Gi-hun couldn’t shake the feeling of helplessness that seemed to suffocate him. The coffee had gone cold, and the pastry lay untouched on his plate. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so lost, so numb. Every part of his body ached from the toll this endless game had taken on him, but the weight pressing down on his chest was far worse than any physical exhaustion.

As he stared across the table, he finally asked the question that had been gnawing at him for so long.

"Why? Why the hell did you create all of this?" Gi-hun’s voice was raw, filled with frustration and disbelief. "What made you think it was okay to make people suffer like this, to turn human lives into some sick game?"

In-ho, who had been leaning back in his chair, his hands folded loosely in front of him, didn’t immediately respond. Instead, his gaze remained locked on Gi-hun, as though measuring the weight of the question. The air between them seemed to grow thicker, each second stretching into eternity. Finally, In-ho spoke, his voice softer, yet carrying an edge of something almost… wistful.

"You want to know why?" he repeated, as though he were reflecting on the question himself. "Alright then."

He sat up straight, pushing his coffee aside. His eyes drifted away for a moment, focusing on some distant point, as though remembering something long buried.

"I was born with nothing," In-ho began, his voice colder now. "Nothing but a name and a desire to make something of myself. And I did. I became someone." He paused, the bitterness in his voice unmistakable. "But none of that meant a damn thing when the love of my life was dying."

Gi-hun leaned forward slightly, despite himself, feeling the weight of In-ho’s words. His eyes remained fixed on the man across from him, but his mind struggled to piece together the man in front of him with the one who had orchestrated all the horrors of the games.

"My wife," In-ho continued, his tone now quieter, almost pained, "was pregnant with our first child. But when complications arose, the doctors told us the truth. She was dying. Acute liver cirrhosis. And she had a choice: save her own life by terminating the pregnancy, or go through with it, risking both her life and the child's." He shook his head, the memory clearly a source of deep anguish.

"She chose the child, Gi-hun. She chose our child, even knowing the risks, knowing what it could cost her." In-ho's voice cracked ever so slightly, but he quickly masked it, his expression hardening. "But as you can imagine, the money for a liver transplant was impossible to come by. I tried. I really tried."

Gi-hun’s heart tightened as he listened, but he didn’t interrupt. He couldn’t-his mind was too focused on what In-ho was saying.

"I borrowed money. From criminals, from shady sources. But it wasn’t enough. When the transplant didn’t happen in time, when the doctors told me she was too far gone, I didn’t know what to do anymore. I was desperate. I went to my superiors. I begged for help. But they fired me. No questions asked. I had been loyal to the company for years, but none of that mattered." In-ho’s hands clenched into fists, the knuckles turning white.

"They thought I had taken a bribe. They didn’t understand. They didn’t care." His voice dropped to a low murmur, but the pain was clear. "I was already too late when I won the 28th Squid Game. Player 132." He almost laughed, but the sound was hollow. "I never even planned to enter. But I had nothing left. My wife was gone, and the money-well, that wouldn’t save her anymore."

Gi-hun’s mind raced as he processed the story. The pieces were starting to fall into place. In-ho wasn’t just a monster who had continued this sick game for the thrill of it. There was a tragic, twisted motivation behind it-a man broken by grief, betrayed by the world around him.

"But winning wasn’t enough, was it?" Gi-hun said quietly, almost to himself. "You couldn’t even save her with the money."

"No," In-ho replied bitterly. "By the time I got the money, it was too late. And I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t live with the fact that I failed. So I turned to the only person who seemed to understand… Oh Il-nam."

Gi-hun’s eyes narrowed. He had heard the name before, but now it felt different. "Il-nam?"

"Yes," In-ho said. "I didn’t have anyone left to turn to, Gi-hun. I was broken. And that’s when Il-nam approached me. He offered me a chance-an opportunity to be part of something bigger, something that could change everything. He understood the desperation. He promised me that this could be my redemption. So, I joined him. And I became the Front Man. I thought maybe I could control it, shape it into something… better."

Gi-hun leaned back in his chair, processing everything. He didn’t know what to feel anymore. He’d been prepared to hate In-ho, to see him as nothing more than a villain. But now, there was a complexity to the story, a tragedy, that made everything harder to grasp.

In-ho’s eyes met his once more, and for the first time, Gi-hun saw something...something fragile-behind the coldness.

"You want to know why I did it?" In-ho asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "I felt like I had no choice, because how could I start over after what I had seen, Gi-hun? I was a man who lost everything. The Squid Game... it wasn’t just a game for me. It was a way to take control of my fate when everything else had been taken from me."

Gi-hun felt his chest tighten, the weight of the story settling heavily on him. He didn’t know what to do with it, how to process it. His mind screamed for justice, for vengeance. But the man in front of him-this broken soul, driven by grief and desperation-was a far cry from the monster he had imagined.

And in that moment, Gi-hun realized something even more unsettling.

He was alone. The world he had known was gone. There was no easy answer, no simple black-and-white explanation to the madness he had been through. Every face, every twist, every person involved in the game had their own story, their own pain. But none of it changed what he had lost, what they had all lost.

Gi-hun stared at In-ho, unsure of what to say, unsure of what to do. In-ho had become both a reflection of his own brokenness and a reminder that no one, not even the cruelest villain, was truly free from suffering.

And as the silence between them stretched on, Gi-hun couldn’t help but feel that there was no way out of this nightmare. Not for him, not anyone.

He was completely alone.

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a little longer break since the last chapter, but studying is exhausting me. This week I still have to study a lot 😭 + I injured my leg in two places so nothing good has happened to me lately lol