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A long dark hallway stretched before him. Black geometric walls, much like the Frontman’s mask, clasped the space around him like a cave with no exit. Golden chandeliers casted warm light, sharp and mellow at the same time, across the walls. Reflecting off of the floor, it seemed for a moment chandeliers grew out of the ground as well. But as beautiful as it all was, it made him feel nothing. No amount of sharp edges or mellow light could fill the emptiness inside him.
Gi-hun took a deep breath, and stepped into the room. The still air carried the sound of his footsteps across the hallway, sharp and clear like the ringing of a church bell, making him painfully aware of every step he took. All while he sat there, watching.
Seated comfortably in a leather chair, facing the door from which Gi-hun entered, the Frontman watched his every move. The two were separated by nothing but a small round table, a wooden chair, and suffocating meters of empty space.
Finally, he was within talking distance. He clenched his jaw, trying to contain the rage building within as his gaze settled on the stupid black mask. “What do you want.”
“Take a seat,” the masked man motioned towards the wooden chair standing across him. “This could take a while.”
Gi-hun glanced at it, but hadn’t moved. He refused to go with anything the bastard said.
The Frontman waited, his gaze piercing even from behind the mask. The moment dragged on, suffocating, eventually feeling almost toxic, making him unable to stand there much longer.
He took a slow, deep breath, and lowered himself into the chair, the wood complaining under him. The creaks stirred the thick atmosphere, adding to the tension.
He swallowed his questions. He knew the Frontman wouldn't tell him anything unless he himself wanted to. Prying was no use. So, instead, he just stared back, scanning his mask for any sign of human life beneath, waiting.
With the grace of someone who has all the time in the world, the Frontman reached for a tall bottle and two glasses set on a bar next to him, and carefully placed them on the table between them.
“You promised to have soju with me,” he poured the clear liquid into the glasses, pushing one towards Gi-hun.
How does he know about that? Do the cameras capture sound as well? Did he listen when me and Young-il spoke?
“Did you kill Young-il too?” Gi-hun spat out, shifting in his seat with barely restrained anger.
The Frontman took a moment to think. “Yes. I killed him.”
Gi-hun clenched his fists, knuckles turning white and nails digging into the palms of his hands. He had to fight to stay seated and not lunge at the sick bastard in front of him.
“Why do you care about Player 001 so much?” the Frontman picked up his glass, swirling the liquid within. “He was just a stranger you met a couple of days ago, just another piece of trash that had to be-”
But before he could finish, Gi-hun leapt over the table, gripping the man by the collar.
He didn’t even flinch, sitting there calm as ever, enraging Gi-hun even more with his uncaring stillness.
“First you kill my friends, and then you call me here to mock their deaths. You’re the trash that needs to be eliminated.” He searched for a pair of eyes under the mask, hoping to find something, anything, that’d show him there is a man beneath and not a heartless monster. “Young-il ssi… He was… He didn’t have to help me. He didn’t have to join my plan. He could have stayed back for a chance to get out and see his family, but he chose to join. He put his life on the line for someone he barely knew.”
The Frontman scoffed in light amusement.
Gi-hun’s grip tightened, threatening to strangle the man.
“You never learn. Even after all of this, you still trust the wrong people. And I thought you could do better…”
Gi-hun trembled, fingers digging into the fabric as he took heavy, shaky breaths. “What do you mean?”
“You still don’t get it, do you?” He set down the glass, and lifted his hands to the mask.
Gi-hun’s grasp slipped from the man’s collar and he leaned back, watching as the man slowly took off his hood, unclipped the clasp securing the mask to his face, and then in a single leisurely move slid it off…
And shattered his world.
“Young-il?” Gi-hun stepped back, breath hitching in his throat.
“In-ho,” the man corrected him. “Hwang In-ho.”
Gi-hun almost didn’t hear him as blood pounded in his ears. It was him all along. The man he laughed with, played with, shared ammo with, is the same man that kills hundreds of people every year, the same man that killed Jung-bae-
And yet, the first thing he felt when seeing his face wasn’t rage, or hate, or betrayal. It was relief. And he hated that, he hated that despite everything, he was happy to see him alive.
He turned away, unable to look at him, a storm overtaking his mind. He sounded so… cold and emotionless, unlike the man he played with. And he looked more tired, too, his slicked back hair making his eyebags more profound. He exuded strange power, one he wasn’t used to from him. And then it hit him.
Young-il was nothing but another mask.
His knees grew weak. He slumped into the chair, head in his hands. Young-il was nothing but a fake persona meant to manipulate him.
The man’s glare burned through him, turning the silence loud, almost deafening. He was scrutinizing him, analysing him, eating up every little bit of emotion, every little shift of expression on his face.
And Gi-hun refused to give him any.
So he sat there, taking in slow, measured breaths to try and recompose himself as the puzzle pieces slowly clicked together, and the image revealed itself.
“Hwang In-ho… Hwang Jun-ho…” he talked mostly to himself, voice barely a murmur. “Are you his brother?”
The Frontman didn’t answer, taking a wordless sip of his soju.
Gi-hun slowly lifted his head, facing his glare straight on. “Do you know he’s worried sick about you? Do you even care about your own family?”
“And you do?” The Frontman snapped back, his lips still pressed to the glass. “You haven’t talked to your own daughter for over 3 years, all because you wanted to play the hero for people you barely know.”
Gi-hun clenched his jaw at the comment, but his eyes watered. Truth was, there wasn’t a day he wouldn’t think about her. Whether she liked her new home, whether she found any friends at school, whether she ever thinks about him…
Whether she still thinks of him as her dad.
“Tell me, Gi-hun ssi,” the man’s cold voice tore him out of his thoughts. “Why do you chase after this impossible dream? You, more than anyone, should know that these games can never truly be stopped. The system that harbors them runs too deep. Even if you dismantled and exposed our organization, you wouldn’t halt it for more than a few years. There will always be human greed and cruelty, and trash to clean up.”
“You’re wrong.”
The man’s eyes widened ever so slightly, perhaps from surprise, or with intrigue.
“You’re wrong about people,” Gi-hun continued, inching closer. “You talk about cruelty and greed like they are inseparable parts of every person, but that’s wrong.” He paused for a moment, trying to find the words. “What about Ali? Who saved me without a second thought? What about Geum-ja, the kind old lady who joined the games to help her son? What about Jun-hee who sacrificed herself for her baby? What about Jung-bae, or Sae-byeok-” his voice wavered, trailing off. He took a deep breath to recompose himself. “You put them into this cruel place, but still, they chose kindness, over and over, dying so that another could live. And I know you've seen that. But sure, go ahead and tell me how everyone is evil and selfish.”
The Frontman hummed, leaning back in his armchair, taking another sip. His posture seemed relaxed, but his muscles stiffened.
“Your resolve is remarkable,” he swirled the liquid around. “But are you willing to die for it?”
Gi-hun furrowed his brow, but before he could ask to clarify, the man continued. “As you probably know, the other players are planning to eliminate you and the baby in the next game.”
“Not all of them.”
The man dismissed his comment, setting down the glass and sliding a sheathed blade onto the table, its black and gold cover mockingly glistening in the glow of the chandelier. “Take this knife, and kill the trash that wants to kill you. That is the best choice you can make right now,” he recited like he’s been preparing his whole life for this very moment. “The next game cannot be played with only two players. According to the rules, the games will be then terminated, and both you and the baby will get out of here, alive. You have my word.”
Gi-hun eyed the blade, slowly shaking his head. He won’t. He can’t.
“If you don’t kill them,” the man leaned back in his chair, eyes glued to Gi-hun, analysing every shift in his expression, “you and the baby are certain to die.”
Gi-hun looked up at him, repaying him the intense glare. Their eyes locked, staring into each other as if trying to read the other’s thoughts. The curtain behind his eyes was thick, not letting anything out. Even now, he was wearing a mask.
“Or I could kill you,” Gi-hun leaned in closer, voice sharp like barbed wire.
“Go ahead,” the Frontman motioned towards the blade, nothing in his tone indicating he cared about the threat hanging between them. “No one will stop you.”
Gi-hun glanced from one of his eyes to the other, trying to see beyond the dark veil, trying to figure out why he was so indifferent about his death, or about anything at all.
“But even if you do it,” the man continued, “you won’t change a thing. They will replace me before my body grows cold. Tomorrow’s game will continue as scheduled.”
Gi-hun scoffed. Hearing him say that after calling others trash and acting like the big mastermind behind everything sounded absurd, ridiculous even.
“So that’s how much you matter to your masters? You’re replaceable?” He leaned forward in his chair. “Kind of hypocritical of you to treat us like trash, to treat us like horses in a racetrack, when you’re just the same. Just a cog in the machine.”
“I never said I was above you,” he replied, his voice low, his features softening. Suddenly, it was Young-il sitting in front of him.
Gi-hun stumbled backwards over his thoughts, completely derailing. He didn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t this.
He glanced around the room, trying to find something that’d get him back on track, the wood lightly creaking as he shifted around in his seat.
“But you don’t treat us like equals, either,” he looked back up at him splayed out in his fancy leather armchair.
In-ho didn’t answer, only lowered his gaze to the glass of soju still sitting in front of Gi-hun, waiting to be touched. And even though he hadn’t said a thing, that simple gaze told him everything. I’m trying.
Gi-hun glanced at the glass, confusion washing over him. “Why? Why are you doing all of this?”
“You’re no ordinary player, you know,” In-ho looked back up at him again. “You’re a lot… like me when I was a player years back.”
Gi-hun’s stiff muscles loosened at the words. He was a player too?
“I competed just like you. I won just like you. And in the end, I lost someone I really cared about. Just like you.”
“..your wife?”
He nodded, eyes dropping down, the faintest hint of sorrow caught in the light.
“So not everything you told me was a lie.”
“No. Not everything.”
With a sigh, Gi-hun leaned back in the chair, unsure how to deal with any of this. Thoughts and feelings swirled around in an incomprehensible charade, mingling and bumping into each other like panicking prey, like bugs when you lift a log. Desperate and confused to escape something far beyond them. Confusion, understanding, compassion, hate… So much hate.
“But if you were a player too…"he leaned closer. "How could you join those who made the games, knowing the horrors they cause?” His voice shook with anger, like two cog wheels grinding against each other.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Then make me understand,” he replied bitterly. And waited.
In the stillness, In-ho kicked back his soju, and poured himself another one. For the first time since he took his mask off, his eyes dropped low as if unable to look at Gi-hun. “I needed money for my wife’s transplant. But… despite the fact I was a model officer my entire career, the system offered me no help. The moment I slipped up, they kicked me out. That’s how the system thanked me for years of service.” He stirred the glass with a rhythmic motion. Pressed by Gi-hun’s silence, he continued. “Then, I got invited to the games. I sacrificed everything to get through, everything, only to find out that both my wife, and my unborn daughter, died in the meantime.”
Gi-hun’s eyes widened. “You were going to be a father?”
In-ho smiled weakly, eyes dropping even lower. “The greed and cruelty of humanity is far worse than you can imagine.” He looked back up, his eyes meeting Gi-hun’s. “The system I tried to protect for years is the same system that kicked me out, the same system that caused my wife to die. The same system that harbors these games. This system allows all of this. And so, there will always be trash. Greed will always win over compassion, driving people into desperation. I am simply using the system to give people one last chance, one last opportunity to turn their lives around.”
“The world isn’t black and white, you know,” Gi-hun said dryly.
“But darkness always engulfs the light. In the end, only cruelty prevails.”
Gi-hun shook his head. “It doesn’t have to be that way. The world may be cruel, but that doesn’t mean we have to be as well. There is always a choice to be kind. You're just so full of hate you don't see it anymore."
"Full of hate?" In-ho's eyes pierced through him, his features sharpening with a smirk. "How ironic of you to say that after taking another man's life for your failed rebellion."
He leapt to his feet, the slim blade finding its way in his palm, pointed at the sick man in front of him. He shook with anger, gripping the knife like he wanted to strangle it too. His vision grew blurry and narrow. You are not that kind of person.
"See?" the man scoffed, "we are not so different after all."
"I am nothing like you," he spat out, but resignation already stained his voice. I am that kind of person.
With a heavy exhale, he loosened up, hand slumping against his side. Swallowing the grief and regret, he eyed the blade. As much as he hated to admit it, the Frontman was right about one thing.
His hands were stained with blood much like the Frontman's.
He turned the blade in his hands. The weight felt too nice, and it fitted awfully well…
This man, as sadistic as he was, made some good points. Hell, he could be right about it all. Maybe nothing he’s doing has any purpose or any future. Maybe there’s nothing he can do to stop the games. Maybe all he's achieving is getting more people killed. All the people lost in the rebellion were indirectly his doing. And Dae-ho… How could he ever do that to him? He was so blinded by hate, so desperate to point at someone else just to escape the guilt, that he killed him. He killed him. He looked at that man, that man that helped him get through the other games, that man that joined his plan and destroyed himself in the process in an attempt to help, and what did he do? He looked in his eyes, and squeezed the life right out of him.
How was he any better than the Frontman?
He sighed, tracing the edge of the blade with his thumb. The Frontman’s gaze followed his movements, thick with intrigue. He could feel the man’s need to ask, to pry, to take apart and put together.
His thoughts kept turning and turning, stuck in a loop like a cyclone. He was a player too. He played, he won, but his loved ones died anyway. He refuses to talk to his brother. Much like I cannot force myself to talk to my own daughter…
He said we are similar. That he used to be like me. And that I'm turning up like him.
What if I will become like him..?
He shuddered, shaking the thoughts away. There’s no way I could be like him. He’s wrong. He’s wrong about people. I am nothing like him.
He kept repeating it in his head like a prayer, like a mantra to keep the demons away, but the words felt empty. Just another attempt to escape the guilt.
He has to stop running.
He gripped the blade tighter, turning the tip at his throat. His hand shivered as the cold metal graced the soft meat of his neck, just waiting to be opened.
Ahjussi, don't do it. You're not that kind of person. A tear rolled down his face. I'm sorry, Sae-byeok. I'm sorry, Ga-yeong. I am not the kind of man you thought I was. He closed his eyes…
Blade broke skin, a warm streak of blood spewing out.
"Gi-hun-"
He froze up, a mellow voice stopping his hand. He slowly opened his eyes, blinking away the tears.
Young-il stood in front of him, face firm but eyes shattered with worry. As if they were back in Mingle about to be separated. It lasted a short moment, almost so short he missed it, but it was there. The dark veil covering his gaze broke and revealed something raw and vulnerable he was never meant to see.
And that single fleeting moment stirred something in him. He cared. Despite it all, he actually cared about something. Someone. He was not completely heartless as he thought. Perhaps there was still a chance to turn things around. And perhaps there was still a chance for himself, too.
"That is not the trash I was talking about," the man gestured towards the blade, his voice back to being cold and measured.
Suddenly he felt stupid for trying this again. He lowered his hand, blood dripping rhythmically on his tux, and guilt crawling up his throat as he realised the weight of what he had almost done. The other players wanted the baby dead- without him in the game to protect her, she would have died.
With a couple breaths to recompose himself, he slid the knife back into its sheathe, and placed it in his pocket. The man's eyes followed his every movement, obviously dying to know what he's gonna do with the blade. He wasn't sure himself, but as much as he didn't want to admit it, without it he stood no chance against the other players.
Silence stretched between them, warm and cold and bitter. He looked up at the man once more, trying to see if he could reach beyond the veil again, but it grew too thick, maybe ever thicker than it was before. He stood there calm and composed, every breath, every blink perfectly controlled. Nothing was going to slip out. He'd make sure of it.
He still had a lot of questions he wanted to ask him - why do the games have to be deadly, why did he help him, why did he care - but his mind was too erratic for him to think and ask properly.
And so, without another word, he turned away and walked down the hallway, leaving the Frontman behind.
“Do you still have faith in people?” the man called out.
Gi-hun stopped in his tracks for a moment, thinking as his finger hovered over the elevator button. Ultimately, he decided to leave the question unanswered.
Do you?