragic.” She motioned toward the ships. “Your final chapter.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears as realization sank in. They weren’t taking you to be executed. They were taking you to be displayed.

A grand finale for the world to see.

The guards yanked the chains, forcing all of you to your feet. Your legs trembled, but you forced yourself to stay strong. You couldn’t afford to break. Not here. Not now.

You risked a glance at In-ho. His lip was split, his eye swelling, but his gaze was still burning with defiance. He met your eyes, a silent promise there.

I will not let them take you.

The storm overhead rumbled, the waves crashing violently against the dock as the guards led you closer to the ships. You swallowed back the fear clawing at your throat.

The waves roared beneath the docks, a monstrous force of nature that mirrored the chaos unraveling in your mind. The cold steel chains dug into your wrists as the guards tightened their grip, dragging you and the others toward the looming cargo ships. The world had already decided your fate—whether as traitors, martyrs, or something far worse.

And then the overseer spoke again, her voice eerily calm against the storm.“You’re still clinging to the idea that you’ve uncovered the truth,” she mused, stepping forward with a measured grace. “That you’ve somehow managed to defy the system. But tell me…” She tilted their head slightly, the smooth black mask reflecting the flickering floodlights. “Did you ever stop to think that perhaps… the system wanted you to?”

The words settled like a slow, creeping poison. Gi-hun stiffened beside you, his fists trembling within the chains. “What the hell are you talking about?” he snapped.

The overseer chuckled, the sound drenched in amusement. “You really think all of this—” she gestured at the massive ships, the live broadcasts, the relentless global fascination “—happened because of you?” She let the silence hang for a moment before answering their own question.

Your stomach twisted.

“This—all of this—was inevitable.”

The overseer began pacing in front of you like a predator toying with its wounded prey.

“Violence… spectacle… the illusion of rebellion. You see, the system never feared exposure.” She turned slightly, glancing at Jun-ho. “Did you think you were the first to attempt such a thing? To gather evidence? To infiltrate?”

Jun-ho’s breath hitched, his jaw tightening.

“Many have tried before,” the overseer continued smoothly. “Some died. Some disappeared. But their efforts all had one thing in common.” Her voice dropped to a taunting whisper. “They never mattered.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears.

The overseer exhaled, her tone almost sympathetic. “We never needed to hide the games. We only needed to… evolve them.”

Gi-hun’s expression darkened, fury twisting his features. “No. That’s bullshit—”

“Is it?” The overseer took a slow, deliberate step forward. “You saw the world’s reaction. You saw the demand. You thought you were at the top, pulling the strings, but in reality, you were merely pieces on a much grander board. The real game isn’t about survival or wealth. It never was.” Her gaze darkened, sharp with something unreadable. “It’s about control. Manipulation. How far people are willing to go when they believe they have power.”

The screen flickered behind them again—broadcasts of talk shows, endless online discourse, governments debating regulations rather than condemnations.

“The world isn’t horrified. It’s hungry.”

Gi-hun's expression hardened. “And what? You think people will just let this continue?”

The overseer chuckled, shaking her head. “Let it continue?” She gestured grandly. “The world has already decided. The games were revealed, the public saw the truth, and what did they do?”

She leaned in closer, voice thick with amusement.

“They begged for more.”

Your stomach twisted.

No. That wasn’t possible.

The world should have been horrified. Outraged. The system should have collapsed under the weight of its own sins. A twisted smile played at the overseer’s lips, barely visible beneath the mask.

“This was never about stopping the games.”

She turned their gaze onto you this time, her tone softening into something almost affectionate.

“This was about creating something new.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

The overseer let the weight of her words sink in before continuing. “You, In-ho, Gi-hun… you were never opponents to the system. You were components.”

Another pause. Then, another cruel smirk.

“You were the experiment.”

The words shattered the last threads of certainty holding you together. The realization was crushing. The system hadn’t been exposed to destroy it. It had been exposed to evolve.

And now, you, In-ho, and Gi-hun—the supposed "leaders" of the system—were nothing but remnants of an old era. Pawns that had served their purpose.

Your knees nearly buckled beneath you. “What…?” Your voice barely registered, hollow, strangled.

“Did you really believe you infiltrated us? That you and In-ho’s power struggle meant anything? That Gi-hun’s rebellion made an impact?” The overseer’s head tilted, amused. “No. You were all carefully placed pieces on the board. Given just enough power. Just enough hope.”

She gestured between you and In-ho. “The overseer who once enforced the system, turned against it. The rogue infiltrator seeking to burn it down.” Her gaze slid to Gi-hun. “And the man who tried to end it, only to be drawn back into its orbit again and again.”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips.

“All of you… designed to stir the pot. To give the world something new to fixate on.”

It was like the ground beneath you had crumbled. Jun-ho’s breathing was uneven now, his fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to lunge at the overseer despite his chains. Gi-hun was eerily silent, his entire body rigid with unprocessed rage.

You turned to In-ho, desperate for some kind of answer, some kind of denial—anything. But his face was unreadable. You couldn’t find anything. Even he didn’t know what to do anymore. 

The overseer took a slow step forward, her voice dropping to something almost gentle. “The real games never ended.” She leaned in closer. “Because they never truly began.”

A cold, sickening dread settled deep in your bones. Everything you had done. Everything you had fought for. It wasn’t against the system.

It had been for it all along.

A deafening silence consumed the dock, broken only by the distant wails of the ocean and the mechanical hum of the ships. Your mind was still reeling from the overseer’s words, from the realization that the very thing you fought against had been orchestrating your every move.

You were never tearing the system down.

You were fueling it.

The chains rattled against your wrists as you struggled to breathe, your pulse hammering so loud you could barely hear the distant screams of the world that now knew the truth—but was unwilling to stop it.

And then the overseer moved slowly and deliberately. The gun in her hand was raised, the barrel leveled directly at your head. A cruel smirk tugged at the edges of her lips beneath the mask. “I think we all know how this ends. But I have to say,” she mused, her eyes flickering down to your stomach, “this was an interesting variable.”

The guards beside you tightened their grip. No one in your group dared to move, frozen in place like ghosts waiting to vanish into oblivion.

“No.”

The word came from beside you, raw and desperate.

In-ho took a step forward, yanking against the chains holding him back. His breath came in ragged gasps, his body tense, as if ready to tear through every restraint between him and the gun aimed at you.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, his voice tight with barely contained emotion. 

The overseer didn’t even glance at him. She took a slow step forward, locking eyes with In-ho. “But you, In-ho…tell me, how does it feel? To know you fought so hard to survive—only to end up right back in chains?”

In-ho said nothing. You could feel the tension radiating off him, his fists clenched so tightly they trembled.

The overseer took another step closer, voice turning into a whisper. “Does it hurt more knowing that she’ll suffer with you?”

Something inside of In-ho snapped. With a roar, he lunged. The guards reacted instantly, yanking him back before he could reach the overseer. A sharp crack echoed as a rifle butt smashed into In-ho’s gut, sending him to his knees.

“No!” You struggled against your restraints, but the chains dug into your wrists, holding you back.

In-ho coughed, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. He lifted his head slowly, glaring up at the overseer, pure hatred burning in his gaze. But the overseer only chuckled, looking amused.

“No,” In-ho hissed, his eyes burning with something unrecognizable—something vulnerable, something stripped bare. “She—she’s pregnant.”

The words barely made it past his lips, but they hit like a gunshot. The world seemed to stop. The others visibly stiffened, the revelation settling into their bones like a slow, creeping cold.

Gi-hun turned sharply toward you, his brows furrowing, his lips parting in silent realization. Jun-ho’s expression shattered for just a second before he quickly masked it, his gaze flicking between you and his brother. Hyun-ju inhaled sharply. Gyeong-seok muttered a quiet curse under his breath. No-eul’s hands twitched at her sides.

And the overseer laughed.

It was quiet at first—a small chuckle, almost amused. Then it grew.

Louder.

Hollow.

Merciless.

“How poetic,” she tilted their head. “A life growing inside the very person who helped enforce the deaths of so many.”

In-ho’s breathing was ragged. “It’s unfair,” he rasped. “The child… our child… they never chose this.”

For a fraction of a second, the overseer seemed to consider his words. Then, her smirk deepened.

“You’re right.”

Then, without warning, the gun was pulled away. Instead of relief, a cold wave of dread washed over you. The overseer turned slightly, pacing in front of your group, her gaze flickering between you, Gi-hun, and In-ho.

“But fairness was never a part of this game.”

The next words came like a slow death sentence.

“Choose.”

The wind howled as the reality of their command settled over the group.

“You,” the overseer gestured at you. “Or him.” They pointed at In-ho. “One of you dies here, the other gets to live… for now.”

Gi-hun stepped forward instantly. “This isn’t a choice.” His voice was sharp, cutting through the thick air like a blade. “It’s a sick joke.”

The overseer barely acknowledged him. Jun-ho’s eyes flickered toward his brother, then to you. He was calculating, searching for a way out.

The chains around your wrists felt tighter. The child inside you was an anchor, holding you down, keeping you from thinking straight.

In-ho's voice was barely above a whisper. “Take me.”

“No,” you said immediately, shaking your head.

In-ho’s eyes met yours, and in them, you saw it. The exhaustion. The torment. The weight of everything he’d done. But before you could say another word, the overseer let out a short laugh. 

“Touching,” she mused, before tilting their head toward the guards. “I’m getting too impatient. Kill them both.”

The world moved too fast and too slow all at once.

The gunshot rang out like a crack through the fabric of the world.

“Y/N!” In-ho cried out, breaking away from the chains as he rushed to you. 

Your body jerked. At first, it didn’t register. Just a strange, searing heat blooming somewhere deep inside you, like a fire spreading through your veins. The force of the impact sent you stumbling, the air knocked from your lungs as if someone had just punched a hole through your chest.

Then, the pain came.

A slow, creeping agony at first—like the burn of a blade pressing into flesh—before it exploded into something unbearable. It stole the breath from your throat, the strength from your limbs. Your knees buckled. You barely felt yourself falling.

But In-ho was there.

His hands were on you before you hit the ground, catching you, his grip desperate—too desperate. He pulled you against him, his voice breaking into fragments of sound, of syllables that you couldn’t quite grasp.

“Stay with me,” he whispered, his voice raw. “Just—just keep your eyes on me.”

You tried. God, you tried. But the world was slipping, bleeding into shadows. “In-ho…” Your voice was barely a breath. “We were just kids,” you murmured, your fingers barely brushing his wrist. “Do you remember? When we used to sneak onto the rooftops? Just to watch the city lights?”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Yeah,” he rasped. “You said they looked like stars. That if we couldn’t reach the real ones, we could pretend.”

You gave a faint smile, though it barely stayed. “And you—” a cough wracked through you, and his hand cradled your cheek instinctively, as if afraid you’d disappear right in front of him. “You always brought the stolen snacks. Said we’d never go hungry if we stuck together.”

His breath hitched. “And we didn’t. Not once.”

A silence stretched between you both—long enough for him to realize how cold you were getting. His hold tightened.

“We were supposed to make it out together,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

You let out a shaky breath. “And yet… here we are.”

His jaw clenched. The weight of everything—his choices, your choices—settled heavily between you. He had spent years chasing power, believing it was the only way to survive. But in the end, it had led to this.

Your fingers barely curled around his wrist. “Do you… ever wonder?”

He blinked, leaning closer. “Wonder what?”

“If things were different,” you murmured. “If we were never part of the games…” You swallowed, your throat dry. “Would we have been happy?”

His face crumpled, something deep and painful surfacing in his eyes.

“In-ho,” you whispered. “What if… what if we raised our child together?”

His breath caught. For the first time, the war around you faded. The guards, the overseers, the bloodshed—it all became distant noise.

“I would’ve kept you safe,” he said, his voice thick. “Both of you.”

Your lips parted, a shuddering exhale escaping.

He wasn’t lying.

Despite everything, despite the monster he had become to survive, there was still the boy who had once promised to never let you starve. The boy who had watched city lights with you and told you the world could be yours.

“In another life,” you whispered, tears slipping past your lashes, “I think we would’ve been happy.”

His grip on you trembled. “Then let’s make this one count,” he said fiercely.

But you knew—both of you knew—there was no escaping this ending. And yet, for just one fleeting moment, you both allowed yourselves to pretend.

The moment In-ho’s trembling hand pressed against your belly, a choked sob tore from his throat. His palm was warm, despite the coldness creeping into your body, despite the chaos around you. His tears fell freely now, mixing with the blood that pooled beneath you both. His forehead rested against yours, his breath uneven, shaky, desperate.

"You were supposed to live," he whispered, voice barely audible over the ringing in your ears. "Both of you."

Your fingers weakly lifted, wanting to touch him, to reassure him, to tell him that it was okay—even though it wasn’t. But before you could reach him—

Bang.

His body jolted violently. A sharp, shuddering gasp left him, his grip on you tightening as if he could still shield you from the inevitable.

Your vision blurred, but you felt it. The way his muscles tensed, the way his breath stilled for a split second before leaving him in a broken, rattling exhale.

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Just raw, silent agony.

But he didn't let go. Even as his body trembled, even as the warmth began to seep out of him, he held you. Tightly. Desperately.

His head dipped forward, his lips barely brushing your temple.

In-ho's grip on you slackened slightly, his forehead pressing weakly against yours as his breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. The warmth of his body was still there, but it was fading—just like yours.

You forced yourself to lift a trembling hand, brushing against his jaw, smearing blood across his skin. His own hand covered yours instantly, holding it in place, as if anchoring himself to you. His body trembled, whether from pain or grief, you weren’t sure.

"I’m sorry," he rasped, his voice cracking under the weight of emotions he had buried for so long. His other hand stayed firmly over your belly, shaking with the realization of what was slipping away. "I was supposed to protect you. I was supposed to—”

A wet cough interrupted his words, his body shuddering as another wave of pain struck him. But still, he clung to you. 

You swallowed back the lump in your throat, blinking away the tears clouding your vision. "We... we had so many plans, In-ho," you murmured, a weak smile tugging at your lips despite the pain. "Remember? That little house by the coast... waking up to the sound of the waves... raising our child somewhere safe... away from all of this."

A broken chuckle left him, but it sounded more like a sob. "Yeah... I remember." 

His fingers brushed against your cheek, gentle despite the blood staining them. "You always wanted a garden."

You let out a breathy laugh, though it hurt. "And you said you’d build the fence yourself, even though you’re terrible at carpentry."

His lips twitched in something close to a smirk. "I would’ve figured it out eventually."

Silence hung between you for a moment, filled only by your labored breaths. The world around you had blurred, the distant chaos nothing more than background noise now.

You stared at him, memorizing his face, the way his dark eyes held a depth of emotions he had always tried to hide. And despite everything—the pain, the blood, the inevitability of it all—you still found solace in him.

You wished you could turn back time, rewrite the ending, give your child a life beyond this place. But there were no second chances.

Another gun cocked in the distance. Footsteps approached, seemingly cold, heavy, and unforgiving. In-ho's body tensed, his arms instinctively pulling you closer. Even now, even with his strength waning, he was still trying to shield you.

You tried to hold him, to keep him upright, but your strength was gone. Your fingers, sticky with blood—his blood—clutched at the fabric of his uniform, desperately trying to ground him, to keep him here with you.

His breaths came in uneven, shallow bursts, his body twitching against yours as he struggled to fight against the inevitable. His grip on your waist weakened, but his hand on your stomach never wavered, as if it was the only thing tethering him to life.

"In-ho," you rasped, your forehead pressing against his, trying to keep him with you, trying to will his body to stay alive despite the fatal wound tearing through him.

His lips parted, breath ragged and wet. His fingers twitched against your cheek before they cupped the side of your face in a weak attempt to comfort you. His dark eyes, once so intense, now held something softer—something desperate.

A sob broke from your throat as you held him tighter, ignoring the way your own body was beginning to weaken. Blood pooled beneath the both of you, the warmth of it contrasting cruelly against the chilling night air. You looked up and saw the overseer, standing there, watching the two of you, gun still raised. Her mask gave away nothing, but her stance was relaxed as if she knew the fight was already over.

"This was always how it was meant to end," the overseer murmured, her voice laced with cold amusement. "Did you really think you could change the system?"

In-ho shifted slightly, his fingers twitching against your belly again. His body was shaking, struggling to keep himself upright, but his eyes—despite the agony—still burned with defiance. "You’ll never win," he rasped.

The overseer chuckled, low and knowing. "You still don’t get it, do you?" She took a slow step closer, the muzzle of her gun lowering slightly. "There is no winning. There is no escaping." Her head tilted slightly, gaze flickering to you, her tone mocking. "You of all people should know that."

Your vision blurred, not just from the pain, but from the weight of everything. She was right. You knew it the moment you stepped back onto this island. 

And yet, despite everything, despite the certainty of death hanging over you, you still reached for In-ho.

Still clung to the last warmth between you.

Still wished, in another life, you could have had more time.

A heavy silence fell over the bloodstained ground. The sea air, once brimming with the scent of salt, now reeked of gunpowder and iron. Your body, weakened and barely clinging to consciousness, trembled in In-ho’s embrace. His grip was still firm despite the life draining from him, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm but fading.

Then, through the blur of pain and dimming vision, you saw them.

Gi-hun. Jun-ho. No-eul. Hyun-ju. Gyeong-seok.

They stood frozen at the edge of the platform, their faces carved with horror. Jun-ho’s eyes were the widest, wild with anguish. His lips moved, screaming something—your name, In-ho’s name—but his cries were muffled by the roaring in your ears. A guard yanked him back roughly, restraining him as he thrashed, desperation twisting his features.

Gi-hun's fists clenched at his sides, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—those sharp, battle-worn eyes—were filled with something between sorrow and fury. No-eul and Gyeong-seok looked pale, tense, their bodies rigid with helplessness, and Hyun-ju—always so composed—had a rare moment of raw emotion flicker across her face.

The overseer stepped forward, her heels stopping just before the pooling blood beneath you and In-ho. Her presence loomed over all of you like a specter, and when she spoke, her voice carried an eerie finality.

"Let this be a reminder," she mused, slow and deliberate, her gaze shifting between the remaining survivors. "A lesson for those who think they can escape fate."

Jun-ho struggled again, his entire body shaking. “You bastard!” he screamed, his voice cracking. “You fucking coward—let them go! Let them go!”

The overseer merely chuckled, tilting her head slightly, amusement lacing her words. "Oh, Jun-ho," she sighed, stepping back into the shadows. "You still don’t understand, do you?" She gestured toward the island, toward the monolithic structures that loomed under the stormy sky. "You came here thinking you could end the games. You thought you could take it all down." She let the words linger before her voice dropped into something more menacing.

"But once you go in—there’s no turning back."

A new alarm blared across the island. The guards yanked Jun-ho, Gi-hun, and the others away, dragging them further back into the compound. Their muffled shouts became part of the chaos, swallowed by the unrelenting storm of fate.

As darkness pulled you further into its embrace, the last thing you saw was In-ho’s bloodied face, his eyes barely open, his lips trying to form words he no longer had the strength to say.

——

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A/N: Now, it's done! Can't believe I've ended this series already. Also, I broke my own heart while writing this epilogue, but I really do think that the actual show will have a sad ending for In-ho. I can't wait for the next season of Squid Game, and maybe I'll write another series based on the 3rd season 👀 Also, thank you so much to all of you for reading and bearing my writing of this series! Your comments and feedbacks really helped and motivated me to continue writing. You can check out my masterlist to see more of my oneshots and my upcoming series soon. You may also request oneshots so please feel free to do so. 🫶

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 @alliyah-ll @spiritualgirly444 @luvr4miya (p.s. if i forget to you, please let me know)

that feeling when you know you’re cooked because squid game is merciless about major character deaths and the final season looms near and your favorite characters are in ho and gi hun

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

i miss the person i was before squid game

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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