Chapter Text
Rotten Heart
Hwang In-ho—man who was once powerful—now crushed like crumbs. His body held scars from his time in the games, and now he looked down at a body that no longer bled.
Seong Gi-hun
The man had left an imprint so large that Oh Il-nam had fallen into his web. Having been fond of the man, let him see him in his final moments. In-ho had joined with him after the attempt in red light green light, he had wanted to break down the man’s spirits, his hopes to end the never ending cycle, and he failed. Even in Gi-huns final moments, he had hope for humanity. In-ho always wondered what made the man fight even through the most difficult moments. When player 456 had first played, he’d been as chipper as a dog with a treat, In-ho had secretly been hoping for that kind of energy, and yet all he saw was a man brought down by guilt for deaths that weren’t even his fault.
In-ho snapped back to reality when the child on the pillar had began crying. He’d never had much experience with children, even when Jun-ho was young, he kept to himself. When he began his job as frontman, sometimes he would catch himself daydreaming of what life would be like if his wife had lived. But he always made sure to shut that down. Oh Il-nam would’ve disapproved, and you never wanted to upset him. The man was like a tyrant when upset, violent, angry, he never cared what he did if it meant getting to you.
Hwang In-ho switched his attention from the corpse on the concrete floor, to the pillar, where the wails were coming from. The leather on his boots squeaking as he walked towards the opening, stepping onto the lift, the mechanism creaking as it went up.
He remembers watching the final game, how violent Gi-hun had been to save someone else’s child, how the night before, he’d refused to harm anyone even if they threatened the child. He refused to admit it, but he felt a pang of nostalgia, he used to be kind, if not that, he’d care. He’s watched people come into these games evil, and leave monsters. The ones who were kind never lasted. Not until Gi-hun.
He admits, he never expected the man to win, the kind ones died quickly, this place was greedy, like hell, it steals and breaks. It surprised him to see Gi-huns photo be the last one on the board. And it hurt him to see it leave.
Once the lift stopped on the top of the platform, he turned, his black robes shuffling as he looked in the direction of the infant. He remembers his wife, Aeshin, her frail body trying to keep their child alive. She was what kept him going as he played, and she slipped from his grip like water. He walked towards the baby, bending down to pick it up, his arm bent slightly to hold it by it’s shoulder, his other arm stabilizing the child, making sure it wasn’t harmed, he looked down at it. He’d never had much practice holding a baby, Gi-hun made it look effortless, even while playing.
He walked towards the lift, shoes creaking, the hole in his heart growing. He tried to ignore as the glass broke, he tried to ignore when his brother, the last person to care for him, screamed.
”Why?!”
In-ho was a man of few words now, as the lift began to lower, he remembers when he played as player 001, how Gi-hun trusted him so blindly, how he helped him. He remembers the slight smiles, how when Gi-hun spoke with..’what was it? Jungbae?’ he asks himself. When Gi-hun spoke with Jungbae that one night, he remembers hearing Gi-hun raise his voice slightly, like he used to. He’d never met 456 besides the limousine. But he could see the energy through the camera, how the man had hope despite being in a hopeless space.
In-ho stepped off of the lift eventually, and sighed before continuing his steps, he hesitated for a second when walking past Gi-hun’s body, before continuing. He’d seen many corpses, yes, but for some reason, only 2 had affected him—his wife’s, and Gi-huns.
He was in a hurry now, the clock had moved faster than he thought, his shoes clicking as he picked up the pace. He held the infant closer, knowing he didn’t smell like the two people it’d grown closer to, he smelled like whiskey, cologne, slight tinge of leather. Unlike sweat, blood, and fear. He climbed the stairs, following the army of guards. It was all a puddle of pink, an ugly shade if you ask him, but he didn’t have control of that.
He sped up a tad once he got to the car drop, he held the infant closer. His steps quickening as he got closer to the vehicle. Once he got to it, he opened the door, and slid in, keeping the child close. He watched a guard close the door before slipping into the front.
He remembers being confused during the first greeting, having not yet realized that it was a life or death game, Hwang In-ho, had been clueless, just as Gi-hun was, the man naive enough to trust despite clear greed in others intentions. He wonders what it would be like to of been that naive, he’d never been one for trust until Aeshin came along, and after, he didn’t trust anything, not even himself. His heart like a hole, and Gi-hun was the one trying to fill it.
He wouldn’t like to admit it, but 456 was hypnotic, like a car crash on the highway. He was so happy in the beginning it was painful, watching him decline was exciting, yet being around it was like being stabbed. Watching two versions of him was satisfying like seeing someone bad get injured. He felt the bump as the vehicle drove onto the ferry, he loses track of time when he’s not insanely busy. Always has been a bad habit of his.
He can remember seeing the pain on Gi-hun’s face in the three legged race, when people lost. How it made him feel a form of joy at watching the man grieve strangers.
As the ferry pulled away, he heard, and felt, the blasts start, he wondered what Gi-huns reaction would be, probably not happy, because that means that nobody got justice. He never understood the man’s need for justice, it was a failed system compared to the island. Gi-hun helped Jun-hee, helped Geum-ja, helped whoever he could. Even Young-il.