Chapter Text
“We are not horses. We are humans.”
He didn’t want to die without a word. His words, he believed, would be a final, profound act.
His words would speak louder than any speech. It had to.
Still, a treacherous voice inside him begged: say something more, leave some final testament behind. But what could he offer that hadn't already been ground into dust under the weight of their boots and the stench of bloodshed?
His eyes shifted, a final, aching movement, to the small bundle nestled on the platform—swaddled tenderly in his and Jun-hee's tracksuits. It was barely moving, a fragile pulse against the darkness, but it was alive. A baby. Innocent. Unmarked by the savage games, untouched by this pervasive cruelty. A singular, precious piece of life in a world irrevocably ruled by death.
One last, searing look.
The vision of that tiny form stabbed deeper than any wound the game could inflict. The raw, gut-wrenching thought of leaving her here—in this place, in their cold, calculating hands—made his stomach twist into a knot of utter agony. But no, she would be safe. She had to be.
He clung to that fragile hope like a man drowning in sea.
The Frontman had given him that knife the night before. He presented it not with a threat, nor with mockery, but with a strange, grave formality—as if honoring the terms of some unspoken contract. Gi-hun reasoned: He wouldn’t have done that if he truly meant to harm her.
Gi-hun did not trust the man who wore the mask—but he trusted the precision of his promises.
That was the only thing he knew for sure about the Frontman: he kept his word.
And yet, the betrayal burned like acid in his veins.
The man he’d known as Young-il—or whatever his real name was—had been with him since the first day. Laughing with him. Planning a shared future. Fighting alongside him, bound by a deadly camaraderie. He was a friend. A brother-in-arms. Someone who truly understood what it meant to survive this hell.
But it was all a lie. A meticulously crafted performance. He was the enemy.
Gi-hun clenched his jaw until the muscles ached, breathing shallowly, preparing for the void.
What was the true purpose of it? Why the intricate pretense? Why befriend him, only to lead him to this desolate, final platform? Was it a cruel test? An act of pity? Or was it his final, absolute punishment?
He would never get the answer now. It was too late for anything but the final reckoning.
His fingers tightened into fists at his sides, trembling not just from the cold, but from the icy sweat of finality coating his skin.
Alright, he told himself, settling the frantic voices in his head. That’s enough. You can't delay this forever.
“And humans are…”
He stopped again, the simple statement snagging in his throat. What exactly are they? Was there a single, existing word that could encapsulate the raw, bewildering essence of humanity?
They are brave. Manipulative. Vulnerable. Greedy. Deceiving. Arrogant. Thoughtful. Independent. Reserved. Resilient. Selfish. Reckless. Intelligent.
Selfless.
He inhaled, once—deeply, sharply—filling his lungs with the cold night air, and tilted forward, just a fraction. Just enough to break the threshold.
Gravity, indifferent and absolute, did the rest.
The air rushed past his ears with a whooshing sound as the platform floor disappeared beneath him.
But he did not scream. Not even a choked gasp escaped his lips. His heart didn’t skip a beat of panic. His body, weary and resigned, didn't resist. He let go, not because he truly wished to die, but because every possible option had been violently stripped away. He had no other choice.
As the fall stretched into a moment of bizarre weightlessness, he thought of Ga-yeong—the small weight of her hand in his, the pure lightness of her laughter, the soft, loving way she called his name. The memory wrapped around him, warm and utterly unbearable in its sweetness.
He wanted—no, he needed—to hold her one last time.
Goodbye, world. Goodbye, Player—
Goodbye, Seong Gi-hun.
There was only darkness now. His mind seemed to be in the state of limbo, just waiting for his heart to stop beating, for the final, rattling breath to leave his lungs.
"Gi-hun! Gi-hun!" Someone is calling his name. Gi-hun recognizes the voice. It’s Jung-bae. Jung-bae is dead, which means Gi-hun must be close to entering the other side.
Gi-hun forces his eyes open. There is so much light around him, an aggressive, sterile white that burns the sensitive surface of his eyes. He feels dizzy and profoundly disoriented by the harsh glare.
Is this the afterlife? Is that why he can hear his dear friend Jung-bae’s voice, a voice he thought he'd lost forever?
"Mr. Seong, we almost lost you there!" Gi-hun hears a female voice, gentle and professional, but he doesn't recognize the woman who spoke.
Was she an angel perhaps? Gi-hun had no idea how the afterlife worked, but he had expected something less... clinical.
As his eyes gradually adjusted to the new environment, he finally looks around. He was in a white, sterile room. He hears the rhythmic beeping of medical machines, the distinct smell of antiseptic filling his nostrils.
Is he in a hospital? Did he somehow survive the impossible fall?
"This will sting a little, but we need you to be stabilized," a woman’s voice says calmly.
Stabilized? So he did survive the fall. Gi-hun tries to move but finds himself restrained by IVs and his own weak body. He watches the kind, professional face of a young nurse as she injects a needle into his arm.
Gi-hun grits his teeth against the sharp spike of pain. No, this was definitely not heaven, and the nurse was not an angel.
He was alive. Seong Gi-hun was alive. He could feel everything—the pressure of the sheets, the sting of the needle. He had survived the fall.
But when he shifts his gaze to the other side of the bed, there is Jung-bae, alive and smiling at him with watery eyes.
Impossible. Jung-bae is dead. He was shot down during the rebellion by the Frontman. He can't possibly be here.
But then, neither is Sang-woo, who is sitting next to Jung-bae. Both of his friends are somehow alive.
Was it all just a long, terrible bad dream? Did none of the Games actually happen?
"Hyung! You're back!" Sang-woo says, his face lighting up with genuine relief as he gets up to embrace Gi-hun in a warm hug.
Gi-hun can feel the firm touch of Sang-woo's arms, the steady beat of his heart against his chest. His childhood best friend is alive. Sang-woo is alive!
Gi-hun wraps his arms around him and hugs him back with desperate force. He can still feel the dizziness in his mind, and a dull, deep ache in his legs. He can't move the lower parts of his body.
He still has no idea what is happening. This feels far too real for a simple dream. And it can't be the afterlife; he was certain people can't feel pain after death.
And yet, he did.
Sang-woo pulls away from him and smiles, a radiant, familiar smile. He looks the same as Gi-hun remembered him—before the terror, before the betrayal.
Was this perhaps the past? Was this before they went to the Games?
Is that the reason why they were still both alive? If he went back to the past, then maybe he could still save them all. He could stop the Games as he knew everything now.
And what happened to Jun-hee's child? He needed to find Jun-hee first, make sure she would never make it to the Games, if it wasn't already too late for her.
Then Jung-bae hugged him, his embrace tight and full of emotion. "Gi-hun-ah, you scared the hell out of us!"
Gi-hun can feel tears beginning to form in his eyes. Did the gods grant him a second chance? Was this a reward for his sacrifice?
Gi-hun didn't think he was a good person or that he deserved that chance. But maybe he did. Maybe after all the suffering and pain he had to endure, maybe there was still something left for him.
Jung-bae and Sang-woo kept on looking at him with deep worry etched into their faces. He desperately wants to ask them what happened, and what year it is, but he is too profoundly shocked to speak.
"Appa!" He hears Ga-yeong’s sweet voice. He looks at her, a pure, uncomplicated joy flooding his senses, and manages a genuine smile.
Ga-yeong lets go of Eun-ji's hand and clambers onto the edge of the bed to hug him. Gi-hun can't help himself as he laughs, a sound of pure, unadulterated joy, as he hugs his daughter.
She isn't in America; she is here, and he is holding her. He looks at his ex-wife Eun-ji; she is wearing casual clothes and is holding a suitcase.
Oh, so they are living in America, but they came to see him.
"What happened?" Gi-hun finally asks as Ga-yeong pulls away, his voice rough and raspy as if he hadn't spoken for days.
The nurse, who had been quietly watching the reunion, checked his pulse again and replied: "You were in a car accident, Mr. Seong."
"Car accident?" Gi-hun repeats, the words hollow.
"Yeah, it was really bad. You were in a coma for week, and today your heart stopped beating for like a minute! We thought we lost you!" Jung-bae says tearfully, wiping his eyes.
Gi-hun is still utterly confused about this entire situation. He never got himself into a car accident in the past.
They don't say anything else as the nurse asks them to leave for a while so the doctor could check on him.
Jung-bae, Sang-woo, Eun-ji, and Ga-yeong reluctantly leave the room, and Gi-hun finds himself alone with the nurse and a doctor.
Apparently, Gi-hun had both broken legs, which meant he would have to be in a wheelchair for a few months.
He still has no idea what his life is like now, if the Games exist, or what year it is.
The doctor kept on saying something medical, and Gi-hun was only silently nodding, unable to process the details.
He wasn't showing it on the outside, but for the first time in years, he was filled with an overwhelming sense of happiness.
So much happiness, because if both of his best friends were alive, then others were alive too.
Maybe everything was worthy after all. Gi-hun closes his eyes, feeling the profound exhaustion of his ordeal. A part of him is afraid that if he opens them again, he will wake up back in the Games, or that this was really his last, dying hallucination before death.
He didn't know how long the brain could function after fatal injuries. He didn't know if this blissful reality wouldn't just vanish.
Then he hears another familiar voice, a voice that sends a tremor of fear through his spine almost immediately, because it sounded too tender, too friendly, and too loving.
"Gi-hun, Eun-ji just called me, saying you are awake. I am sorry I couldn't visit you sooner."
Gi-hun snaps his eyes open, and he immediately wants to flee, to somehow run away, because the man looking at him is the Frontman, Oh Young-il.
The man in the police uniform is smiling at him, his expression one of pure relief. For a second, Gi-hun thought it must have been a new layer of nightmare. A deeply bad dream because everything was going just fine until he appeared.
Gi-hun is unable to speak, frozen in an overwhelming state of shock. Did the Frontman drug him, and this was a lucid dream? Did he brainwash him somehow?
Could Young-il have done that? Gi-hun wasn't sure of what this man was truly capable of.
Young-il sits on the edge of the hospital bed and holds Gi-hun's hand gently. That touch is far too intimate, something Young-il never once did before. A wave of confusion and panic strikes Gi-hun's body.
What is really going on? Who is Young-il in this reality?
"We will go home soon, and I will take care of you. You have no idea how much Ga-yeong and Yu-na were scared they will lose their appa," Young-il says tenderly, continuing to caress Gi-hun's hand.
Yu-na? Who is that? Gi-hun doesn't have a second daughter. Could it be Jun-hee's child?
Was Gi-hun losing his mind? Was that all a hallucination or something brought on by the crash?
He needs to know if this is real. He needs answers, no matter how terrifying.
"I am sorry, my memories—they all so blurry, can you tell me your name?" Gi-hun asks Young-il, his voice weak and carefully measured.
Young-il smiles at him sadly, a look of profound, gentle concern. "Doctors said this could happen. That you may have amnesia or temporary memory loss."
He leans in slightly. "So let me remind you—my name is Hwang In-ho."
Hwang In-ho? Jun-ho's older brother? Gi-hun looks at the police uniform, and then back at the man's face—somehow his expressions are softer, more grounded, more human.
This doesn't look like the cold, calculating Frontman in front of him. No, that man seemed completely different.
Yet, Gi-hun still had no idea what their relationship was. Were they friends? Co-workers?
How did they even meet if this was the past? Or was it not?
"And you are my—"
"I am your partner, Gi-hun," In-ho replies, his voice steady. Gi-hun raises his eyebrows in absolute confusion, and his heart begins to rapidly beat in sheer panic.
His partner? What does that mean? WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?
He was internally panicking. This man murdered Jung-bae, this man manipulated him, and this man betrayed him.
This can't be real, it just can't be.
In-ho notices his panicked state and leans even closer. Gi-hun can feel his warm breath on his face.
"It's okay, my love, you will remember eventually," In-ho says, and then, without hesitation, he kisses him on the lips. Gi-hun doesn't have time to react.
He is in complete, paralyzed shock as In-ho wraps his arm around him and deepens the kiss.
In-ho pulls away after a few seconds, and Gi-hun can finally breathe again.
The Frontman—Hwang In-ho—just kissed him.
What the hell is going on?
The Games
"I will make it to the dinner, I promise In-ho," Gi-hun said into the phone. It was already getting dark. Gi-hun was a little bit drunk from the birthday party his friends and his colleagues had thrown.
That was a mistake; he shouldn't have been drinking, not when he was supposed to get to work tomorrow.
His mind was on autopilot, and he didn't see that stupid cat (he usually likes cats, but this one was a bad one) darting into the road.
Gi-hun tried to slow down the car, but there was another car trying to stop from behind, too. One wrong turn, one wrong move, and Gi-hun already felt his body floating in the air, the sickening crunch of the car frame, his body crashing on the cold, hard ground.
And then he opened his eyes. He was laying on a bed. No, not his bed or the hospital one.
He hears a piece of music, loud classical music that seemed utterly out of place, echoing in a huge space. Gi-hun looks around and sees people. Hundreds of people, stretching into the distance.
What is this? His head feels dizzy, spinning around, and the harsh, sterile yellow lights of the enormous room do not help at all.
He looks down. He is wearing some ugly, green jacket, definitely not his style. And there is a number patch on the breast—456.
What's that supposed to mean?
He looks at his hand; his fingers are thinner, and there is some old, faded scar on one knuckle. Gi-hun was always hard-working, but he doesn't remember any stab wounds or deep cuts like that.
Was this perhaps from that car crash?
There are more beds around him, row upon row, and more people are stirring and waking up. He doesn't recognize this place at all.
The music abruptly stops, and after a few seconds, across the room, large metal doors slide open with a heavy, scraping sound. About a dozen figures enter, dressed head to toe in stark pink uniforms.
Why are they all in pink, and what was with the bizarre geometric masks—circles, triangles, squares? Why were they carrying weapons that looked unnervingly real?
Was this some kind of vivid, terrifying dream? Gi-hun wondered, rubbing his temples.
“I would like to extend a hearty welcome to all of you. Everyone here will participate in six different games over six days. Those who win all six games will receive a handsome cash prize.”
Games? Prize? What was this macabre assembly?
He looks around, scared and confused. He doesn't remember getting here. No, the last thing he remembered was the grinding sound of the engine, the cold floor hitting him.
Not this. He looks back at his body. He was definitely much thinner than he should be; he doesn't remember being this bony and malnourished.
He was always a picky eater, sure, but to stop eating entirely? He loved food too much for that.
Then he remembered: he never arrived at the dinner. He was supposed to go to bed with his husband, check on his eldest daughter Ga-yeong and his younger daughter Yu-na, feed his two cats Min and Rin, and make sure they wouldn't eat his husband's goldfish.
And he was supposed to be working on that script for his new movie; he was sure this will get him an Oscar, especially since he already had an idea who the main actor will be.
But nothing seemed to be going according to plan, because he wasn't home in Seoul, and there was no sight of his dear husband, of his sweet daughters.
Nothing about this concrete, metal, and yellow-lit place radiated the comfort of his own home.
Gi-hun reaches up and touches his hair. They were short, roughly cut. What did they do to his hair? Who cut them like that?
Something was wrong, something was profoundly and deeply wrong.
Those pink-suited people were speaking again, their voices amplified by the speakers, and it seemed people were gathering for something, yelling questions and anger at the pink soldiers.
Gi-hun still felt a wave of dizziness as he got up from the bed, and he kept on looking around, utterly confused about what this place was.
Then he notices the small, black security cameras mounted high in the corners around the room. Someone was watching them. A cold wave of fear shivers down Gi-hun's spine.
Was this a massive social experiment or something?
"All of you in this room have crippling debts and are now on a cliff-edge. When we first came to you, you did not trust us either. But as you know, we played a game and gave you money as promised. And so you trusted us and volunteered to participate according to your own free will," the figure in pink continued, its voice unnervingly robotic.
No, this wasn't an experiment—it seemed to be some kind of dark opportunity, or maybe some silly, twisted reality TV show.
Gi-hun wasn't struggling with debt—at least not now. Life was hard, horribly hard. He used to be a simple auto mechanic, then the strikes happened—he lost everything.
Except hope.
That was the only thing he had left, and he worked—day and night, tirelessly. And in his free time, he found a new talent: he was actually pretty good at writing stories.
Although he only had a high school education and wasn't the pride of Ssangmung-dong like Sang-woo was, he still managed to make a successful career for himself.
"You have one last chance to decide. Do you want to live like a piece of trash, running from creditors? Or will you seize the last opportunity we are offering?"
Gi-hun's mind was still a little foggy as he got closer to the pink soldiers and the mass of players, but he already knew something important:
This is not my body, he thinks, the realization sudden and absolutely sure, and it makes no logical sense—it can't be real, can't happen—but he's certain.
It definitely can't be his original body, if only for that horrendous new hairstyle. He wished there was a mirror somewhere so he could fully see his own face and confirm his suspicion.
"The prize money for the games is 45.6 billion won in total," the pink soldier announced, and Gi-hun's head lifted toward the massive, golden piggy bank hanging high above.
So, there were 456 people, and they competed to win that money. Was the other version of this Gi-hun competing in those games, too?
Did he want to win, too?
"We will give you the details about the distribution of the prize money after the first game. For these games, you will be given a special new advantage."
A new advantage? Gi-hun looked around at the desperate faces presented in the room.
Ssi-bal, is that the rapper Thanos? Gi-hun couldn't believe his eyes as he looked at the distinctive purple hair in the crowd. So there are people he recognizes from his 'real' life.
But how many others?
"After each game, you will be given a chance to vote on whether to continue the games or not. If the majority votes to stop the games, you can leave with the prize money accumulated up to that point."
They could leave after the first game?
That sounded good. Gi-hun was sure he will leave right after the first game. He didn't want to be here, and he didn't need the money from this world.
What he truly needed was to find a way back home. Find a way back to his own body, to the right version of himself and his life.
Because this wasn't right.
Yet, he still needed to ask for confirmation: “Are you saying we'll still receive the money, even if we leave after the first game?”
After he had spoken up to the managers, his head felt dizzy again. It felt like he had already said it before.
No, not him. The other him.
Wait... Did this Gi-hun play those games before? This wasn't his first time, was it?
He could feel a weird, chilling sense of déjà vu. The rough green jacket suddenly felt too familiar on him, too lived-in.
But then, why was he coming back? Did he really need that much money, or was it something else entirely?
"Yes, you can leave after the first game," the manager replied to him. That sounded good, but when he saw others argue, he thought the money wouldn't be enough for all of them after the first game.
"If you wish to participate in the games, please sign the player consent form. Those who do not wish to participate, please speak up now. We always give you a chance to leave the games."
The figure then displayed the rules on the wall:
A PLAYER IS NOT ALLOWED TO VOLUNTARILY QUIT THE GAMES.
A PLAYER WHO REFUSES TO PLAY WILL BE ELIMINATED.
THE GAMES MAY BE TERMINATED UPON A MAJORITY VOTE.
IN CASE OF A TIE, PLAYERS WILL VOTE AGAIN. IF THE GAMES ARE TERMINATED, PLAYERS WILL DIVIDE THE PRIZE EQUALLY.
“Those who do not wish to participate, please speak up now,” announced the square-masked guard, clearly directing the comment at Gi-hun, the person who had just asked the question. He scribbled his name in the signature box, the pen feeling foreign in his thin fingers. No going back now.
He needed to know what exactly the whole deal about those games was. What the ominous word "termination" truly meant.
Then it was time for pictures. Lines and lines of players filled the room as everyone stepped up to have their photograph taken, either by themselves or apparently with a famous rapper called Thanos.
“When we get out of here, I'll take a picture with each of you.” Gi-hun remembered Thanos's fame shortly failing after some illegal drug scandals.
Gi-hun stepped onto the platform to have his photo taken.
“Please look into the camera,” a robotic voice informed him, and Gi-hun looked directly at the camera. He was staring at his own reflection in the lens. Beside the awful haircut and thinner cheeks, he really didn't look much different.
“Smile!”
Gi-hun normally loved smiling into cameras, but the robotic voice made it irritatingly impossible. He kept his cold, serious expression, and the camera flash captured the picture.
Gi-hun looked around his surrounding. Why did this feel so familiar? A sudden, sharp vision of his dear friend Sang-woo crossed his mind—the smell of rain and blood.
Oh. Oh.
He really was there once, and Sang-woo with him. The other Gi-hun won. He came back to—to—
"Gi-hun!" A familiar voice from behind him yelled, interrupting his scrambled thoughts.
He turned quickly. His friend looked the same as when they had last seen each other, or at least, in his own world.
"Jung-bae," he mumbled, unable to believe or register what he was seeing. Jung-bae pushed past the people in line and grabbed a stunned Gi-hun by both sides of his face.
"You were alive this whole time?" Jung-bae questioned aggressively, grabbing Gi-hun's hand to make absolutely sure it was really him.
What did Jung-bae mean by that? What was the other Seong Gi-hun doing, and what is Jung-bae doing here, in this terrifying place?
"What are you doing here?" Gi-hun blurted out, the question full of panic as they walk to place where soldiers led them.
"What am I doing here? What are you doing here? No one's heard from you for three years. I heard your mom passed away," Jung-bae responded sharply, the aggression laced with hurt.
No, no, no. Not his eomma. His eomma was still alive. Gi-hun remembered paying the best doctors around the country. He remembered the doctors saying she was well again.
"I had to hear about it from my wife! What kind of friend are you? Were you going to cut me out because I didn't lend you money?" He added angrily as he gestured around the crowded room.
Gi-hun grabbed Jung-bae by the shoulders. "Hey, it's not like that. And why are you here? What about your wife?"
"We got divorced," Jung-bae blurted out, his face falling.
Divorced? Gi-hun already knew that after the first game, they would have to have a long, serious conversation, maybe even a drink.
Because how on Earth could Jung-bae have messed up his life like this?
Gi-hun thought Jung-bae stopped gambling years ago, just like him.
"Hey, Jung-bae. Whatever happened, from now on, stay close to me." Jung-bae’s eyes were wide with both fear and concern as he stared into Gi-hun's deathly serious expression.
"All right, man. I will." A slight, nervous laugh escaped Jung-bae as he said it. Gi-hun couldn't laugh—no, this was too weird, too dangerous.
The big, green gates to the game arena open and closed heavily behind them, sealing them into the unknown. The robotic voice spoke up again: "The first game is Red Light, Green Light."
"Red Light, Green Light? The kids' game?" Jung-bae chuckled in disbelief.
Gi-hun wanted to say something, but he felt a cold dread burning inside his chest, an instinct telling him this was all profoundly wrong.
And then he felt it as he nervously slid his tongue inside his mouth—there was something metallic on his teeth.
Did this Gi-hun have a dental implant or something?
Gi-hun reached inside his mouth with his fingers. Jung-bae looked over at him and immediately started to question him with a worried frown.
Gi-hun groaned as he pulled at his back tooth, and with a sickening crunch, he pulled out the fake tooth.
Wait. Why does this Gi-hun have a fake tooth? To put something in there? Like a tracker or something?
Was he really there for a second time? Were the Games not what they were supposed to be? Did he have a team outside trying to locate him?
Well, it seemed that now there was no tracker if there was even one.
He threw the fake tooth onto the ground and stared intensely at the creepy, massive doll for a few seconds. He recognized the doll instantly—Young-hee.
He looked around the vast, brightly painted arena. What is this place really about?
“Let the game begin.”
Players started to move as the doll said: "Green Light."
Gi-hun moved with them, slowly and cautiously.
And then Young-hee said: "Red Light." And slowly turned her massive head around to face them. It felt like she was scanning their movements with inhuman precision. Gi-hun’s body froze, and he stood perfectly still.
Others did the same, halting mid-stride.
And then Gi-hun hears the distinct, loud sound of a gunshot. He couldn't turn his head around to disturb his movements, but it was clear that someone’s body had violently hit the ground.
Someone was dead. Gi-hun started to breathe heavily, his chest heaving, and yet he yelled: "Don't move! Or else you will die too!"
It felt like the only right thing to say, the only warning he could offer. Others behind him stood frozen too, still in too much shock to process the sudden, brutal reality of the whole thing.
And so was he.
What the fuck is going on?