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“Please don’t kill her,” Jun-hee begs. “Please don’t kill her. Please don’t kill her.”
In-ho can only watch, mouth agape, as Jun-hee clutches her baby to her chest with a ferocity. He tries to take a step forward, but Jun-hee scrambles back, falling against the grass and crushing a bed of daisies.
“I won’t,” he tries to say. “I wouldn’t.”
“Please don’t kill her,” Jun-hee says again. It’s all Jun-hee has been saying since In-ho saw her in the field of flowers. Cuts had appeared all over her body since the start of his chase. In-ho wasn’t sure when, but the blood had started to drip as she limped away, falling on the leaves, the petals, the baby’s green coat. “Please don’t kill her.”
“I didn’t kill her,” he tries to plead, but it’s no use. It’s never any use. “She’s with me, she’s safe.”
“How can she ever be safe with you?” Someone whispers behind him. Gi-hun stands amid the sea of flowers, face gaunt and loathing. “How can she ever be safe when those people, when you are still on this Earth?” He is holding the baby, shielding her from In-ho with his arms. But if Gi-hun is the one holding her—
In-ho turns around, and the flowers are gone. They had been pressed into faded paintings on a hard concrete floor. In-ho steps back and slips, falls on his back, and feels blood seep into his pants, his shirt, his hair. He scrambles to his elbows and sees Jun-hee, lying on the ground, the blood oozing from her head spreading around her like a halo. He crawls to her on all fours, barely able to breathe, and looks into her glassy eyes. Her mouth is slightly ajar, with the surprise of her own sacrifice.
“Don’t kill her,” he hears Jun-hee say, even though her lips don’t budge. Jun-hee’s head lolls towards him, eyes still glassy, face still pale, lips still unmoving. “Don’t kill her like you killed me.”
In-ho wakes up slowly. The first couple of times he had this brand of nightmare, he had jolted awake, covered in sweat. He had never dreamed about the players before. A cool layer of detachment was needed to maintain a semblance of sanity while acting as a Frontman, something he had taken to very easily. When faith in humanity slips away, he had realized, much more goes with it. Empathy, regret, and remorse, among other things. He hadn’t exactly redeveloped a working faith in humanity after the last game. But the nightmares were new. Eventually, he had gotten used to them. His body hardly reacted when he woke up to a nightmare now. Yet another thing he had become desensitized to.
He turns his head to the clock on his bedside table and tries to rub the bleariness out of his eyes. It’s only 3:00 AM. In-ho throws his covers off and pads into the bathroom, where Seong Gi-hun is waiting for him.
Gi-hun perches on the bathroom sink as he brushes his teeth, washes his face, combs back his hair. He stands by the kitchen door as In-ho pours himself a glass of juice and drinks it slowly. He watches as In-ho buttons up his cufflinks and vest, all with a look of ennui.
“You’re unusually quiet,” In-ho remarks cooly. “No moral proselytizing this morning?”
Gi-hun tugs at his bowtie and rolls his eyes. “I’m taking a paid vacation from being a haunting vision of your past failures. You’ll be the one paying me, of course.”
“You are quite irritating for a guilty conscience, don’t you think?”
“Should have killed someone less annoying, ever think of that? Although, I’m sure you have, what with all the games. Why am I the one you’re stuck with, then?” Gi-hun fiddles with a dried spot of blood on his suit jacket and stares at In-ho with those dead eyes.
In-ho goes quiet. “I tried to save you.”
“You tried to test me,” Gi-hun points out. “You could have saved everyone.”
“You know I couldn’t,” In-ho argues weakly. But there’s no point arguing with his own guilt. Even if Gi-hun had somehow found it in himself to forgive him for everything, he would still be haunted by all the ways he had failed him. It hurts even more, he thinks, seeing the manifestation of his guilt everyday, wearing the face of his biggest regret. It was the worst punishment he could think of, created by his very own mind.
“Anyways, is there any use? You’re going to meet those damn Americans next week whether I tell you it’s wrong or not.” Gi-hun scoffs and kicks at the carpet.
“What else am I supposed to do? Just because the Games ended in Korea doesn’t mean they aren’t happening elsewhere. Would you prefer I turn a blind eye?”
“I would prefer you didn’t throw yourself at any opportunity to host another death match.” In his periphery, In-ho sees Gi-hun shake his head. He can almost hear his wry smile.
“I’m not hosting it.” In-ho refuses to look up. Refuses to meet his eyes. He knows what he will see when he does. For a moment, at least, he can pretend that he is having a lazy morning conversation with Gi-hun, that this is all normal and domestic and how it is supposed to be. “They’re asking for a consultation. From someone with previous experience.”
“And that’s better how, exactly? You won’t still be contributing to the torture and death of innocents?”
“They’re Americans,” In-ho tries to joke with a dry laugh. It doesn’t land. If anything, Gi-hun tenses up more. In-ho can feel him slip away. “They’re in the early stages of development. I just want to learn what they’ve come up with so far. Maybe I could try to sabotage this one too. But even if I did, it won’t stop them from making more Games. These people will always win, Gi-hun. I just want us to survive.”
He hears Gi-hun sigh. Hears his footsteps on the carpet as he moves closer to In-ho, smooths his lapels, places a steady hand on his shoulder. Finally, In-ho is forced to look up at him. “If that’s what you think, alright. It’s not me you’re trying to convince, afterall.” Gi-hun smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes. In-ho has seen them dozens of times now and still cannot stop the small gasp from his lips escaping as he looks at his glassy, unfocused eyes, oddly reminiscent of Jun-hee’s in his nightmare. The same dead eyes he had last seen before he blew the island up.
Gi-hun chuckles softly. “Did my death restore your faith in humanity at all?” he asks.
“It restored my faith in you,” In-ho answers. “The rest of humanity is yet to be seen.”
Gi-hun gives him a toothy grin. “Baby steps.”
Sometimes, In-ho isn’t even sure he saw Seong Gi-hun die.
Logically, he knows he did. He can’t scrub the memory of Gi-hun’s lifeless stare on the concrete floor of the final game room. He can’t shake the feeling of tension as he walked past him on the way out, forcing himself not to look back at the body, instead cradling the baby to his chest and rocking her gently.
But Gi-hun is always there. He hasn’t left his side since the island blew up. In-ho isn’t even sure when he first started to see him. No matter what he does, Gi-hun is there, either smiling or shaking his head or adding unhelpful commentary.
Most often, he’s there after his newfound nightmares. In-ho wakes up with a start, looks around the room, and sees Gi-hun perched on a chair, idly tapping his knee.
“Who was it this time?” he’d ask, not unkindly. But the hardness in his face was there, haunting In-ho. Which one of the people that died because of you haunts you in your dreams?
Usually, it was Gi-hun himself. He dreamed about fighting him and his ideology over and over again, until he could map out a tree diagram of his dreams: saying this will lead to that, which will lead to this, and so on and so forth. But sometimes it was other players. People he had killed during his own games. More recently, it had been Player 222. Jun-hee.
For the first few months since he had blown up the island, In-ho had hidden out in a remote corner of South Korea with the baby. He had taken care of her the best he could, trying to remember bits and pieces of the whole fatherhood thing that he had learned years before when he found out that his wife was pregnant. He had been feeding her one day, enjoying a brief respite from her crying, when he looked up and saw the barely concealed disdain on Gi-hun’s face.
“Her mother is dead because of you. You’re going to what, raise her like your own? What will you tell her when she’s older, then? That you killed everyone who tried to protect her to appease some billionaires?”
As if on cue, the baby shoved the bottle away with grubby hands and began to cry again. In-ho was lost.
He had eventually given the baby to the only person he knew he could trust, along with the entirety of her winnings. Jun-ho was kind, brave, loyal to a fault. He would take care of her, he thought. He’d considered leaving Jun-ho with a name to call her, but he didn’t imagine he really had a right to name her, after killing the people who were supposed to. In-ho knew it was dangerous, but he watched from afar as his brother entered the room and saw her. A look of pure bewilderment crossed his face before settling into quiet understanding and action. As Jun-ho swaddled the baby, swiped the credit card, and left the room, In-ho felt himself let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Then, he turned on his heel and left. His job was done.
“Would you ever forgive me?” he asked Gi-hun as he packed up his things from his hideaway. Gi-hun shot him a wry smile.
“Would you ever forgive yourself, Hwang In-ho?”
Little things like this reminded In-ho that this Gi-hun wasn't actually there, was never coming back. After all, he had never gotten the chance to tell his Gi-hun his name.
In-ho hadn’t expected to see his brother or the baby again. But if the universe had been consistent with him in one way, it was throwing curveballs straight at his stupid, unsuspecting head.
In-ho was about to place the envelope on Jun-ho’s kitchen counter and slip out the way he came when the door creaks slowly behind him. He spins around, reaching to his belt for a weapon that wasn’t there. He sees Jun-ho do the same, slapping the belt around his jeans instinctively for his gun. They stare at each other for a beat.
“Hyung-”
“If you say ‘why?’ I’ll throw myself into oncoming traffic,” In-ho deadpans. Expectedly, Jun-ho doesn’t laugh. He slowly reaches for a knife on the counter and holds it up to In-ho.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m not here to hurt you, Jun-ho.”
“Why am I not convinced?”
In-ho brushes his hair back with a gloved hand. “I thought you were owed an explanation. After I disappeared for so many years and…”
“And shot me off of an island and tried to have me killed,” Jun-ho finishes bitterly. In-ho shakes his head.
“I know it doesn’t seem that way, but I was trying to protect you.”
“You’re right. It doesn’t seem that way.”
In-ho falters before looking around the small apartment. “Where’s the baby?”
Jun-ho gapes. “You sent me that baby?”
“Are there other people in your life more prone to sending you babies?” In-ho frowns.
“No, just- what the hell were you doing with a baby? Why give her to me?”
“I was trying to save her.”
Jun-ho looks unconvinced, but still lowers the knife. He opens the fridge, pulls out a can of beer, and slides it to the other side of the counter. He walks over, sets the knife on the counter in front of him, pulls up a chair, and beckons In-ho to sit. He cracks open the can and takes a swig. “This better be one hell of an explanation.”
And it is. In-ho starts from the beginning. Talking about his own participation in the Games. How he killed all of the finalists. How it was all for nothing. How he got recruited and lost sight of his humanity, of everyone’s humanity. How the years went by watching people die and In-ho didn’t feel a thing. How Seong Gi-hun entered the games with such a kindness and unwavering faith in people. How he had looked In-ho in the eyes before he fell off of the platform and now had In-ho doing ridiculous things like delivering babies and suits to daughters made fatherless by him and how it was still all for nothing. That the Games were still going on in America, maybe even other parts of the world.
After a long silence, Jun-ho’s voice croaks. “Doesn’t sound like you’re that girl’s savior or anything. Sounds like you killed everyone who could have protected her, which forced you to look after her instead. Jun-ho snorted. “I used to think only the stupidest person on Earth would drop off their baby with some unemployed man in his thirties, but it’s better than her being raised by you, I suppose.” Gi-hun, because of course Gi-hun is there, Gi-hun is always there, smiles at this remark and shrugs at In-ho.
“Something we agree on,” he beams.
“You’re not with the police anymore?” In-ho asks.
Jun-ho spins the knife on the counter, creating a small hole in the laminate. “I left even before you gave her to me. Everyone thought I was losing my mind. I kept failing to find this island I had been yammering about for years. ‘What was the point?’ I thought. And even if I wanted to, no one in their right mind would legally relinquish a baby to an unemployed single man.” He stabs the knife on the laminate gently. “My friend’s cousin had been trying for a baby for years with her husband. I gave her to them instead. She’s far away from the mess that we made now.”
“Do you ever go to see her?”
“No. And you shouldn’t either. Don’t fuck with her life anymore than you have already.”
In-ho watches Jun-ho’s throat bob as he takes another drink from his can. “I wasn’t planning on it. Don’t worry”
Jun-ho laughs sharply as he slams the can down. “Oh, I shouldn’t worry? What a relief! I can rest easy now, can’t I? All my worries are gone now, thank you hyung!” He laughs uncontrollably, verging on maniacal as In-ho sits silently, hands on his knees. When he finally sobers up, he looks up at In-ho with somber eyes.
“So, there’s still Games? After all that?”
In-ho says nothing, just keeps his eyes trained on the floor. “I’m going to visit them in America in a few days.”
Jun-ho's face breaks a little, and he points the knife at In-ho again. “Why are you here talking to me, then? If you’re still working for them? You sure you haven’t come to shoot me again?”
“I’m not.” In-ho insists. “I’m not working for them, and I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re meeting with them.”
“That’s all it is, a consultation.” In-ho rubs his hand across his face and groans. “It’s impossible to stop these Games. I blew up the very foundation of them and look, see them carry on the legacy in a different country. The rich and powerful will always get what they want, Jun-ho. It’s pointless to fight against it. The best I can try to do is see what they’re doing, keep a close eye on them, and try to make things less worse.”
“How noble.” Gi-hun sits on the countertop now, eyes swiveling between the two brothers as they speak. In-ho gives him a small glare. “My hero.”
“So you really think nothing will change?” Jun-ho says. In-ho’s eyes are still fixed on Gi-hun, who is watching him expectantly. He knows what Gi-hun would say. He just doesn’t know that he can believe him.
“I think,” In-ho hesitates, only carrying on with a nod from Gi-hun, “that one person on their own can’t stop a machine like this. But I can try. I can try to see for myself, if this humanity that Seong Gi-hun fought so hard for is worth fighting such an uphill battle for.” Gi-hun shrugs and jumps off the counter aimlessly wandering around the box that Jun-ho calls an apartment.
“Baby steps,” Gi-hun says.
Jun-ho doesn’t look up at his brother. Just scoffs and shakes his head. “That Gi-hun must have done a number on you. I could almost believe you there, for a minute.” He nudges In-ho with his shoulder and In-ho wonders how such a familiar and childish gesture can feel so sad, so final. “So this is why you’re here then. One last goodbye.” Jun-ho’s words sound like an echo, like they barely reach his mouth. In-ho nods.
“You know, eomma still cooks for you and tells me about the day you’re going to come home. She talks to her friends about you like you never left.” Jun-ho lets out a breathy laugh. For a minute, In-ho sees the little boy he used to walk to school and buy ice-cream, before pulling on his ear and reminding him not to tell his mother. He sees the smiling face of his brother declaring to everyone he met that he wants to be a police officer, just like his big brother. He sees the look of admiration on his brother’s face as he hands up a bouquet and pulls him into a hug, whispering, “I’m so proud of you.” Then it’s wiped away, hardened by years of pain and disappointment.
“I love you, In-ho. I miss you. And even with everything you did, even if it makes me a bad person, I want you to live and have a good life.” Then Jun-ho looks up at him, the rims of his eyes red. His hand is gripping the knife like a vice. “But if I ever see you again, I’ll bring you to the police station myself. Whether they think I’m insane or not.”
In-ho nods. He cards his fingers through Jun-ho’s hair for the last time, trying to memorize the feeling of his only brother. Surprisingly, Jun-ho doesn’t swat him away, just stares into the empty space in front of him blankly. Just before he closes the door behind him, In-ho hears, “Wait.”
He turns around. Jun-ho hesitates before closing his eyes and sighing.
“Her name is Da-eun. The baby that you say you saved. My friend says he’s never seen his cousin happier.”
In-ho lets out a surprised breath. “Oh,” he says. He closes the door behind him to see Gi-hun already in the hallway, leaning against the wall.
“What are you going to do now, oh noble one?” he teases. In-ho pushes past him, trying to ignore the way Gi-hun mutters to himself as he follows In-ho out of the building.
“Da-eun,” Gi-hun whispers to himself. In-ho feels a small prick of satisfaction. At least Gi-hun’s death hadn’t been completely in vain. At least someone had been spared from the carnage the Games had left behind. “Da-eun.”
When In-ho came back from dropping Gi-hun’s things off to Ga-yeong, Gi-hun was sitting in the car, arms crossed, looking furious.
“You should have left my daughter alone,” he hissed.
“I thought you’d have wanted them to know what happened to you,” he tried to justify. “I thought you’d want your daughter to have your money, be at peace.”
“It’s blood money, all of it.” Gi-hun had usually been a passive ghost, gently reminding him of his guilt and failure and disappointment. In-ho hadn’t realized it was possible for him to manifest as such an angry spirit, it almost made him feel real as opposed to a figment of In-ho’s imagination. Greedily, In-ho wanted him to get madder. Maybe he should show up to Ga-yeong’s house more. Visit Cho Sang-woo’s mother. Try to track down Kang Sae-byeok’s mother. Whatever would make Gi-hun so much more angry, so much more alive.
“Do you know the pain and confusion you must have caused her, just showing up and handing her my bloody clothes and telling her I’m dead? I never wanted her caught up in this world. She should be safe here, away from the Games, away from you.”
In-ho turned to face Gi-hun, who had turned away to face the window with his arms crossed, looking almost like a petulant child. In-ho wanted to beg for forgiveness. Wanted him to get even madder and hit him, if Gi-hun even could.
“I thought you wanted me to make things right with the chance I was given. I thought you’d want this,” he pleaded.
Gi-hun turned back to him, face softening imperceptibly. His bangs had fallen over his eyes. In-ho brushed them away, because he was finally allowed to, and Gi-hun let him, because he wasn’t really here.
“Make things right if you want,” Gi-hun said, “but don’t hurt other people in the process.”
In-ho wakes up to the phantom sensation of hands around his throat.
This is supposed to be killing me, he thinks. But he feels no constriction of air, no urge to wrestle his assailant off of him and gasp for breath. He simply looks up sadly at Gi-hun, whose hands squeeze tighter around his neck at the attention. His dress shirt, speckled with blood, ripples across his shoulders with effort.
“You can’t kill me now, Gi-hun,” he says matter-of-factly. “You’re dead.”
Gi-hun is leaning above him, so close that In-ho thinks he can feel his bangs brush against his forehead. If In-ho lets himself go for a minute, he could probably feel the ghost of Gi-hun’s breath over his nose, the fluttering of his eyelashes.
“You wish I did, though. Isn’t that what you were dreaming about?”
It was. In-ho replayed their final meeting in his dreams more times than he could count. Imagined the ways it could have gone. Gi-hun screaming at him, demanding justice from him, asking him to atone for his crimes. Gi-hun swinging his newly gifted knife and cutting his throat, stabbing his heart. Gi-hun forgoing the knife all together and killing him with his bare hands, like he was attempting to do right now. In-ho craved the shortness of breath, the feeling of warmth crushing his diaphragm.
“Why didn’t you kill me then?” he asks.
Gi-hun scoffs. “You’re the one who said it wouldn’t change a thing. It would have just put a target on my back. And the baby’s.” Gi-hun relaxes his hands and slumps backwards to sit on the bed. In-ho sucks in a sharp breath, as if Gi-hun really had been suffocating him. He lays back on his pillow, staring up at the ceiling. Gi-hun is still watching him expectantly.
“It could have been my atonement,” he says.
Gi-hun makes an offended sound. “What a shitty atonement! What, you just die and leave this mess to everyone else? You don’t get to take the easy way out. You atone by sitting here alone and miserable and talking to a dead man all day.”
“Ok, then. If I kill myself trying to stop the Games in America,” In-ho starts, “will that make things right? Will things be fixed then?”
He hears Gi-hun sigh, feels the sheets rustle as Gi-hun pulls his knees up to his chest. “You know you’ll never be able to fix things. What’s done is done. The people you’ve hurt are hurt.” In-ho lifts his head gently to see Gi-hun tap his fingers against his knee – pinky, ring, middle, index – before repeating the cycle. A nervous tic In-ho had picked up as a young boy and never quite dropped. “What will you do from now on though, Hwang In-ho? Do you still think humanity isn’t worth saving?”
In-ho shrugs. “I don’t know.”
Gi-hun hums. “Tricky question, I guess. I’ll ask you this instead. Even if they aren’t worth saving, will you try anyway?”
In-ho sits up, leaning forward so his bangs almost brush against Gi-hun’s. This isn’t real, he tells himself. He isn’t real.
“How is my atonement going?” In-ho breathes. “Have you forgiven me yet?”
Gi-hun laughs softly, bumps his forehead against In-ho’s. It feels of nothing and everything all at once. “I already have. And I don’t think I ever will. Funny how that works.”
“What should I do?” In-ho had asked Gi-hun before boarding the flight to California. He had tangled his fingers in Gi-hun’s and tried to pretend that he could feel the warmth of his palms. He avoided the eyes, always avoided Gi-hun’s eyes.
Gi-hun had sighed, had squeezed his fingers. “Do what feels best.”
“What if I don’t know what’s best? What if I’m still running away?”
“How can I tell you what to do, In-ho?” Gi-hun laughed drily. “Would you even listen?”
“Of course I would,” In-ho pleaded. “I’m lost, Gi-hun. All I have is you. Let me do right by you.”
Gi-hun forced his chin up so that his eyes met Gi-hun’s: glassy, dead, gone. In-ho caught his reflection in them. Glassy, dead, gone.
“You don’t have me, In-ho. I am you.”
A Recruiter meets In-ho at the front entrance of a towering glass building. He is led through multiple winding hallways before stepping into an elevator. In-ho had expected to be going up to one of the top meeting rooms, and nearly loses his footing when the elevator lurches downward. He looks pointedly at the elevator panel, which doesn’t have a single button going below the ground floor.
“The key,” is the first phrase the Recruiter speaks to him. “I expect you’ll be getting one soon. It’s how to get to the meeting places,” the Recruiter explains helpfully. “Most of the US games are operated underground.”
In-ho nods his thanks. It must have been short-notice hiring, he thinks to himself. If he were running these games, any employees who willingly gave information about any strategy or tactic or otherwise to anyone, regardless of their perceived implicitness in the Games, would be shot and tossed into the ocean. Already, this operation was crumbling apart before his eyes. Gi-hun’s eyes sparkle as much as a dead man’s can with this revelation.
“I’m so sorry to hear you had to blow up the island,” the Recruiter coos as they settle into a meeting room. In-ho turns to him, already nursing the glass of whiskey that the Recruiter had poured him. “I mean, you spent so much time on those games, it was practically your baby. It must have felt like a part of you died.”
In-ho puts down his glass. “I suppose a part of me did.”
The Recruiter closes the door behind him, revealing a smiling Gi-hun leaning against the wall. He saunters over and sits in the chair next to In-ho, swinging his legs up on the conference table.
“What a bunch of hacks,” he declares, and In-ho can’t help the small shock of laughter that leaves him. Gi-hun turns to him, suddenly serious. “What now?”
In-ho falters, wrings his hands. “I still don’t know what to think of humanity.”
“Baby steps, In-ho. No one is asking what you think of humanity. You can’t possibly have an opinion on every person, ever. I’m asking what you’re going to do now.” Pinky, ring, middle, index. Gi-hun taps his fingers on the tabletop.
Sometimes, In-ho thinks, he still doesn’t care what happens to people. Gi-hun’s humanity may have saved people, but others’ is why he’s dead now, just a vision haunting In-ho wherever he goes. And yet.
In-ho reaches out and brushes some unkempt strands of hair behind Gi-hun’s shoulder. Gi-hun stares back, a soft, pliant smile on his face. In-ho may be losing his mind, but he’s allowed these little indulgences, he thinks.
A woman steps into the room, places a briefcase on the table, and extends her hand for In-ho to shake. She begins to prattle on about what an honor it is to meet the Frontman of the most successful Games.
In-ho can’t think of something he’d be less interested in hearing, but the woman goes on and on. “The United States has been operating our own Games for a few years now, although never as successfully as the Games you had in Korea. America is a lot bigger, which is a blessing and a curse. So many potential candidates, but we’re stretched too thin. And there’s less of a chance of creating those beautiful stories with the player selection. I mean, the last game with the mother, father, and the baby all competing? That kind of emotional draw is missing when you have such a large pool.” In-ho notices Gi-hun’s grip tightening on the armrest of the chair, his eyes glazing over with rage. She starts pulling papers out of her briefcase, sliding them over to In-ho as she explains VIP turnout, recruitment strategies, and more technical mumbo-jumbo that makes In-ho’s head spin.
“Which is why, we’d love it if you assisted us with the American Games. Your expertise may be just what’s needed to get the ball rolling. And to my understanding, you don’t have a Korean Game to host anymore, right?”
In-ho feels himself nod.
“Again,” she nods solemnly. “I’m sorry for your loss. I know it must be hard, not being able to continue the Games in your home country. But America is a place for fresh starts! What do you say?”
In-ho looks at her, straightens his suit. “I appreciate the condolences for the losses I have incurred. But the Games in Korea did not stop simply because of police intervention. In fact, I have allies in every possible rank of authority. Even though I blew up the island, I could easily build another. The reason there is not another Squid Game is because I do not wish for it.”
He watches the woman falter, scramble to sort the papers in front of her. “And why is that?”
Seong Gi-hun is no longer sitting in the chair beside him. He is standing behind the woman’s chair, arms crossed, looking at In-ho with his head slightly cocked. “If this is your idea of consulting,” he says with mirth, “you must have been a better detective than a businessman.”
In-ho doesn’t answer her question. “Your Games are doomed to fail. Even if you weren’t completely disorganized. Even if this was hosted by someone with their head screwed on correctly. Even if you get every billionaire on the planet to cosign and sponsor and fight for front row tickets. I will give you some advice now, as the former Frontman of the longest running Games in history.” In-ho pauses to knock the rest of his drink back. “Something will go wrong.” He looks at Gi-hun. “Someone will throw a wrench in your carefully thought-out plans by being so, painfully human. I do not wish to involve myself in something that is bound to be a trainwreck.”
In-ho stands up. “I personally will not stop you from trying to go forth with these Games. I know I cannot. But one day, if you aren’t more careful, someone will. Do not make the same mistakes I did.”
The woman raises an eyebrow. “Is that a threat, Mr. Hwang?”
In-ho shakes his head and allows himself a laugh. The sound is almost foreign to him. “No, ma’am. Consider it a well-intentioned warning.”
In-ho walks out of the building exactly the way the stupid Recruiter had shown him how.
“Have I atoned now, do you think?” In-ho asks Gi-hun. They are standing on the sidewalk by a food truck. In-ho holds an ice-cream, lactose intolerance be damned. Gi-hun kicks pebbles from the gravel. Faintly, In-ho notices that the pebbles don’t move. Gi-hun’s kicks don’t make a dent in the world anymore.
“Always with that damn question,” Gi-hun snorts. “Fine. You’ve atoned. Do you feel your guilt leaving you now?”
In-ho freezes. “My guilt- what?”
“Leaving.” Gi-hun smiles innocently. “You wanted to make up for your failures. I’m saying you have. Congratulations, Hwang In-ho! I dub thee, guilt-free. Goodbye.”
“No! Wait!” In-ho reaches for his wrist, and panics when he sees his hand slip through Gi-hun's arm.
“No?” Gi-hun quirks an eyebrow. “What did you think atonement was? Don’t tell me you want to live with this guilt forever? Always be constantly reminded of what you did to other people? To me?”
Yes, In-ho thinks. I’ll beg for forgiveness forever. I’ll let you scold me and punch me and choke me in my sleep as long as you stay at my side. It was what he deserved. Wasn’t it what he deserved?
“Don’t go. Please, don’t go.” In-ho pleads. I don’t want to lose you again.” Gi-hun watches him with pity. He steps up in front of him and cups In-ho’s jaw, gently.
“You aren’t losing me,” he whispers.
In-ho looks up at him in reverence. “How? You’re always going to be here with me?” If Gi-hun leaves, a part of him will be gone forever. His guilt, his atonement, his salvation.
“I am you,” Gi-hun smiles. It’s the most warm In-ho has felt in a long time. “But Seong Gi-hun was never yours to lose.”
In-ho gasps, closes his eyes. He imagines what Gi-hun would be doing now, if he hadn’t died. Meeting Ga-yeong. Finding Jun-ho, helping him piece together the mystery of the puzzle. Doing everything in his power to stop the Games from spreading internationally. Holding Da-eun, making sure she grew up in a world without the risk of people like Hwang In-ho sending his men after her, handing her a red envelope, and asking her to play a game. In-ho supposes he wouldn’t have fit into Gi-hun’s life regardless of the atonement he was seeking. He opens his eyes to see Gi-hun still smiling at him. How good, he thinks, that he’s able to keep some version of Gi-hun, of his humanity, with him forever.
Gi-hun’s hand slips from his face. “Don’t worry, though. He will always haunt you, Hwang In-ho. You’ll see him every day, in everything, all the time.”
In-ho smiles lopsidedly. “Can’t wait.”
With a soft smile, Gi-hin turns around and walks away. For the first time, In-ho sees him growing smaller in the distance, feels his presence waning.
In the distance, In-ho can hear Gi-hun chuckle softly to himself. “Da-eun,” he says in awe, as dappled sunlight envelopes him.