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It’s probably nothing.
In-ho doesn’t like to dwell on it at least.
Since the rebellion, Gi-hun has been taken captive and is awaiting whatever fate that In-ho has planned. Really, there’s a lot that In-ho could do and Gi-hun would have absolutely no say in it, ending him with a bullet to the head would be a waste. Of ammunition of course. The games will go on as planned and the VIPs will be satisfied.
Yet, despite all of his problems being fixed… there’s something that has begun to irk In-ho.
His right hand man has begun something of an unlikely friendship with Gi-hun. He trusts that the masked officer would prioritize his own self preservation, it’s the reason why he continues to keep the organ harvesting operation on the downlow (even if In-ho already knows about it). In-ho cannot imagine an outcome where that man would sacrifice his position, riches, and power for a delusional player with grandeur dreams of heroism.
But that isn’t what bothers him. It should bother him– bother him immensely, make him sleep with one eye open– knowing his right hand man, the one who stands behind him, could stab him in the back at any time. (He wouldn’t dare.)
But he’s more irked by the way Gi-hun has begun to take to the masked officer. (It makes something dangerous coil in his gut. For the first time in a while, it feels like white hot fury.)
-
It started when In-ho had been too busy to properly watch Gi-hun.
He had been busy with some inane task and assumed the masked officer would be working as well. To ensure the games go on as planned. To his slight surprise and mild annoyance, the other man had gone to pay Gi-hun a visit of sorts. In-ho had stumbled in, upon checking the cameras in Gi-hun’s room and realizing he was talking with someone other than In-ho while he was supposed to be in isolation. In-ho assumed that it was a sign of disobedience from one of the pink guards, a circle who didn’t know their place, or perhaps a manager that had forgotten theirs. Mask on, no one would see his tightened expression, tense with some fuelled emotion. Rage? Anger? Hatred?
No… that couldn’t be. He was just annoyed at the disrespect.
His footsteps are heavy and quick. In-ho doesn’t mean to be as panicked as he is (Why should he feel panicked?)
The door opened and In-ho’s eyes widened at the sight. It’s almost animalistic, primal– the snarl that almost erupts from his throat. (But it doesn’t. It doesn’t because In-ho is better than that.)
It was that damned masked officer. In his dark attire and cruelly taunting Gi-hun, who was handcuffed with a chain around his ankle. Dried blood splattered his green tracksuit, the number 456 stood out more than ever.
There’s a deep chuckle and In-ho almost wants to break the masked officer’s wrist. His hand is holding Gi-hun’s chin, clutching hard enough to bruise as he almost swings Gi-hun’s face back and forth. There’s a gag in Gi-hun’s mouth from earlier, after the man had gotten too rebellious for his own good. It’s dripping in Gi-hun’s saliva. The masked officer doesn’t seem to care as it drips onto his hand, sadistic in his mental torture of Gi-hun. Uncaring to Gi-hun’s discomfort.
(Not that In-ho does very much either, but it bothers him more that the masked officer is so carefree with what’s his).
In-ho makes a coughing noise. Petty as it is, the officer has to understand his position. He is below In-ho, therefore, he should not be touching what belongs to In-ho. Gi-hun is In-ho’s prisoner, not the masked officer’s. The other man should count himself lucky that In-ho doesn’t just shoot him.
“What are you doing?” In-ho keeps his voice steady, authoritative. As the Front man, he cannot afford to lose composure, to lose control. (Even if there’s something possessive that stirs deep within. Because who is he to challenge In-ho? To challenge In-ho for something as important as Gi-hun?)
The masked officer turns towards In-ho, but his hand doesn’t release Gi-hun, “I was just taking a look.” Gi-hun has that fiery look in his eyes, the ones that reflect hatred, scorn, and agony. But it’s not directed at In-ho. Rather it’s at his right hand man, the one that should be two steps behind him. It’s wrong, that look should be directed at the Front man. At In-ho.
He supposes that Gi-hun would look at any worker that way, but there’s something in that look specifically that In-ho wants to keep for himself. There are several things that In-ho refuses to share with anyone else, Gi-hun has become one of them. He supposes it’s some glee and satisfaction at his victory, he supposes Gi-hun has become something of a trophy. He imagines he should join in on the masked officer’s taunting, to revel in Gi-hun’s guilt and anguish. Yet currently, all he can feel is vexation.
“Get back to the control room,” In-ho has no patience for disobedience.
There was a rule up to this point that Gi-hun was not to be given interaction with anyone but In-ho. He justified it as isolation, one of many punishments for Gi-hun’s rebellion. Gi-hun’s purgatory was in In-ho’s palm and his palm alone. The masked officer’s actions were a blatant defiance of this, and thus it was rational for him to be angry. Any superior would be angry at a subordinate’s defiance.
(But his anger wasn’t exactly focused on the defiance.)
The masked officer makes no resistance and simply walks out.
In some show of pity, In-ho allows Gi-hun to feel some form of relief and takes off the gag that’s become soaked in drool. Gi-hun breathes in and out heavily, panting like a dog, there’s no gratitude on his face as he looks at the Front man. Only pure malice.
In-ho savours it. (Even if bitterness rests at the back of his throat from moments prior. It’s fine. The masked officer and him may share Gi-hun’s hatred now, but it’s In-ho who has Gi-hun’s happiness. Only In-ho. He’s made sure of that.)
“What did he say to you?” The voice is distorted, but gentle. Uncharacteristically so, it shocks Gi-hun to see the devil speak so softly. Perhaps he can leverage this, make a small bright spot. Show Gi-hun there are worse evils than him out in the world. In retrospect, the masked officer might have done him a favor. (Even if In-ho would have preferred the man never stepped near Gi-hun at all.)
“Why do you care?” Venom drips from Gi-hun’s tongue, it’s a stark contrast to the sharp, but kinder tone he held for Young-Il. Really ruins the moment, almost makes In-ho wish he were still Young-Il. “You’re my prisoner, it’s my job to know,” In-ho replies, trying to keep the conversation nonchalant, even as curiosity and jealousy claw at his heart.
“Just-,” Gi-hun stumbles on his words, unsure of what to say. In a moment, anger, fear, and despair all flash across his face as he mentally debates what to say. His eyes are away from In-ho in that moment and it takes an alarming amount of self control to not just grab the back of Gi-huns head to make him face In-ho. Finally, Gi-hun’s face goes calm and he just looks at the pristine floor. Well, almost pristine if not for the drool and crusted blood.
Gi-hun doesn’t reply.
It’s childish resistance, or maybe he’s finally lost hope. Either way, it bugs In-ho that Gi-hun treats his talk with the masked officer as some sort of secret. It isn’t, there’s a camera constantly recording the room. If anything, In-ho can just look back there. Gi-hun’s secrets are his now too.
“Gi-hun.” This time, In-ho steadies his voice to be firm, scolding. Even if he can just look back, he wants to hear it from Gi-hun himself. Gi-hun’s voice finally works, “It doesn’t matter. I don’t know why I didn’t even think of it anyways. Why I even expected anything else…”
“Think of what?” In-ho impatiently prods. Just what did the masked officer say? The temptation to just force Gi-hun to face him is unbearable.
“You know what.” His eyes still remain on the floor.
In-ho’s hand does make it to Gi-hun’s chin. Like the masked officer’s. Except In-ho bothers to be gentle. To turn Gi-hun’s head as delicately as possible, in some show of kindness. His hand shifts to hold Gi-hun’s cheek in his palms, “I don’t. Enlighten me.” The gesture should have brought Gi-hun’s eyes back to In-ho, but it didn’t. The other man’s eyes remain elsewhere and In-ho really rethinks yanking the short hair on Gi-hun’s head or changing his grip to be on Gi-hun’s throat. Maybe if he had less self control, was more careless and dimwitted like the masked officer, he would have.
But he’s better than that. (Than him.)
“He said…” Gi-hun starts, unsure of what his own next words will be, “That I should be grateful…”
Like a bird, In-ho tilts his own head and waits for Gi-hun to continue.
“...grateful- that I wasn’t being cut open for what good organs I had left.” The organ harvesting is not really a secret anymore. Well, the masked officer thinks it is. In-ho lets him, it gives him something of an ace up his sleeve. So long as it doesn’t interfere with the games, In-ho doesn’t care. There’s a part of In-ho that wonders if this was planned by the masked officer, or if he had threatened Gi-hun into silence (which would explain the man’s reluctance to speak). Or perhaps he had grown too boisterous, arrogant in his “victory.” The other man in black never once spoke a word about his “hidden” operation to In-ho, preferring to keep it on the downlow, likely unsure if In-ho would approve of it considering he wanted the games kept fair.
Perhaps he had grown too arrogant, and mouthy. To let a detail slip to Gi-hun who would tell In-ho, out of his own mouth or through the constantly watching camera.
He’d grown too sure of In-ho’s (supposed) ignorance.
“How can you do this?”
Gi-hun’s words take him out of his thoughts, which scatter as quickly as they came to him. The sound of his voice echoes throughout the room. Gi-hun is looking at him again, the fierce fire in his eyes hasn’t been smothered out just yet, but the sound of his voice has grown cold.
“How can you talk about fairness, and not give fair deaths?” It sounds like a betrayal of Gi-hun’s own beliefs. Gi-hun, who wanted to save everyone, reduced to begging for mercy (not for himself, but those already gone. It’s too late for that now, and it’s too late for In-ho to care about the horses that have run their track already.)
(All except for one horse.)
“They’re already eliminated by the time that happens. As long as the remaining players have no advantage…” In-ho thinks about that one doctor player in Gi-hun’s games, “I don’t care.”
“You’re disgusting.”
Gi-hun has turned away from him again.
It’s a shame.
-
The next time In-ho catches the two interacting is after they’ve set up for the next game. Gi-hun will not watch, but In-ho will certainly savor the moments after. When he comes back to Gi-hun and can indulge him in all the little details. His plans on informing Gi-hun about the next game, go out the window however.
It’s the first time that In-ho actually does feel an immense amount of anger at his right hand man. Until now, it’s always been brief, manageable moments of vexation. He’s aware of how power can corrupt, In-ho is no saint. It’s just that trying to steal someone’s job is one thing, whatever the masked officer has planned for Gi-hun is another. In-ho refuses to allow it.
Gi-hun is on the floor again, wallowing in his own grief. He’s been obedient, so the gag’s removed for now. The masked officer is on a knee, his lax movements show some sort of pleasantness around Gi-hun. He talks as if discussing the weather with an old friend, a hint of sadism beneath, but otherwise, scarily normal. In-ho understands all too well that this is a facade of pleasantry. He just can’t tell if the masked officer plans to go anywhere using niceties with Gi-hun.
(He hopes that Gi-hun can understand the masked man’s facade too, even though his prisoner is not the brightest. A wave of protectiveness washes over In-ho, a need to shield Gi-hun from whatever the masked officer thinks of doing.)
“Oh. He’s here.”
The man’s voice is jovial, even with the mask on. In-ho can imagine a pleased smile or smirk on his face. The only thing saving the officer from a fist to his face is the mask. A manager’s mask that hides his face behind a square. Below the Front man, whose mask is a distorted, geometric face. If it weren’t for the jumpsuit, the masked manager would be indiscernible from any of the other pink guards. (It’s spiteful, but if it meant that Gi-hun’s attention would focus on him, then In-ho would have the masked manager revert back to his pink jumpsuit. Demote him so he understands his place beneath In-ho.)
“I’ve informed your…” the officer takes a moment to look at Gi-hun and now In-ho really does think he’ll lose his temper, “...guest about the game. I hope you don’t mind.”
In-ho does mind. Because how dare he? How dare he spoil the surprise for Gi-hun? How dare he rob In-ho of the moment that should have been his? Did he see it? The way Gi-hun’s face surely must have contorted in pain, or maybe in sorrow? Or did Gi-hun yell at him? Try to bite back now that his gag was out? (In-ho wishes he could say he wanted Gi-hun to yell, but truthfully, that reaction was supposed to be his and his alone. It only makes him feel angrier.)
Gi-hun’s eyes dart between the Front man and the masked officer. He doesn’t say anything, he only looks at both of them with his eyebrows tensed and his mouth in a constant frown. There are bags under his eyes that make them look sunken and dark in the light. Gi-hun looks nothing like a hero, his face is the perfect picture of wrath.
“I’ve made it clear that player 456 is to have no interaction. With you, or with any of the guards.” It’s not a reminder, the way In-ho spits out his words acts as a threat. Look, don’t touch. (And certainly don’t talk.) It’s venomous, childish, but In-ho has to get his point across– Gi-hun is his.
(Not player 218’s, not Jung-bae’s, and certainly not the masked officer’s).
The masked officer gets up, and ruffles Gi-hun’s hair. Gi-hun looks repulsed by it and on the inside, In-ho makes a sigh. At least Gi-hun doesn’t seem to like him any more than the front man. That being said, it also feels as if a volcano had just erupted.
“Get out.” The words echo through the room, it visibly shakes Gi-hun who seems to be stuck in the middle of this.
The way the masked officer turns to him, almost… calculatingly playful. As if he knew something that In-ho didn’t, it pissed him off further. Made the thing inside of him, ugly and green, show its teeth.
Slowly, the officer makes his way out and the door closes. In-ho is… there’s a swirling of emotions inside of him. Revulsion, hatred, jealousy. (Worry that perhaps, if this keeps happening, Gi-hun just might slip away.)
“Gi-hun.”
Gi-hun looks him up and down, suspicious, “When did I become Gi-hun to you?” His eyes are wide, eyebrows furrowed.
It’s a split second, but In-ho has to think back to when 456 became someone of note. Perhaps he wasn’t Gi-hun to him yet, but In-ho thinks of when that other player had died within the dorms. His body kicked in by an enraged player over something meaningless in the long run. In-ho can remember that was the first time 456 distinguished himself to the Front man.
(Somehow that number, 456, continued to distinguish himself. All the way up to the limo ride, and then, the plane.)
Gi-hun must have wormed his way into In-ho’s heart somewhere else along the line then. (Perhaps it was as Young-Il).
“I realized it earlier,” Gi-hun doesn’t let him speak, “Back then, you only called me player 456. Did you suddenly grow a heart?”
In-ho doesn’t know how to reply to that. Then he realizes he's made several mistakes while dealing with this debacle. Starting all the way at the beginning of this mess.
“Or maybe…” he drags it on, “You took one.”
Gi-hun’s eyes don’t have that fire in them as he says that. It’s something darker, a promise of vengeance. Gi-hun shows no fear, like he did the last time they talked about it. It unnerves In-ho. That type of cruelty looks good on Gi-hun, In-ho thinks. (Different from the masked officer’s, so alike to In-ho. Not completely, but enough to where the line that Gi-hun had drawn so carefully in the sand has started to blur. It settles the rage in In-ho’s stomach that those two could ever stand next to each other willingly.)
“Who would I take it from?” It doesn’t come out as playful as he’d hoped it would, not behind the mask which has a habit of making everything In-ho says devoid of tone. Gi-hun turns away, in some form of shame or defiance. In-ho can’t necessarily make out what he’s trying to express but he hopes it’s both.
“Are you scared?” He pushes. Gi-hun scowls and In-ho thinks it might be the most adorable thing he’s seen all week. Hoping to make Gi-hun unravel further he asks, “Are you scared that it’ll be Young-Il’s?”
Gi-hun’s face contorts in horror, rage, and disgust at the implication. (There’s something heartwarming about it. Despite everything, Gi-hun still cares for Young-Il. Even if the man never existed, in the current time at least. Had they met earlier, In-ho likes to think that the two could have been friends. Even if one of them would have died in the end. In some ways, Gi-hun being here now makes things easier. In-ho doesn’t have to worry about that, at least until the VIPs start asking questions. Even then, he has one or two arguments up his sleeve.)
In-ho hasn’t revealed the truth of Young-Il to Gi-hun yet, so at the very least, he has one secret left to share with Gi-hun. (But for now, In-ho is content to bask in Gi-hun’s misplaced love for Young-Il. Even if Young-Il is dead in more ways than one, Gi-hun still gets protective over the man. There’s something particularly nice, warm, and comforting knowing that Gi-hun would love In-ho in some form, even if it isn’t his current one.)
Softness doesn’t suit the Front man, but he’ll try if it means getting some of Gi-hun’s favor, “You don’t have to worry about that. His corpse was properly disposed of, so was player 390.”
Gi-hun stays silent, contemplating his next words. He won’t get the satisfaction of ending the conversation.
“I thought it would ease your mind to know.”
–
Of course, In-ho isn’t always able to catch these meetings between Gi-hun and the masked officer. Ever since the VIPs arrived on the island, it’s become more frequent and almost impossible to stop. In-ho could just shoot the man. Demand his body be strung up in a gruesome display to show the consequences of disobedience. Like last time. It’s just that he’s sure that the masked officer has some guards who are more loyal to him than to In-ho. Those who oversee the “secret” organ harvest or those who were given their positions from him rather than In-ho. It would be a real pain to weed those imbeciles out, so he’ll let the problem solve itself when the time arises. The masked officer may have the support of a few guards, but the Front man will always have power over the many.
Somewhere along the line, Gi-hun has become… friendlier with the masked officer and it’s that fact which unnerves In-ho to no end. Because in what world does someone like Gi-hun, kind and well-intentioned, become friends with a snake like the masked officer? What could someone as brutal and greedy as him offer to Gi-hun? The idea is so irrational.
But it’s not exactly impossible if going by his friendships with player 218, Il-Nam, and Young-Il. What horrible luck Gi-hun must have and how foolish he is for still daring to trust. How heavy must his heart be?
For the times where he cannot go to Gi-hun directly, In-ho will pull up a feed and just observe. Most of the time, Gi-hun just sits there in his own self pity. On the days when his drive returns to him and he remembers his burning hatred to the games (and In-ho), Gi-hun will uselessly struggle against the cuffs and ankle chain.
It’s amusing, but irritating at the same time. He doesn’t necessarily like seeing Gi-hun with red around his wrists and his ankle almost bruised. The times that In-ho can spend next to Gi-hun, under the pretense of treating his wounds, he can enjoy those intimate moments. Replay them in his mind endlessly. (Feel the rough, callous hands belonging to Gi-hun and think of a day when Gi-hun will let him get close enough to kiss his wounds.) But there’s no glee to be found from watching Gi-hun try to escape from his chains like an animal stuck in a trap.
There’s no fun to be had in watching what’s essentially a deer trying to rip its own leg off to escape a line it’s become stuck in. It’s pitiful really, tempts In-ho’s heart to start beating again. Gi-hun’s rage, heartbreak, and grief are all intriguing to watch, but his carelessness is vexing when it causes more problems than entertainment.
In-ho is busy monitoring the surroundings of the island when it happens. Apparently a boat had been getting a little too close to uncovering their operations. No doubt, it’s Jun-ho and his crew of ragged mercenaries. They arrived early in the morning, before most of the other guards had even woken up. To keep the peace, In-ho only entrusts this information with the necessary amount of managers.
He doesn’t inform the masked officer. Rather, he’s waiting to see if he’ll need a substitute once again. He needs to be there to ensure that Jun-ho is off the island. Not dead, just… off.
In the midst of spotting the boat on the numerous cameras around the island, In-ho receives a notification that the door of Gi-hun’s room has been opened. He opens a second window on his monitor immediately, and has a sinking feeling of what to expect. It’s the officer again, of course. In-ho would have thought the man would have just been in his quarters, deteriorating his lungs or something. Preparing for the day even.
Why would he bother to visit Gi-hun during his free hours?
“Player 456,” it’s a shallow greeting, at least they aren’t on a first name basis. It still makes him uneasy, as if ants were crawling up his back and he could feel each leg one by one. In-ho supposes he can keep tabs on the side while searching for the crew. His eyes go back to the other window, the one with the cameras around the island.
“What do you want?” In-ho keeps his eyes away, his focus has to remain on locating the intruders. “What is that?”
The phrase evokes In-ho’s curiosity. It isn’t said quickly, in a panic. Rather, Gi-hun seems more cautious, paranoid. Like he’s backing away from a larger predator.
His eyes go back to the secondary window. The masked officer holds something in his hands, and dread starts to form in In-ho’s gut. What is that man doing? (Will he hurt or kill Gi-hun?)
No… Gi-hun is strictly off limits. He kills Gi-hun and the Front man will ensure that his comeuppance is painful. The masked officer squats and lifts whatever is in his palm for Gi-hun to observe, In-ho is about to run to Gi-hun’s room when he notices it.
It’s ointment.
He isn’t exactly sure which exactly it is, but it’s meant to soothe not harm.
The small container is… meant to be an olive branch?
In-ho doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or let out an ugly, possessive sound. What is the masked officer playing at? Does he want Gi-hun’s cries or his comfort? Just what does he want with Gi-hun?
There’s no denying it, something has shifted between them and it makes In-ho wretch in bitterness. It’s no longer displeasure that he feels towards the masked officer, it’s pure detestation. Revulsion. He thinks about it, stopping his duties just to walk over and shoot the masked officer. Gi-hun would understand, Gi-hun would even be glad that such a vile man was dead.
Alas, he’s stuck.
If he walks out that door, there’s a chance that someone would realize that his little fascination with Gi-hun has overgrown into something closer to obsession. He’s already visited Gi-hun far too many times for it to be normal. He is Gi-hun’s warden and Gi-hun his prisoner, nothing more, nothing less. (But he yearns for more. He must be more.)
Taking a breath, In-ho continues to watch them from the corner of his eye. He’s of two minds, one interested in what the masked officer is planning and one that just wants to rip him to shreds for daring to come close to Gi-hun.
He watches. He watches very closely as the masked officer applies what he can to Gi-hun’s wrists. The other masked man is delicate with Gi-hun, who doesn’t show much struggle. (Why? Why isn’t he moving? Why isn’t he sickened by that man’s touch? Does it not bother him in the same way it bothers In-ho?)
Not to mention how uncharacteristically careful the masked officer seems. The other man isn’t affectionate, but he’s methodical in the way he applies the ointment so as to not hurt Gi-hun. It makes In-ho feel ill, like he needs to throw up even though there’s not much in his stomach. There’s a certain sense of pride that In-ho carries, that he is not particularly sadistic. Not in the same way the masked officer is at least. It’s how he differentiates himself and the masked officer.
Now, In-ho’s devoted moments of care, moments that Gi-hun was to share with no one else but In-ho have been encroached on.
It drives him mad.
In-ho leaves the tracking to a few other managers.
He figures that he has the manpower, the boat can wait. The search will go on, and he will lead the inevitable confrontation (he cannot trust anyone else with that), but currently he can spare a few minutes to correct the masked officer’s mistakes.
Years of working in the childishly neon halls have made In-ho an expert on how to navigate them. None of the pink guards stop to question him, it’s not their place to. He understands that the gears in their brain are turning, what could possibly be so important that the Front man is marching towards? Force in every step till they could hear cracks in the ground from his footsteps. None of that matters. It doesn’t take long to reach Gi-hun’s room, but the masked officer has left by the time In-ho is there.
Good. Had he not left, In-ho wasn’t sure whether or not he would have shot him point blank. Gi-hun might have been distressed, but he should understand by now the cold nature of the world. Still, the masked officer will have to learn that Gi-hun is off limits. In-ho supposes he’s been too passive in all of this. Perhaps it’s time to show who has more power within the games, his power over the pink guards will overwhelm whatever support the masked officer has.
Blinking, In-ho takes in the sight of Gi-hun curled up away from him. His face looks conflicted, not necessarily fiery in the same way he looks at the Frontman- rather… like when he argued with Young-Il.
The realization dawns on him that in the time between him walking and entering, the masked officer might have filled Gi-hun in on who Young-Il truly was. It’s sickening, the thought of that is wrong. That once again he’s been robbed, played for a fool. Something dark bubbles within In-ho, it’s calling for blood.
“What were you doing with him?” He means to say the masked officer, he really doesn’t want to make it seem as if he cares that much. Because at the end of the day Seong Gi-hun is his prisoner. (‘But he’s more than that’ a traitorous part of In-ho argues. He likens that part of himself to Young-Il, but Young-Il is dead.) The way In-ho almost snarls at Gi-hun is ugly. “Gi-hun.” His voice is snappy, drenched in anger and so far from the methodical and controlled man he is supposed to be. He wonders if Gi-hun can hear it through the mask.
“What did you do to Young-Il?”
There’s something so ironic in the way that Gi-hun cares deeply for Young-Il but detests the Front man. If In-ho weren’t already losing it at the masked officer, he’d almost be jealous at the way Gi-hun wails for Young-Il. Longs for him in a way that he could never accept In-ho.
(That he could never expect the truth. It’s a question that turns the cogs of In-ho’s mind, one that he’ll ponder for a while before it happens. He’s sure that it’ll ruin Gi-hun forever, that the number 001 will be seared into his mind. How many nights will he lay awake, ruminating on the man that caused his downfall while patting him on the shoulder?)
Gi-hun repeats himself, louder and his fire burning in a way it hasn’t burned since the failed rebellion, “What did you do to Young-Il!? Answer me!” Gi-hun once again struggles against the bindings, even though the masked officer tried to provide him with relief.
If he could, In-ho would sigh. His secret was still safe, he could still have one thing with Gi-hun. Perhaps the masked officer was setting him up. Giving him a chance.
“He told me… he told me to ask you about what happened to Young-Il. That Young-Il isn’t dead,” Gi-hun chokes out.
“He’s mistaken. Picking at your mind. Young-Il was killed in the hallways during your attempt at playing hero,” In-ho says, recomposing himself. Gi-hun sobs and begins to cry again, crying in a way he hasn’t since his failure. It’s unsightly, the way he snivels and howls. It’s devastating, seeing how far Gi-hun has fallen (because In-ho was there once). In-ho lowers himself to where Gi-hun has curled on the ground, as Gi-hun starts hiccuping uncontrollably, a firm hand is placed on his back. His movements are too erratic, breathing too violent for In-ho to safely place his arms completely around Gi-hun, even though his arms itch, scream, and burn to be around Gi-hun.
In-ho wants to say something, but the distortion on his mask would make it worse. Gi-hun would be reminded of who he is and push him away.
Any plans to reveal himself today or tomorrow are thrown out the window as In-ho watches Gi-hun break down to his most vulnerable state. He isn’t sure he’s ready for Gi-hun’s scorn either. Whatever anger he had at the masked officer can also wait, the boat could wait as well.
In-ho rubs circles around Gi-hun’s back and waits for him to catch his breathing again, eventually the other man cries himself to sleep. It’s not a pretty sight, and In-ho can’t be sure how much of it he indulges in and how much of it sinks a dagger into his heart. There’s an urge to bring Gi-hun a bit closer and he does. It’s been a long time since In-ho has really hugged anyone, this awkward embrace while Gi-hun is unconscious might be the closest thing he has to a sincere hug.
Gi-hun won’t ever know about this, but In-ho thinks he’ll remember this moment for a long time.
–
“The games will end soon. After this round, what will become of your pet project?”
They’re in the masked officer’s quarters, the other man is relaxed and has taken off said mask. It would be very easy for In-ho to shoot him. Shoot him and stop his constant defiances of In-ho’s orders. Remind every other guard the powers of the Front man. String him up like chopped meat even to really let the message sink in.
“It’s not your place to worry about that,” In-ho says, “You will stop visiting player 456. Defy me again and the consequences will be swift.”
“Shame,” he puts out his cigarette, and in this light In-ho thinks the man looks more deranged and depraved than ever. He’s glad he hasn’t let his indulgences drive him to the same place as the masked officer, who looks almost reliant on his vices to keep him through the day. There are bags under his eyes and a lopsided smile that doesn’t suit him.
“If he lives and you get tired of him. Hand him to me,” the other man says, “I think a bonus would be nice after I covered for you during the first three games.”
It’s hard to not clench his hand, to avoid pulling out his gun. He at least imagines it, the splatter of red, hot blood and a cooling bullet between the other man’s eyes. It’s a game. On this island, everythings a game. Patience is all In-ho needs to win, but how much more patience can he afford before he has another bullet lodged into his body?
It’s just that the officer is a little bit too casual with him and it’s pissing In-ho off. His blatant insubordination has to be rectified. They are not friends, and he is not willing to share Gi-hun. (Not now, not ever.)
“So you can cut him up for some extra parts? Sell away his organs for more won?”
His words finally strike a cord within the officer, whose lax posture stiffens. The other man doesn’t stumble over his words, but having been caught red handed he’s close to it. It’s funny, adorable even in that ironic way. “We didn’t use a player this year, we got someone on our team. You keep your fairness, we keep our bonuses.” Fear is written across his face, even if he fights to not show it. In-ho is pleased, satisfied even. The other man takes him seriously again, any and all casualness has dropped. He’s trying to appease In-ho.
“Keep it then. But games must stay fair, and you…” it’s petty. So unbelievably petty. Not a part of the cool and collected image of the Front man, more suitable for a vindictive child. But this entire island is made up of childish games so In-ho doesn’t hesitate, “...stay away from Seong Gi-hun.”
The officer reluctantly nods and In-ho leaves his quarters with a smirk on his face, having gotten what he’s wanted. He’s never been able to sleep without the threat of being killed so his mind is always on alert, but tonight will be the easiest he’s slept in a long time.
From behind him, there’s a muffled sound of glass shattering against a wall. The sound is too forceful, too loud to have been an accident. In-ho can imagine the fury on his face, the urge to scream (that he knows all too well). Composure so necessary to living as they do now lost.
It makes victory all the sweeter.