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Hwang In-ho does not think of himself as a rational man. For all that his sudden wealth had done for him after his Game, it had not brought him the happiness he believed he needed, leading him straight back into the lion’s maw. And like a good little sheep, he had gone trotting back to the Squid Games; only this time, he was on the other side of the glass.
He has never been a rational man. Not when he made the dubious decisions leading to his personal bankruptcy in early 2015, and not when he had left his brother to oversee the Games. In-ho does not think that will change now.
When he finds his brother’s ID on one of his staff’s corpses, washed ashore on a secluded beach, he knows exactly what he must do.
There is no saving the players, but he’s sure that Oh Il-nam can overlook an escapee who wasn’t even authorised to be on the island.
The scuba tanks are an obvious solution. Too obvious; and too short-sighted. A single canister will last only an hour at most, and getting to the mainland from here will take far longer than that. No - the only way to get there is the way that they got here, by boat.
Already, the beginnings of a plan begin to make themselves clearer in his mind. He knows what Jun-ho is like; knows that he will not leave of his own free will until all his curiosity is satiated. So he is alone in engineering his brother’s departure to the mainland. It will be a tricky endeavor to keep him safe and alive - especially without tipping off Il-nam or the VIPs and putting his own neck on the chopping block - but for Jun-ho, In-ho is willing to risk it.
Moreover, it wasn’t like he held an insignificant amount of power on the island. He could easily pull rank on anyone barring the VIPs and Il-nam himself. That, at least, will make the operation go significantly smoother.
All that’s left is actually capturing Jun-ho.
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Jun-ho’s direct confrontation with one of the VIPs speeds up his timeline remarkably. He’s glad that Jun-ho had defended himself - the thought of what might have been makes him shudder - but it does mean that he has to hunt his brother down more actively.
And it worries him that he doesn’t know what this new version of Jun-ho is like; not really. Before, he knew that his younger brother was less recalcitrant than he. Now? In-ho has little idea. A police ID speaks volumes yet says little about the man that Jun-ho actually is.
So In-ho treats his brother like a cornered animal - like a caged bird with its wings clipped, because on this island, that is what he is.
The flight will come later.
First, In-ho needs to find him, before anyone else does. He doubts anybody else would offer the same leniency that he intends to give his brother - they are, after all, all bound to the same working contract.
Though its clauses can be subverted, it is an exercise in one’s mental facilities that not many wish to undertake.
As they chase Jun-ho up to the rocky crag overlooking the sea, In-ho carefully constructs his concoction of half-truths and lies to explain to his colleagues why he has switched out his gun for its tranquilizer equivalent. He hopes it does not come to that, but In-ho learnt his own lessons about hope circa 2015.
“This is over,” he tells Jun-ho, resolute and unmoving. “Come with me.” He begs, knowing his brother cannot see his pleading eyes yet directing them at him regardless.
A heart attack would be an unfortunate, and in his line of work, a frankly embarrassing way to go - but he feels the signs of one coming on when Jun-ho skirts a little too close to the edge of the cliff.
Would a threat convince him? “Do as I say.” He says, testing it out. “Or you die.”
He sees the exact moment that recognition begins to dawn on Jun-ho’s face and he knows this farce will not last.
“Who the hell-” His brother starts, hesitantly, “-are you?”
There is no rule against the Front Man showing his face; he isn’t one of the many faceless grunts who help to enforce the Squid Games. So it is a simple matter to pull down the hood, to unclasp the mask, and…
“In-ho.” Jun-ho breathes. There is the stark realisation.
And somewhere, buried deep beneath the layers upon layers of stoic disregard for human life, a tiny flame flickers all the brighter. And In-ho lies.
He closes his eyes for a moment, then speaks. “Come with me.” He repeats, injecting his words with all the earnesty that he can muster. “I can answer your questions.” The words are like ashes in his mouth, but there is no other way to make Jun-ho comply.
In-ho holds out his hand and his brother takes it.
His lips curve into an echo of a genuine smile as they turn to leave - right before he shoots Jun-ho in the back with a sedative. His brother’s mouth starts to form words before he collapses, and though the betrayal that flickered across Jun-ho’s expression pains him, he cannot bring himself to regret his actions.
He is as light as In-ho remembers - his slight frame not belying his weight. It will be laughably easy to get him to safety. Soon, he will be away from In-ho, and away from In-ho’s hedonistic path.
“I’ll take care of him.” He dismisses the men who had been following him and they leave without a word.
They have as much power here as the players do, the only difference being their lower mortality rate. They will not ask questions, meaning that he can ‘take care’ of his brother in relative solitude. He is not due back with the VIPs for two more hours, which gives him ample time to arrange Jun-ho’s departure.
He begins by removing any damning items that Jun-ho has on him. Fortunately, it seems that the only item of note is his phone, which is small enough to be hidden in any of the clothing he stole - and small enough that ‘losing’ it can be seen as an act of carelessness to Jun-ho’s superiors.
The second task is making sure that Jun-ho stays under for the duration of his trip back to the mainland. A more long-lasting sedative is summarily administered.
Thirdly, and finally, he brings his Jun-ho’s prone form to a small alcove by the shore. He had hoped that he could keep his fail-safe for his own use, should worse come to worst, but he doesn’t regret having to use it to keep his younger brother safe.
The sooner Jun-ho is away from the fever dream that has become In-ho’s life, the better.
Settling his brother into an autonomously operating motorboat, he bids him a silent farewell as he inputs the coordinates of the nearest mainland town. The boat is a technological marvel and had come at a hefty price, and yet he had not once regretted the purchase. That sentiment does not change now.
It occurs to him just how small Jun-ho looks, curled up on the deck. He didn’t inherit their father’s stature like In-ho had, and it only makes him look slighter. In-ho knows his brother can handle himself - his infiltration of the island had been proof of that - but by the gods does he worry.
He had known that their parents would not look for him, and he had prayed, for all the good it did, that his brother would follow suit.
In-ho touches his forehead, briefly, to the bow of the boat. With any luck, this will be the last he sees of Jun-ho. His actions are neither legal nor morally sound, and his job is everything that Jun-ho rebels against. He can only try to keep him away; without any evidence, he hopes that his brother is both unable to return and unable to file a report.
Hope. Again and again, it seems that his brother’s safety hinges only on In-ho’s tangential understanding of him and wishful thoughts, but it is the only thing he has. It will have to do.
With a quiet press of a button, the motorboat moves quietly out into the open, its only occupant none the wiser. The 2020 Squid Game will go on - but Jun-ho will be safe.
And that is all that matters.