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anfre109 · 47 minutes ago

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—Two sides of a coin.

Pairing: Young-il / Hwang In-ho x fem!reader

Summary: when he went into the games and blended in as a player, he didn’t expect himself to start caring for you so much. However, during Mingle, he realized you might not be so different from him…

Warnings: In-ho & Young-il are interchangeable��I used both in here, violence, death, him being concerned for you a lot, fast-paced, English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word count: ~ 2.0k

You had caught his attention early on, long before you had even spoken to him. You weren’t like the others—no frantic alliances, no desperate pleas. You moved through the games like a shadow, calculating but not ruthless, detached but not cold. You held people at a distance, but you weren’t cruel about it. That intrigued him.

He watched how the others in his group gravitated toward you, despite knowing next to nothing about you. You let them in just enough to function as a team, but no further. And yet, there were moments when you let something slip—when your guard lowered just slightly, a half-smile at Jung-bae and Dae-ho, a quick hand extended to steady Jun-hee when she winced in pain, her hands covering her stomach.

It made In-ho wonder. Who were you, really? What had brought you here?

More than that—why did he care?

He wasn’t supposed to. He was here with a purpose. Not to get attached. And yet, every time a new game started and ended, his first instinct was to check on you. To make sure you were still there. Still breathing. Still alive.

Like now.

The platform beneath him whirred as Mingle began again, spinning slow but fast enough to disorient, especially in a state of panic, though he barely felt it. The more players lost, the more chaotic it became. Fear made people desperate, and desperate people were unpredictable.

His eyes stayed on you.

You stood with your usual quiet focus, weight balanced perfectly, already anticipating the moment the platform would stop.

The moment the platform jerked to a halt, the voice crackled overhead:

“Five.”

Panic erupted around him instantly.

People lunged, grabbing at whoever was closest, shoving and clawing to form groups. He ignored them all, moving toward you. His hand reached out, fingers brushing your wrist—

And then someone crashed into him.

The impact sent him stumbling just enough to lose sight of you.

His heart pounded against his ribs.

No.

Shoving past bodies, he searched for you, ignoring the hands trying to pull him into groups, or Dae-ho’s constant call for him. The countdown was already ticking down, but his only thought was find her, find her, find her.

Then he saw you.

You had spotted the others—Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Jun-hee, and Dae-ho. They were waving at you, shouting from the front of one of the rooms they found empty.

Four.

They needed one more.

You didn’t make a move right away, your head turning around as if you were looking for something—or someone. Then, your eyes locked with In-ho, the lingering look told him to go with the group, and he felt his breath hitch.

Before In-ho could try to communicate that you needed to be the one who’s safe—you ran.

Not towards the room, but into the waves of people scrambling to find others to get into a room.

He cursed under his breath and ran toward the other four, who all shouted for him.

The doors slammed shut. His breathing quickened by the thought of you being eliminated. What if you didn’t find another group? What if you didn’t find a room?

A moment later, the final buzzer sounded, and the doors locked.

The ones who had failed to form groups pounded against the locked doors, their screams cut short by the inevitable gunshots. The guards moved in, silent and efficient, dragging the bodies away.

It should have been routine. In-ho had seen this before. He had orchestrated it before.

But he barely saw any of it.

Because all he could think was—was she inside?

Had you made it?

When the clean-up was over, the doors unlocked, allowing the players to come out of the rooms. In-ho’s first thought was to look for you in the crowds of players.

You stepped out from another room. Alive.

He felt the air rush from his lungs.

For a second, he didn’t move. Just stood there, taking in the sight of you, as if his mind needed proof. You walked out with that same composed stride, only the slight rise and fall of your chest betraying the fact that you had almost died.

And then—then you smirked.

That soft, knowing smirk. Like you were telling him, I’m fine. See? You didn’t need to worry.

Something inside him snapped.

Before he could stop himself, his feet carried him forward, fast, almost desperate. He barely registered the others, barely cared if they noticed.

He just needed—

He stopped inches away from you.

His breath was steady, but his hands twitching at his sides. He had almost lost you. The realization crashed into him harder than it should have. It unsettled him, made his pulse hammer in a way he didn’t like. He had known fear before, but never like this.

And you—damn you, you just stood there, watching him with those unreadable eyes. You had no idea. No idea how close he was to pulling you into his arms just to make sure you were real. To confirm you were still here. He forced himself to breathe, to shove the instinct down.

You smirked again, tilting your head slightly. “Missed me?”

“You worried me.” Young-il said simply, trying to calm himself, giving you a smile, though it felt a bit forced.

“I saved you too.”

—

The last round.

The tension was suffocating.

126 players left. Only 50 rooms. It meant 26 people were guaranteed to die if the remaining players were required to form pairs.

You felt it in the way the bodies around you tensed, the way some players shifted closer together, while others eyed their competition like prey.

The platform had barely stopped spinning when the announcement came.

“Two.”

Young-il didn’t hesitate. He didn’t stop to think, didn’t give himself a moment to assess. His body moved purely on instinct. His hand shot out, fingers curling around your wrist in a firm grip, and before you could react, he pulled you forward.

“Come on!"

There was no time to wait. No time to look for anyone else. He needed you by his side, needed to ensure that you wouldn’t be swallowed by the chaos erupting all around.

And it was chaos.

Players lunged for one another, hands grabbing, shoving, desperate to form pairs before the rooms filled. The knowledge that not everyone would make it—that some would be left behind to die—drove them to madness. Some scrambled without thought, others moved with purpose, pulling people down, throwing punches, trampling those too slow to keep up.

The room was in sight.

Not far. Just a few more feet.

Then something slammed into him.

A body, heavy and frantic, slammed into his side with brute force, knocking the air from his lungs and sending him crashing to the ground. The grip on your wrist slipped away as his back hit the hard platform floor.

The player who tackled him was bigger—strong, but wild with panic. His hands clawed at Young-il’s teal tracksuit, trying to shove him back down. A split second’s hesitation in a game like this could mean death. He knew that.

But before he could fully react—before he could twist the man off him and take back control, you were already moving. No hesitation. You grabbed the man’s collar, your grip brutal and sure, and yanked him off with shocking strength. Young-il barely had time to register the movement before—

Crack.

A sickening sound, one that echoed in the madness.

Your foot came down hard, precise, against the man’s leg. The force of it snapped the bone like it was nothing more than a twig beneath your heel.

The man screamed—a raw, gut-wrenching sound—but it was already over. He collapsed, writhing, his face twisted in agony. But you weren’t looking at him, you were looking at Young-il.

And for the first time in a very, very long time, In-ho was stunned. Not by the violence. He had seen worse. Done worse.

But by you.

The sheer efficiency of it. The lack of hesitation, the brutal finality in the way you moved. You didn’t even look at the man after you broke him. You didn’t hesitate, didn’t tremble, didn’t stop to think about what you had just done. There was no regret in your eyes. No guilt. Just cold, calculated action.

For a single breath, he just stared at you, trying to make sense of what he had just seen, of who he was looking at.

Then your fingers curled around his arm, yanking him to his feet with a sharp, urgent tug.

“Move!”

That single word shattered whatever had frozen him.

He shoved the thoughts aside and ran with you, the chaos of the game roaring in his ears. He could process it later. Right now, all that mattered was survival.

The room was just ahead, one of the few left.

One last sprint.

Young-il pulled you forward, feet pounding against the floor. Almost there.

You both got inside.

The door slammed shut behind you.

For a moment, the world outside faded, the noise of screams muffled by the walls enclosing you both. The sheer brutality of the game had been left outside the door. Inside was silence, heavy and suffocating.

But then—a presence... A third person in the small room with you and Young-il.

A man stood against the far wall, panting, sweat forming on his forehead.

Young-il’s stomach coiled.

You weren’t safe yet.

“There’s only room for two,” he said, voice calm, controlled.

The man’s breathing hitched. His wild, panicked eyes darted between you and Young-il, looking for a way out, a way through.

“I—I was here first,” the man stammered. His voice wavered.

Young-il stepped forward, his presence looming, his voice quiet but sharp.

“Get out.”

The man flinched but held his ground. Desperation flickered in his expression, the refusal to accept his fate. “No way,” the other player tried to sound firm, his eyes flickered between the two of you again, desperate. “Please.”

Young-il exhaled sharply. There was no point in wasting words.

In a single, fluid motion, his arm shot out, wrapping around the man’s throat. The struggle was brief. Short-lived. The other player clawed at Young-il's arm, his legs kicking as they slowly slid down against the wall.

A sharp, sickening crack filled the air, final and absolute.

The body went limp against him. Dead weight.

Young-il let go of the body.

His breathing was quickened, but his eyes were steady. His heartbeat calm. He had done this before. Many times. It didn’t shake him. Didn’t bother him.

He looked up at you, and once again, you surprised him.

Because you weren’t shocked. You weren’t even remotely fazed. You stood by the door, blocking it, your eyes locking with his as if you had expected this outcome from the moment you entered and saw the other player. You hadn’t gasped, hadn’t flinched, hadn’t looked at him like he just committed some great treason.

You had simply accepted it as fast as it came.

And that—that sent something twisting inside him in a way he didn’t fully understand.

He had seen it in the way you moved, in the way you made decisions without hesitation. He had seen it in the way you had broken that man’s leg without a second thought, in the way you had looked at him after—assessing, calculating, but never afraid.

And now, in the quiet aftermath of the kill, you weren’t recoiling from him either.

No.

You were simply watching.

Like you had known all along exactly what he was capable of. And you didn’t care.

That sent a strange, sharp feeling through him. A curiosity. An understanding.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The doors locked with a click as the timer ran out, the sound of gunshots filled the air, the distant screams beyond the door fading as the game ended.

Finally, he exhaled, his fingers twitching at his side.

“We’re alive,” he said, voice steady. You just gave him a nod, turning your back to him as you looked to the chaos outside through the small space on the door.

Young-il rested against the wall, his mind processing all that had happened.

Then, his lips curled, a soft smirk that you couldn’t see.

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