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Gi-hun was towering over the now lifeless body of Jung-Bae. The way his old friend had looked at him before the Frontman shot him—so hopelessly—wouldn’t leave his mind. For the first time since they had entered this cruel game, Gi-hun felt like it had all been pointless.
“You fucking scum!” he screamed up at the Frontman, who was looking down at him through his black, shiny mask. “Damn bastard, I’m going to kill you.”
The Frontman laughed roughly, almost amused. With a slight tilt of his head, the guards pulled out their guns again, aiming the AK-47s at Gi-hun’s head. “Step away from the body and kneel down in front of the boss,” one of them ordered, the paint of the square on his mask slightly chipping from the fight they had before.
A cold laugh escaped Gi-hun’s lips. “As if I’m ever going to kneel down in front of that fucking dog!” he spat through gritted teeth, glaring up at the Frontman like he was about to leap at him and rip away that stupid mask.
“How dare you,” the other guard exclaimed, pressing the barrel of the AK-47 into Gi-hun’s head. “Be grateful we haven’t shot you yet.”
“Stay calm,” the Frontman signed annoyed, his voice dripping with mockery. “No need to get all worked up just because of our little friend here.”
He crouched down, so their faces were on the same level. “Playing the hero didn’t turn out so well? Wasn’t as easy as you thought, huh?” The Frontman laughed, the metal of the Glock in his hand clashing against the soft fabric of his gloves, but he wasn’t aiming it at Gi-hun yet. “Or did you just miss me?” he chuckled. “Since that plan of yours was so fucking miserable. You really thought I wouldn’t personally search every tiny part of your body in case you tried to smuggle anything into this place?”
He let the gun graze Gi-hun’s cheek for a moment before lifting his chin with the front sight of his Glock. “Because if you just missed me, you could’ve just told me, and I’m sure I would’ve arranged something for us.”
Gi-hun was shaking—whether from fear or anger didn’t matter at that moment. He had lost. Not completely, but his plan had failed. Even if he somehow survived this situation and the rest of the games, he was back at square one.
He looked up at the Frontman’s mask and wanted so desperately to do something that would make an impact—to say something that could save the lives of the innocent. But it was too late. There was nothing to say or do anymore, and he was painfully reminded of that when he noticed his old friend's corpse in the corner of his eye.
“Finally speechless, huh? Good,” the Frontman huffed, pulling the Glock away abruptly, leaving a red spot on Gi-hun’s chin. “I like you better that way, even though it’s not as much fun.”
Shame washed over Gi-hun’s whole being. The Frontman was right: everything he had done since he got here—it was all pointless. Every move he made, every choice, was purely for the entertainment of the men he despised more than anything. The tears stung in his eyes, but he didn’t dare cry now; his whole existence already felt like an embarrassment.
“Be a good boy and join me for a drink, will ya?” the Frontman suggested, amused, getting back up on his feet. Gi-hun looked up at him again, a rush of adrenaline flooding his body. He quickly got up too, nearly stumbling back. “Yeah, I’m in.”
This reaction was met with the displeasure of the guards, who now shoved their weapons into his neck, not understanding this disrespectful behavior.
“Let him be,” the Frontman instructed his men. “He is unarmed. He couldn’t harm me even if he tried.” Then he shot a snide look at Gi-hun. “And I wouldn’t suggest he try.”
The guards nodded and put their weapons down, letting Gi-hun feel at least a bit calmer. “I want you to clean up the place and contact the substitute men from the mainland. I don’t like gaps in my staff,” he explained before nodding at Gi-hun, ordering him to follow.
The Frontman was walking fast—really fast—for someone like Gi-hun, who had a bullet in his arm and was exhausted from the battle, robbed of his power through the course of the last few days. The fact that every corridor split into four different paths every two meters didn’t help him keep up. “Frontman!” he shouted, annoyed. “You fucking idiot, be a bit considerate for once.” Gi-hun pressed his hand against the bleeding spot on his arm, looking around and seeing only endless grey corridors. It was only when he was lifted into someone's arms that he realized the Frontman had returned to him. “Are you out of your mind?” he screamed, turning his head to face the Frontman’s mask, which seemed to be looking at him mockingly.
The Frontman, however, just sighed. “Seong Gi-hun, you really always need to whine about everything. Just for once, behave.”
The words sent a bolt of electricity down Gi-hun’s spine, and for some reason, he actually stopped his panicked movements and allowed the Frontman to carry him to his office as though he were his bride.
“Very well,” the Frontman praised as he approached a black and gold door at the end of the corridor. “You actually managed not to cause absolute chaos for two minutes.”
The scanner above scanned his face, and after an additional code was entered, the illuminated door opened, revealing a beautiful, sleek black room.
His office was dark and modern, radiating control and authority. The furniture was sleek and minimalist—a commanding black desk, a high-backed leather chair, and sparse, angular decor. Dim lighting and a wall of surveillance monitors completed the oppressive yet sophisticated atmosphere.
“You should feel honored to be here,” he scoffed, dropping Gi-hun off into the comfortable black in the middle of the room.
“I watched you from here all those years ago. I still remember it like it was yesterday,” he sighed with nostalgia. “Did you even know how happy I was for you when you won? I really cheered for you... and what are you doing to thank me? Trying to get me killed? Take over my place and stop my biggest passion? I must admit, you hurt me, Seong Gi-hun.”
The other man shifted uncomfortably in the chair, paying more attention to his surroundings than to the nonsense the Frontman was spouting. Was there something he could work with here? A hint to identify the man in front of him? A rough idea for a new plan? Just anything that would make all of this worth it.
“Pay attention if you’re going to waste my precious time talking to you,” the Frontman hissed, grabbing a bundle of Gi-hun’s hair to yank his attention back.
Gi-hun groaned in pain but nodded quickly, before his hair was released.
“Apologize,” the Frontman mumbled, his voice dreadful, even with the voice filter on.
Gi-hun took a deep breath. Being rebellious wasn’t leading him anywhere—especially not now—so he lowered his head into a slight bow and whispered, “I’m sorry, Sir. Please excuse my impoliteness.”
The Frontman hummed softly, as if he were enjoying what he was hearing. “I could get used to that,” he laughed roughly, before walking over to his liquor cabinet.
“Do you drink whiskey?” he asked, already pouring two glasses without waiting for an answer.
Gi-hun nodded just as the glass was already in his hands. He looked up at the Frontman, and a realization suddenly hit him: he needed to take off his mask to drink with him. He needed to reveal his face! His grip around the glass tightened, his knuckles turning white. Would he really do it?
“You’re looking at me with so much anticipation. Can’t you wait to see my beautiful face?” the Frontman teased, while his slender fingers traced the rim of his glass. “I hope I don’t disappoint.”
He set the whiskey glass down on the armrest, pulling down the hood and reaching behind to loosen the mask, all while never breaking eye contact. Gi-hun didn’t even notice he was holding his breath until the mask fell to the ground with a loud thud, making him gasp in shock.
“Oh Young-il,” the name left his lips in a breathless whisper. “That’s not possible.” He couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be true. They had fought side by side just minutes ago. He had heard him die over the walkie-talkie. Not only that, they had teamed up, had each other’s backs, made plans to get out of here, shared moments of relief and despair. It wasn’t possible. But the smile on the Frontman’s face proved to him that it was indeed possible.
“I must say, it was quite fun playing with you, my dear friend Gi-hun,” In-ho picked up his whiskey glass again and took a small sip of the tasty liquid that burned his throat so sweetly.
“But—how is that possible? After everything we’ve been through? All the things we talked about?” He shook his head in disbelief and just stared at the bottom of his glass for a moment before draining it completely in a single gulp.
“Slowly, slowly, my dear. That’s very strong liquor,” In-ho chuckled. But the whiskey already burned in Gi-hun’s body like fire, and he regretted his decision instantly. Not only was he bad with alcohol, but he also hadn’t eaten anything in quite a while—not a good prerequisite for strong whiskey.
“Fucking hell,” Gi-hun groaned, feeling a sting in his head. “This is all just so fucking stupid. I can’t believe I fell for your act. Sick wife, my ass. You were just in the game to mess with me.”
“Of course,” In-ho laughed coldly. “And it really was incredibly entertaining. I know so much more about you now—your values, your allies, of course, your perspective on things. It almost makes me want to not kill you,” he grinned widely. “Well, almost.”
Gi-hun sighed loudly, way too tired from the fight to really express his anger. “You’ll do it now? Right here?” This made In-ho laugh again. “You’re actually so silly. No, not in my favorite chair... and not right now... well, under a condition, but you could also call it a game.”
He whispered the last part, and it even sounded a bit seductive.
Gi-hun scoffed, of course, he wouldn’t get out of the situation that easily. But he was also curious what this game could be. Something like Russian roulette again? Or a kids' game like usual?
The Frontman walked around the chair, letting his hand wander around the frame. “It’s not a typical game—it’s more of a funny little deal. For each glass of whiskey that you drink, I will give you something. For the first one, I will spare your life for the day and let you continue with the game. For the second glass, I will take care of the wound on your arm, and for the third one, I will tell you a little secret of mine.”
He smiled sweetly, but the look in his eyes as he looked down at Gi-hun told him that his intentions were by no means kind. Gi-hun swallowed hard. Drinking four glasses of whiskey in a row didn’t sound like a wise plan, but he didn’t really have another choice. He also didn’t know what the Frontman would get from it, aside from maybe getting him drunk. Or was that what he was aiming for? But why? There had to be something he was missing, some crucial information.
But there was no time to think more about the Frontman’s possible plans, as he was already handed the second glass of whiskey of the day.
“Cheers,” In-ho said cheerfully, taking another sip of his own glass, while Gi-hun drowned the whole thing in one go again.
“Ahhhh, fuck,” he groaned. “Can you die from that? My throat is basically burning away.” In-ho just laughed amused and patted Gi-hun’s head, pretending to be pitiful. “Oh, don’t worry, my dear. I would never let you die such a boring death.”
Gi-hun suppressed his sarcastic thanks and instead focused on breathing normally again.
“Congrats, you can continue the game tomorrow. Do you wish to continue with our current one?” In-ho asked, pointing at the bottle of whiskey.
Gi-hun sighed deeply and closed his eyes for a moment to think, unconsciously reaching for the wound on his arm. He didn’t know what the next games would be, and he couldn’t exclude that it would be something physical, especially since his right arm could be important for many situations. But not only that, if he was about to return to the others, he surely wouldn’t be very popular. Not that he was before, but now that he had led a handful of people to their deaths for nothing, he was sure to have even more people who would be less than kind to him.
“Yes, I’ll drink another one,” he declared as he opened his eyes again.
“Very well,” In-ho said and poured him another glass.
“I don’t know why you are getting me drunk,” Gi-hun thought out loud as he was handed the glass, both of their hands touching for a moment, “but I know that it’s part of your plan.”
The Frontman shrugged. “Then you’d better use the time you have left sober to analyze everything that’s happening. Considering your weight, age, alcohol tolerance, the short time range of consumption, and the fact that you’ve barely eaten, it should take just over 15 minutes after four glasses for you to be completely wasted.”
Gi-hun could feel the resentment building inside him towards the man he had once thought of as an ally. But there was nothing he could do. He needed his wound treated to survive this nightmare, and he was also too tempted by the secret the Frontman had mentioned, even though it might just be another trap.
The third glass didn’t burn as painfully anymore. It was as if the alcohol had slowly started to dull his senses. As he finished it, In-ho pulled out everything he needed to tend to the bullet wound in his arm. Gi-hun was lucky it hadn’t gone very deep into his flesh. In-ho grabbed the wound tightly to control the bleeding. With steady hands, he used forceps to extract the bullet, blood flowing briefly before applying more pressure. Quickly, he cleaned the wound with antiseptic and began stitching it up, his movements practiced and precise. Once stitched, he covered the injury with sterile bandages, ensuring it was properly dressed.
Gi-hun had watched silently while the Frontman worked on him. His head was starting to feel light-headed and dizzy.
“You drank another one successfully and got your wound taken care of. Do you want to continue the game?” In-ho asked, his voice soft. “Remember, I’ll tell you a little secret of mine, something I’ve never told anyone, actually.”
He shouldn’t. It was so clearly a trap. But he couldn’t let go of the tiny possibility that it might lead to something useful, so he took a deep breath and nodded before he could change his mind.
“Very well,” In-ho smiled. “I love it when you play my games correctly without any fuss.”
He placed his hand on Gi-hun’s cheek, drawing circles with his thumb in what seemed like a tender gesture. “Continue to behave, and we two can have a lot of fun.”
Gi-hun was a bit confused by the words and the strange touch, but it felt like too much of the alcohol had already worked its way into his bloodstream, clouding his mind. He took the last glass from In-ho, and the whiskey suddenly tasted sweet in Gi-hun’s mouth, like it was a friend, not an enemy anymore.
“Tell me,” he mumbled greedily, pulling on In-ho’s sleeve. “Tell me your secret.”
“Yeah, yeah,” In-ho chuckled, Gi-hun’s head leaning against his waist. “I trust you won’t tell anyone else my secret, but I doubt you will. It’s too shameful for you.”
Gi-hun looked up at him, his eyes flickering with confusion as his mind grew blank, holding onto In-ho’s leg now.
The large, gloved hands of In-ho once again landed in Gi-hun’s messy hair, and he began to caress his neck. “I think you’re very desirable, Seong Gi-hun, my little wanna-be hero,” In-ho whispered roughly. “The way you could have had everything and gave it up for nothing—that’s truly the most foolish thing I’ve ever seen. And paired with your naive sense of justice, it makes you unbelievably sweet. You’ve become a bit bitter, I must say. You were absolutely adorable at the beginning of your first game three years ago, but don’t worry, I don’t dwell on the past. I also like your rebellious side—it brings me even more joy than when I have you under my control... like now, for example.”
Gi-hun listened to In-ho’s words, but the longer he listened, the more he struggled to understand. Where was this leading? What was the secret? Why was he telling him this?
“Do you understand anything I’m saying?” In-ho laughed, ruffling through his hair, “Or has the alcohol already consumed your sweet little brain?”
Gi-hun also laughed—no, not just laughed; he giggled. Yes, he giggled like a girl at a bar trying to show some crappy dude how adorable she was.
“I have no idea,” he laughed, snuggling his face against In-ho like a cat.
“Oh, that doesn’t matter,” the Frontman said sweetly, but his words were full of satisfaction and desire. “You don’t need to think too much about it, baby.”
“How about you make a bit of space for me on that chair, huh? After I lent it to you so nicely?”
“What—ah, yeah, uhm…” Gi-hun, a bit confused, quickly got up from the armchair, almost stumbling, but In-ho had already grabbed his waist.
He let himself fall back into the comfortable cushions of his chair, pulling Gi-hun down onto his lap. “You can lean against me,” he muttered sweetly in Gi-hun’s ear. “I don’t mind at all.”
And really, Gi-hun leaned back against In-ho’s body, his head resting on the other's shoulder. He giggled in his adorable manner again, his cheeks slightly flushed as he looked at In-ho with sparkling eyes.
“Good boy,” In-ho whispered, pulling his arms around Gi-hun’s body. “You can behave so well when you want to.”
Gi-hun gave him a small nod, his big eyes darting around In-ho’s body then the whole room, taking in everything they could reach.
“How are you feeling?” the Frontman asked, letting his hand slide up and down Gi-hun’s thigh, squeezing it here and there.
“Dizzy,” he mumbled, snuggling his head against In-ho’s neck. “Want to sleep.”
In-ho’s hand froze in its place. “No, no… you are not sleeping now. I still want to have some fun with you,” he murmured dangerously.
In-ho slowly tilted Gi-hun’s head toward him, his eyes half-lidded, a mix of vulnerability and confusion on Gi-hun’s face as his movements became slow and uncertain. Then, In-ho leaned down, their lips meeting with a soft yet assertive pressure. Gi-hun responded weakly, his lips yielding to the larger man's, his body leaning further into the embrace.
In-ho’s hands remained steady—one cupping Gi-hun’s face, pulling him closer while supporting him almost gently, ensuring he didn’t lose balance. The kiss was intense but controlled, with In-ho guiding the drunken Gi-hun in his helpless state, enjoying the control he had over him.
Their lips moved against each other, In-ho’s tongue brushing over Gi-hun’s lips making him open his mouth slightly. His hot tongue slipped right inside, deepening their kiss.
After making out for some time, Gi-hun gasped for air when he finally got released from the lure of In-ho’s hungry lips, his body shaking and hands weakly grabbing onto In-ho’s coat.
“Was that a bit too much liquor for you, huh?” In-ho purred into Gi-hun’s ear, a bit disappointed that he had more of an intoxicated bunny in his lap than a witty and naughty Gi-hun.
“Ahh, that’s no fun if you don’t behave of your own free will,” he laughed, but the sound was slightly bitter.
Gi-hun still didn’t respond; he was just gasping for air, staring blankly into nothing. Not even his limbs moved.
“Okay, okay,” In-ho let out a heavy sigh. “You won, you little nuisance.”
He gently placed Gi-hun’s head back where he had nuzzled against his neck a few moments ago, patting his head softly.
“It’s alright, okay?” he said soothingly, making Gi-hun’s breathing calm down and the tension leave his body. “Just go to sleep, baby. I’m here, no one is hurting you tonight… not even me.”
He then placed a soft kiss on top of Gi-hun’s head, who actually sighed in contentment at the gesture, which made In-ho chuckle slightly.
Gi-hun had closed his eyes by now, only his soft breath still tickling In-ho’s neck. That wasn’t exactly the hot, dirty night he had wanted, where he would make him beg for his cock and praise him if he did well. In-ho hadn’t even gotten his dick sucked, and that was basically the most uncomplicated thing ever.
But Gi-hun had simply been right—he wasn’t going to kneel in front of a bastard like Hwang In-ho. He was only sleeping in his lap, snuggling against his chest, and getting his well-deserved rest.
In-ho leaned his head against Gi-hun’s, arms tightly around the thin body, and sighed irritably.
“Fuck, I can’t let you die after this night, you adorable little nuisance.”