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thesunssin · 2 months ago

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I’d love to absolutely yap about Gihun and Sangwoo and how Gihun is in this season so here it is ‼️ ( sorry for any spelling mistakes, English isn’t my first language 🙏)

I don’t see a lot of people really talk about just how much of an affect Sangwoo had on Gihun, especially on this season and how he takes his actions, and even the intentions behind it, but I’d love to go on about Gihun first.

Gihun was never a remarkable person, his life before the games was already in shambles. The company he worked under went on a strike, and that’s when he came in touch with death for the first time, witnessing a coworker die right infront of him when their workplace got attacked, the same day his wife gave birth, which he couldn’t attend, since then he’s been losing things more and more, his wife and daughter, and to cope with it all he turned to unhealthy ways, gambling and detaching from the pain by doing so. Lots of people say he was happier back then, but he was just ignoring all his issues. He’s stuck in the past, his mind refuses to register the pain he went through, and in turn to find a way to heal and work on his life. And being stuck on the past means attaching to things in his childhood, one indirectly being Sangwoo, considering he spends a lot of time with his mother. He knows his state, and indulges in it instead of pretending to be something else.

Sangwoo on the other hand, was the opposite of him. Which is everything Gihun admired in him, and everything Sangwoo envied in him. Gihun views him as someone remarkable, and obviously doesn’t shy away from saying so. But Sangwoo isn’t, and doesn’t believe so. Sangwoo his entire life was fixated on a image he wants to put out to the world, and does whatever it takes to do so, betting on everything and even his mother, who just like Gihun, views him as “ the pride of their hometown”. His methods of doing so however, were immoral and illegal, which caused him to be heavily in debt, a physical proof of his failure. Unlike Gihun, his coping mechanism simply is either money or nothing, to be something else or nothing, anything but himself, and something better than him. Because of his failure, he feels like an imposter in a suit, pretending to be everything he’s not, the image he so desperately wants to portray would falter infront of his mother, and already does infront of Gihun, so his instinct is always to run away from the past, to never go back to his hometown, to his mother, because of how ashamed he is of himself. Seeing Gihun again reminds him of everything he couldn’t be, and that reminder is a constant agony to Sangwoo.

Sangwoo envies the authenticity Gihun has, how he unapologetically connects with others in a death game, helps out Oh Ilnam, an old man who is deemed to be a weak link in a game where everyone is out to get each other, and how despite it all, he still keeps his humanity intact and doesn’t let it falter, how even though Gihun treated his mother horribly, he still had her love, while Sangwoo believes his mother only loves the image he put, not himself. Gihun is the only person who saw his image falter, in the scene where he asks him if he’d push him if it was him instead of the glass maker. Sangwoo breaks, immediately arguing back like a defensive child, his argument almost childish when he calls Gihun a “pea head” and a “dumbass”. When Sangwoo mentions how his entire life is pathetic, Gihun replies that he knows the state of his life, and asks why Sangwoo, the pride of their hometown, the graduate of SNU, is right here in the pits with him, despite their vastly different lives, to which Sangwoo replies with nothing. Gihun through the show realises more and more how insecure Sangwoo is, and in turn also perfectly broke down the image he was trying to hard to put to justify his actions. Sangwoo, probably because of the pressure of Gihun’s own admiration, feels like his actions if for the sake of Gihun’s, no matter what, is justified, which he tries to use when arguing with Gihun, but in reality, it’s his own desperation, his own need to present as something else than himself, if it means bringing worth to his life, which he deems meaningless.

When he tries to connect with someone authentically, that person being Ali, he finally tries to allow himself to be without guilt, to help without thinking of any ulterior motives, and to have a relationship that isn’t wholly transactional, but that ultimately shatters when he teams up with Ali, who he ends up actually using his skills ( intelligence and manipulation, which he wanted to use hand in hand with Ali for each other instead of against each other) and like his old clients, cheats and robs him after promising to help. A painful reflection of how Ali, who was always cheated off his money and used in his workplace in unjust ways, the people who were his bosses, now gets cheated off by someone who he used to call from boss to Hyung. That’s when Sangwoo ultimately reverts back to his mindset, that he should be striving to save himself, make worth for himself, to make the blood in his hands make sense, and for the guilt to be worth it in the end, but also sees how Gihun still helps others, how he still helped Saebyeok, and is filled with anger about how he can pretend that he doesn’t also have blood on his hands too, that they’re all gonna die because of each other, but he still moves in the same empathetic way, as if they can afford to be kind.

Season 1 to me really is about how circumstances change the people who you once knew, how capitalism and money twists people, and even the most innocent things to bloody. It’s best portrayed with two childhood friends, Sangwoo and Gihun, who once played together with just fun in their minds, the adrenaline and the joy of childhood innocence and childlike wonder in their minds, to playing the same games for money with life and death in their minds. I’d argue and say they’re both just overgrown kids, two who are stuck in the past, Gihun who refuses to accept it as it is, and stays behind, his personality almost childish and pathetic as a grown man, while Sangwoo who runs after his childhood dreams by any means, stuck in the image that’s already tainted with blood, his personality almost like an angsty teen who pretend to be older than he is, but both come from poverty, both struggling with money, and both their issues starting from that, which shaped them to be who they are, and turned them both to things they don’t recognise anymore when they reunited till and till their last moments together.

Maybe it’s my own point, but I believe that Sangwoo was relieved that Gihun hated him for that brief moments, that they’ve argued and fought, and that the image Gihun had of him was shattered, which in turn also freed him from his own lies and image he tried to convince himself too. He could finally feel angry without any restraint, without acting like he isn’t, without covering up his selfish desires and needs, and projects it all onto Gihun, absolutely shattering the image he tried so hard to keep infront of him on purpose. Their fight was brutal and lacked any real training, both not knowing how to fight properly, and their emotions speaking louder, their movements are sloppy and awkward, and Sangwoo, who’s way more brutal in this fight, gets a hold of the knife for longer and stabs Gihun, while Gihun who when he manages to get a hold of the knife ( which is impaled to his hand ) realises that he can’t complete his actions, Sangwoo realising so when he opened his eyes to see Gihuns sad ones looking back. When Gihun walks right to the very edge of the triangle of the squid, he realises that the money, all of it, would never be worth his friends life, his childhood friends life, waking back limping and bloody to ask the guard, referencing what Sangwoo said to use clause three and for both of them agree to stop the games and leave.

Sangwoos anger waters down with the rain puddles next to him, and he realises the irony of their place. The same two grown adults, who once used to play the same games, and as he says “ When we were younger, we used to play just like this and our moms would call us for dinner” the intensity of their fight, this one being bloody and violent, reflects on how they as kids would imagine their fights to be that intense and bloody, the adrenaline copying one of someone facing life and death, except they are now, and like Sangwoo says. “Nobody is calling us anymore” his voice here ( lovely detail from the actor thank you park haesoo!) broken like a child, and Gihun raises his hand to him, telling him that they can go him, that they will go home. All the anger they had seconds before now gentle and caring, all of it was always once love, all the anger was once love. Gihun gives him is pure clean hand, one without a drop of blood, while Sangwoo stretches his own bloody hand, one that isn’t tainted with his own blood, but the blood of others and the person above him, the one who’s other hand he impaled.

Gihun was so willing, so willing to make it all worthless. Everything they’ve been though, all the scars they got and had, all the deaths they’ve caused indirectly, directly, and witnessed from close or afar, the death of the people he cared for, even Saebyeoks, and his own bleeding wounds and stabs, all if it meant bringing back Sangwoo with him, he’d go penniless willingly, because he couldn’t truly blame him for everything, he couldn’t truly blame him for turning out the way he is, he admired him with his soul, loved him with every fibre of his being, and adored him and saw him as someone so remarkable and great despite it all, so he gave him his hand, his clean, untainted hand, as to tell him that he, Sangwoo, can taint it with all his sins, and he’ll still hold his hand, he’d still want him by his side. Sangwoo almost took it, almost. He wanted to let himself be, to accept that gentleness Gihun so willingly offered, and to accept the hands of his childhood friend.

That’s until he realises they won’t have a single penny for it all. That’s when he retracts his hand, and all he can do is apologise, to say sorry to his Hyung, as he stabs the knife through his neck without any remorse. In that moments, I think that’s when he realised the only way he can truly repay Gihun isn’t by taking his hand, but by leaving all the money for him, to repay his mother, to repay for Ali, Saebyeok, for all the people he caused to suffer, to repay it all with his life that was now worth 45.7B when the last person is eliminated. In the end of it all, he ignores even his own will to live and picks the most reasonable choice, letting his childhood friend win, not any random person, but Gihun. He knows him better than anyone, and within his last moments, calls out for his mother, asking Gihun to help her, to repay her in his behalf, because he couldn’t face her like this, he knows he wouldn’t be able to live with the weight of what he has done, even more-so without a single dim. But he knows Gihun wouldn’t forget him, he wouldn’t forget his mother, he wouldn’t forget his humanity, and he wouldn’t forget to care.

And so Sangwoo dies in a playground, dead in his childhood friends hands, a reflection of how everything he chased for as a kid died there too, and was always stuck in the same playground trying to prove his worth by winning.

By S2, Gihun painfully parallels everything Sangwoo was before the games. Both sharing even the same mother, who they both feel too ashamed and guilty to face, calling their families from a distance, and falling into deep depression, both sharing the same sense feeling like an imposter in their bodies for being things they aren’t ( both being wealthy, but gaining that wealth in unjust ways) their sense of worth less now and both suicidal. ( Sangwoo who tried to commit suicide in the bathtub, and Gihun who doesn’t hesitate to play Russian roulette and shoot himself) the only difference is the reason why they go back to the games.

Gihun in s2 even comes back to the games acting exactly like Sangwoo, even down to the two of them meeting someone from their past within it ( Sangwoo who met Gihun, and Gihun who now met Jungbae) but as vastly different people. Gihun uses what he had learnt directly from Sangwoo to help others ( The red light green light method, Mentioning the third clause, which was even filmed in the same space and manner, and telling others to hide before the fight broke out ) he’d always seen Sangwoo as an example of how to be, and admired him as a figure of something remarkable, so he, who already feels like an imposter in his body, who feels like he shouldn’t be the one who made it out, unconsciously begins to create an image of himself that reflects Sangwoos, one he saw as cold, intelligent, and was human despite it all.

Young Il, who Inho created, is an image of who Gihun wishes Sangwoo was. (Yes ik how that sounds lemme elaborate!) Young-il is someone who is equally as smart, someone who uses that intelligence to help the weaker, who thinks for the community, and is willing to help Gihun help others, unlike Sangwoo who limited his intelligence and help to just those who could also equally benefit him, who held back on trusting Gihun, and in the end acted on his own, and reduced Gihun’s humanity to weakness, something Gihun resented about Sangwoo, and something he sees in Young-il, who Inho knew how to build himself to be someone Gihun trusted, a familiar but strange new face. Oh but Gihun’s intentions aren’t so pure either, his guilt brought him back to the games, back to something he was stuck in, back to the past he can’t move on from and never will, his guilt drives him to think he needs to sacrifice himself for the games to end, even without any real aim or clear goal on how to, or even realising that the players will still suffer anyways, he believes his life will only gain worth if it’s used for something greater, similarly to how Sangwoo also believed his life would be worth something if he gained social status and money, something greater than himself. This time, Gihun gambles with the lives of himself and others ( the people who died for the plan) instead of horses.

Gihuns unwavering trust in others humanity, and in humanity itself, I’d say is purely because of Sangwoo. He witnessed him turn to so many things, from someone he so dearly admired, to a vile person who spat blood and killed for money, to hearing him never speak to him informally even in their angriest moments, and to crying in his arms, uttering out his mothers name as he calls him Hyung for the last time. Sangwoo, who taught him all he knew right now, couldn’t teach him how people could still be harmful, that trusting still blinds, and that being idealistic and naive isn’t good, because Sangwoo was human, Sangwoo wasn’t evil and irredeemable, he still cared for the boy he grew with, for the kid he found charming but annoyingly naive, for the kid who bragged about him every given chance, and for the same guy who he entrusted his mother to, the one who he drove all his actions for. And Gihun? He bet his entire life on that, on the shred of his cold image breaking to reveal his real vulnerability, on his humanity. And because Sangwoo showed him that, he now doesn’t believe anybody is truly evil, that they’re all victims of something bigger than themselves.

And so Gihun goes back to the games, going back to the place that his old self died in, and the one he doesn’t even know if he’ll survive in again, but is willing to gamble his life on ending it.

(sorry for how long I’ve yapped for! and if I’ve made any mistakes ❤️ please have some mercy on me! my English isn’t the best )

#sangihun #cho sangwoo #cho sang woo #seong gihun #gi hun squid game #squid game #hwang inho #young il #gihun x inho #sangwoo x gihun #457 #inhun #doomed by the narrative #doomed yaoi #analysis #yapping #sangwoo squid game #in ho squid game

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quanruionechancepls · 1 month ago

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The Albatross - Chapter 1: Lacy's Angel Dust

Frontman!Hwang Inho x Host!Reader

For more information, check Masterlist

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You’re rearranging your bookshelves, blowing off the dust that accumulated over the various books that sat around your room, forgotten with time, when you rediscover Osamu Dazai’s No Longer Human. Inside the book, a small bookmark peeks through the pages, and you flip it open to find a hand-pressed, blue flower. There’s no name on the bookmark, yet your hands shake as you pick it up.

Opening the book to the acknowledgements page, your face hardens as you see the scribbled ink on the page in messy handwriting.

Thank you for lending this book to me - Lacy.

Day 1: Squid Game 2015

Before you were escorted off the plane by a handsome man in a suit named Gongyoo, your dad flicked his hand, and a masked person in a pink jumpsuit brought out a tray with a black masquerade mask. The edges were lined with shining diamonds, a golden feather sticking out on the right. Running your finger through the centre, it discoloured the velvet texture as it ran in the opposite direction.

“What is this?” You asked, yelping when you lifted your head to see a bejeweled mask in the shape of an animal head on Ilnam. How utterly tacky, it shined like a disco ball! The diamonds scattered the reflections of light in all directions. “What’s that ugly thing on your head?”

Ilnam scoffed at you, perhaps offended. “Put on that mask before we get out,” he replied, holding onto the handles as he slowly wobbled down the stairs.

‘Thanks a lot for answering absolutely nothing!’ You thought to yourself, rolling your eyes as you struggled to tie it to the back of your head. Perhaps those fresh acrylic nails were a bad idea.

You flinched when you felt someone’s hand graze the back of your head. “I assumed you needed some help,” Gongyoo commented, his skillful hands looping the string around and creating a perfectly symmetrical bow.

“Oh, thanks.”

The mask sat perfectly on your face, as if it’d been custom-made for you, which was odd, because you didn’t recall ever ordering anything of the sort. Could it be that your dad bought it for you? It was a ridiculous sentiment, he couldn’t even name your favourite colour if he tried. Still, you doubted your brother would ever get you something like this, instead, gifting you another book he found particularly moving.

Gongyoo held out a hand for you, and you placed your hand in his palm as you stepped down the stairs of Ilnam’s private jet with him. Even as you turned your head side-to-side, there were no distinct features of your surroundings, only concrete and an endlessly blue sky. Before you could open your mouth to ask another question, a gust of wind slapped your hair into your face, and you sputtered as you spat the hair out of your mouth. How embarrassing.

“Welcome, to my creation— the Squid Games,” Ilnam announced, arms embracing the wind, basking in his own glory.

You turned to Gongyoo. “What’s a Squid Game?”

“It’s a traditional Korean game usually played in one’s childhood,” he explained.

You facepalmed and sighed into your hand. “This is it… my dad’s lost it.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Ilnam snapped, his hands now on his hips. “You’ll be impressed soon enough.” He began walking, those bizarre people in the pink jumpsuits trailing behind him. Gongyoo nudged you gently with his elbow, motioning for you to follow your dad. Sighing, your high heels click-clacked with each step you took.

Eventually, you found yourself in a theater-like room with many other adults wearing similarly tacky masks, some lifting their masks slightly to take a puff of their cigar or take a sip of their whiskey. The majority of them spoke in an American-accented English, snobbily debating about some sort of business deal.

“Do I have to stay in this room?” You asked your dad, coughing at the cigarette smoke, your eyes burning as you wafted away the chemicals with your hand. You could feel your lifespan decreasing with each second you spent in this room.

Ilnam motioned for one of the human pink jumpsuits with a square mask to come over. “Give her a private room,” he ordered before turning to Gongyoo. “Stay with her.”

Gongyoo bowed to Ilnam as you followed the person in the pink jumpsuit. “So, why do you wear that?” You asked as you followed them down a dimly-lit hallway.

“I will answer all your questions once we arrive at your private room,” Gongyoo interrupted, and you raised a hidden eyebrow at him.

The person in the jumpsuit stopped outside a door labelled VIP 001, and Gongyoo opened the door for you. You breathed a sigh of relief as you stepped inside. No unnecessary noises, like the sound of glasses clinking incessantly, or the inescapable, disgusting smell of cigarettes. The room itself was quite ordinary, appearing like a normal luxury hotel other than a large screen on one of the walls.

“What’s the screen for?” You asked, picking up the remote on the table beside the couch as Gongyoo shut the door behind you.

“The screen allows you to watch the games. They will begin in 10 minutes,” he answered vaguely, and you huffed in frustration.

“You said you would answer all my questions! What kind of half-assed answer is that?” You yelled.

“Ask away,” he retorted, his hands in the air. You wanted to mess up that pretty face of his.

“What kind of games are they?”

“The selection changes annually, but they usually consist of traditional Korean games. My job is to recruit players, and there are 456 in total. Each round, the players who lose the game will be eliminated,” he explained.

“Eliminated in what way?”

“You’ll see.” A dark grin appeared on his face, as if giddy.

“Hm, okay,” you thought out loud, trying to absorb the new influx of information. “What’s up with the pink jumpsuits?”

“Those are the staff. There are three hierarchies within these games: the Managers, the Soldiers, and the Workers. Squares, triangles, and circles, respectively.”

You nodded, and the modulated voice of a woman blasted through the speakers, with Gongyoo instantly snatching the remote out of your hand to turn on the screen. Before you could swing your arm at him and scratch him up with your acrylics, he caught your wrist. His grip was firm enough to prevent any movement, but gentle enough to not hurt you.

“Don’t ever do that again,” you hissed through gritted teeth, and he nodded, releasing your arm and motioning for you to sit on the couch. He sat beside you, pulling a walkie out of his pocket and ordering some snacks and refreshments.

Hundreds of players stepped into the arena in green tracksuits and a number, a giant doll-like figure staring them down on the other end. “This is Red Light, Green Light. It’s the only reoccurring game,” Gongyoo remarked, and you nodded.

“Is there a list of players I can look at? So I can keep track of the eliminations?” You questioned, and Gongyoo stood up and opened a drawer, pulling out an iPad and plugging in a charger.

While your eyes were on the iPad, the first gunshot rang out, and you whipped your head in the direction of the screen. A bloodcurdling scream, followed by a stampede of hurried footsteps, then banging on the door, until finally, the bodies all slumped on top of each other like a mountain.

“I see, that’s what you meant by elimination,” you commented, and Gongyoo handed you the iPad, which was now at 5%.

When you looked down, you were met with a long spreadsheet of numbers and names. Each name was highlighted blue, and when you clicked one, it opened a PDF that showed you the profile of the player. After opening a few, you realized the common theme was debt.

“Fuck, it’s going to take me forever to go through all these!” You complained, ignoring the explosive sound of gunshots echoing throughout the room.

Two hours later, long after the first game was over, you were still individually clicking through all the PDF files of the players. Right before you were about to give up and call it a day, you clicked on the profile of Player 132, a 40 year-old man at a height of 5’10, a survivor of the first round. You couldn’t help but giggle at his photo, particularly at his overgrown side-swept bangs that looked so 2000s.

Hwang Inho.

The name was familiar to you somehow, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on where you heard it before. Zooming in on his photo, you realized you’ve seen his face before, but when you tried jogging your memories, all you got was a pitch black void. You knew for sure that if you knew him, it wasn’t a recent encounter. Despite that unfortunate choice of a hairstyle, that handsome face of his was unforgettable.

In fact, you needed to know if he was single.

His profile didn’t mention anything about his relationship status, only his past as a police officer who was fired for taking bribes. You wondered how accurate that information was, as something about his features made him appear innocent.

Still, you weren’t going to stop your investigation there. Pulling out your phone, you opened Instagram, typing his name into the search engine as you scrolled past a dozen accounts to find him. Unfortunately, you hit your first dead end as you discovered his account was private, groaning loudly as Gongyoo glanced curiously in your direction. Exiting Instagram, you opened Facebook.

Facebook was exactly what you needed to find out everything about him. Player 132 was an avid Facebook user, posting random rants, selfies, and annual, near-identical cherry blossom photos. His recent posts were gloomy, consisting of overcast skies and emo quotes. You could’ve crumpled to your knees when you scrolled down far enough to find his wedding photo, the couple smiling brightly at the camera in a gaudily decorated venue. In another photo, a younger man around your age threw up a peace sign with Inho. At the very least, his hair was presentable for his wedding, rocking a slicked back style.

Sighing, you scrolled back up to continue your stalking, this time through his friend list. At the very top of the list was the name Hwang Junho, and upon closer inspection, you realized it was the same younger man holding up the peace sign. Judging by their last name, you assumed they were related, although they barely bore any resemblance to each other, their noses aside. Clicking on his profile, the first thing you saw was a post of him in the hospital with Inho’s wife with the caption: ‘Get well soon.’

How odd. Player 132’s profile didn’t mention anything about his sick wife. Typing Junho’s name into your notes, you went back to scouring through Player 132’s friend list. His wife’s profile wasn’t much farther down, and you discovered her illness as you scrolled. Liver cirrhosis in one post, the kind that needed an urgent transplant, and an ultrasound post following soon after. She was pregnant and had an illness that at best was chronic? She must’ve had a death wish.

Perhaps it was due to how familiar Player 132 seemed, or it was his strikingly attractive face, but he’d certainly piqued your interest. You turned to Gongyoo, who crunched on a bag of chips. “How long does it take to create a fake police badge and ID?”

Day 2: Squid Game 2015

Turns out, when you have enough money, you can just about get anything done within 24hrs, because here you were, back in Seoul. The moment the plane landed, your chauffeur handed you the ID and badge you requested, specifically for the position of a detective. You couldn’t say you were happy though, because even with negotiation, you were only able to bring the price down to 5 million won— that greedy motherfucker…

While 5 million won should be nothing to you, it still didn’t sit right that a badge and an ID barely larger than the size of your hand was so expensive. God, if you hadn’t bought it over the phone, you could’ve brought down the price to 2 million won for sure.

Your dad wasn’t very thrilled about your return, trying every spell in his book to keep you on whatever island those games were held on— you’d have to ask Gongyoo about that later. Luckily, you inherited your mom’s sharp tongue, one that deflected Ilnam’s every attempt at reasoning with you. It’s not that you didn’t like the games, and you would willingly watch the games in person, but alas, other duties called. At the very least, you could stream the edited footage on a later date, and Gongyoo could keep you up to date.

Your current priority was meeting Player 132’s wife in person. While Player 132 was fighting for his life in the games, you wanted to have a little chat with Little Miss Tragic Princess— Player 132’s beloved bird in a cage.

It wasn’t hard to force your way into having access to her room, as your dad was a huge investor of the hospital she stayed in. One glance into your files and pulling out all the times you stayed in the most luxurious ward was all it took to get a visitor pass hung around your neck. God, it felt great to be rich, even if all your riches were built on corruption. Besides, it was your dad’s corruption, not yours, so it didn’t really concern you.

A nurse personally escorted you to her room, and a few patients stared at you as you walked by, likely wondering what you did to gain such special treatment. You pulled out your least impressive outfit to blend in, your hair in a messy bun, a white blouse, and a blazer and pencil skirt, both in black. You looked like an average office worker, save for your unkempt hair.

“Please sanitize your hands before you enter. This patient is high-risk,” the nurse requested, pointing to the hand sanitizer on the counter opposite to the door.

“It appears her condition is quite severe,” you commented casually, pumping a generous amount into your hands and rubbing it in. The nurse didn’t respond, probably to avoid spilling any private information, not that it mattered. If you wanted the information, you had the means to find it on your own.

As the nurse walked away, you knocked on the door. For a moment, there was no response, and you wondered if Player 132’s wife had died the moment you arrived.

“Come in,” a soft voice called out from inside the room, so soft that if you were distracted, you would’ve never noticed it. You opened the door, entered, and shut it behind you.

Her skin was a sickly yellow, from her fingertips to her face. Even what was supposed to be the whites in her eyes were replaced with yellow.

Jaundice.

It was a common thing within people who had issues with their liver, something to do with a problem with the liver removing bilirubin from the body, a byproduct of processing old hemoglobin, causing a yellowish hue on the body. You knew a lot of random medical knowledge due to the amount of dates you had to sit through with the many, many doctors and students in pre-med that you dated.

“Who are you?” She asked, her voice firm.

You pulled out your fake badge and ID from the pocket in your blazer. “I’m a detective. In the past few days, there’s been a mass kidnapping within Seoul, though this information hasn’t been released to the public.” For the amount of money you paid, if she wasn’t convinced, then you’d definitely hunt down the guy who sold it to you and tear him apart limb from limb. “You’re the wife of Hwang Inho, correct?”

She didn’t relax, instead becoming even warier. “Why are you asking a sick patient like me? And how do you know my husband?”

“When looking through the files of the people who have gone missing, I noticed something they all had in common: they all had financial problems, enough to be in debt,” you continued.

“What are you implying? I know my family is working class, but debt?” She seemed quite offended by your words. There’s no way she wasn’t aware of how large of a financial burden her condition caused, especially her urgent need for a new liver.

“I apologize if I seemed condescending,” you replied, stepping closer and leaning in to whisper in her ear. “Your husband is on the file as well.”

She seemed quite shaken at this revelation. “That’s impossible, he visited me three days ago!” You wished you could live in as much delusion as her.

“It seems he was taken soon after he visited you.”

Before she could get more upset with you, her chest seized up and she hacked out a coughing fit, taking deep ragged breaths as you walked over to the corner of the room, took a paper cup, and filled it with warm water. She didn’t seem sick with pneumonia or anything of that sort, but it could be a lingering cough. She was quite susceptible at the moment, after all. “Can you find him?” She asked, her voice hoarse as she took a sip.

“I’m not in charge of that, so I’m not sure. I’m only able to gather information through interviews like this.” She visibly shriveled up with your purposeful vagueness. Even you could tell she was in a pitiful situation, not having much financial backing while dying in a hospital, and now you’re telling her her husband is missing. “If I’m being honest, we don’t have much support for this investigation either. It’s hard to find evidence.”

Before you knew it, she clung onto the sleeve of your blazer, her grip weak as her shaking fingers grasped at the fabric. You could easily fling her off if you wanted to, but all you did was glance at the sleeve that was surely going to wrinkle. “Please, find him! My husband is a good man— he’s been a police officer for nearly 20 years! Everyone would be losing out on another good person if he’s gone!”

Is a police officer? Does she not know that he was fired for allegedly taking bribes? You sucked in a breath, unsure about your next course of action as you pieced together the story. Starting from the top: Player 132 was a police officer who was apparently fired for taking bribes from a criminal organization. With your discovery of his sick wife, it’s safe to say he started taking bribes with the intent of using it for her treatment, and when he was fired, he was driven to join the games as a last ditch effort. Seems like a plausible story.

“...It says on our file that he was fired for taking bribes, although I’m unsure of how accurate it is. Sometimes investigators leave out important details,” you enunciated your words, trying to let your brain catch up with your mouth. Leaving out Player 132’s wife was a fatal mistake on the part of whichever man your dad put in charge of hunting down these desperate people— her role was crucial to why he entered the games in the first place.

Her expression twisted into a mixture of shock and despair. “That’s impossible…” she mumbled, and you wondered how much more denial she had left inside of her. “Why in the world would he do such a thing?”

Now you were suspecting she was purposely acting clueless. “Is your husband a devoted man?” You inquired.

“Yes, he is,” she replied without hesitation. “I’ve never needed to worry about another woman. He’s always treated me like a princess; brushing my hair, cooking my meals, helping me clean the apartment.” While it sounded like the bare minimum to you, you couldn’t deny that Player 132 was certainly better than the majority of men. It would be nice to be loved by a man like that.

“Then…”

She gasped, her hand covering her mouth as she stared into your eyes. “Does that mean he took out those bribes for me?!”

“That appears to be the case.”

“Gosh, Inho, that idiot!” She cried into her hands, leaning into the pillow behind her as she reeled from the shock.

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” you blurted out, not even sure what possessed you to say such a thing. What does this have anything to do with you?

She sighed. “It’s not your fault. I’m more upset that he didn't tell me himself. How is it fair that I had to find out through a detective instead of directly from my own husband?”

“He probably didn’t want to worry you, don’t be too hard on him,” you reassured her. A part of you wanted to sit down and pat her back, but you’ve been standing for so long that it would be a bit awkward if you suddenly sat down. That, and it was probably too intimate for two strangers. “Your only worry should be about recovering your health, nothing else matters.”

She didn’t have much to say, and you couldn’t blame her. It was likely a sentiment drilled into her by her family as soon as they discovered her condition. Here she was, a grown adult woman, reduced to her increasingly worsening illness. You would’ve been furious if you were in her position, so she was handling it with a lot more grace than you would be giving to the people around you.

Removing the visitor pass from your neck, you stuffed your badge and ID back into your pocket. “I’ll be back tomorrow, I hope you don’t mind,” you announced, then cupping your mouth and leaning in slightly. “You’re the last person I came to find. Over the next few days, I don’t have much else to do, but I still need to somehow kill time.”

This elicited a giggle out of her. “Sure, I don’t mind. My mother-in-law has mobility issues, and my brother-in-law is busy at work, so I’m alone for most of the day. It gets a little lonely, staring at the wall with all these needles stuck inside of you,” she responded, lifting the arm the IV was attached to, revealing a myriad of needles.

You flashed her with the most charming smile you could muster, showing off the pearly white teeth that you paid top dollars for. “See you tomorrow.”

Right before you opened the door, you turned around. “Keep this a secret between us, okay?” You requested, holding your index finger to your lips.

Day 3: Squid Game 2015

Gongyoo informed you that Player 132 survived the second round, much to your relief. If he died so quickly, what was the point in visiting his wife? You weren’t in need of any new friends. You hadn’t had the time to keep up with the games, and with near 24hr surveillance of the players, how on earth were you supposed to watch everything? Instead, you dug up more information on Player 132’s family.

His family consisted of his young half-brother, Hwang Junho, and his stepmom, Park Malsoon. He had a 16 year age gap with Junho, not far off from your own large age gap with your brother. His parents divorced when he was a teenager, and he had an estranged relationship with his biological mother while his father died soon after Junho was born. How tragic.

As the third round began, you made your way to the hospital, monitoring the file as it updated the eliminated players in real time. You prayed that Player 132 would survive this round as well— in fact, you wanted him to win. Someone with a face that hot didn’t deserve to die.

Actually, you wondered if you could do anything about it.

You: Am I allowed to rig the games to keep a player alive?

Gongyoo: For you, it’s not explicitly forbidden, but I don’t recommend it.

Gongyoo: The VIPs could get mad.

You: And why does that matter?

Gongyoo: They’re politicians, billionaires, world leaders, etc.

Gongyoo: You don’t want to mess with them.

You: Well, fuck.

Gongyoo: What’s going on?

You: There’s this really hot player.

You: I don’t want him to die.

Gongyoo: LOL, who?

You: Player 132.

Gongyoo: The one who came straight out of an emo band?

You: Hey!

You: You need to trust the process!

You: You need to believe in his potential!

Gongyoo: I won’t believe in it no matter what you say.

Gongyoo: I’m a straight man.

Gongyoo: Only got eyes for women.

You: Okay, then don’t judge my taste in men.

You: God, I guess my next best option is thoughts and prayers.

Gongyoo: Good luck with that. (Read)

Before you knew it, you were back in the hospital room, just in time to catch Player 132’s wife eating lunch. It didn’t appear appetizing in the slightest, a plain bowl of porridge and a fruit salad consisting of grapes, watermelon, and apples. In comparison to other patients, the food she received was considered as special treatment due to how expensive the cost of fruit was. With the cost of her treatment and her stay, you could only imagine how desperate Player 132 looked when begging for financial help.

“I should’ve brought you some dim sum,” you remarked, sitting on a stool and setting down your purse as she shook her head.

“They don’t allow outside food because I’m high risk. They’re very particular on what I’m allowed to eat,” she shrugged, although you could tell she was disheartened by her slight pout.

“That’s a shame.”

You diverted your attention to the IV drip, the isotonic fluid trickling into a long, transparent tube one droplet at a time. With it attached, you doubted she could walk very far, if not, at all. The hospital room seemed grayer than the rest, the lights off with the sunlight peeking through the window. The curtains were a drabby shade of baby blue. Even her sheets allowed no room for comfort or indulgence, a rough fabric in off-white.

“What do you do during the day?” You asked curiously, as there were no visible methods of entertainment in front of you. On the rare occasion you fell sick enough to require a stay in the hospital, you always had access to a TV.

“I facetime my mother-in-law, although it gets a little exhausting. She’s quite chatty, and I sometimes find it hard to keep up. She worries a lot too,” she replied with a small smile. You wondered why she never mentioned her own parents, but that might be too invasive of a question, so you bit back your curiosity. “I like reading, but in the rush of checking in, I couldn’t bring any books.”

She certainly looked like someone who enjoyed reading as a hobby. Your brother would probably kill to have a sister like her, only to end up with a party girl like you. “What kind of books do you read?”

“Hm,” she thought aloud. “When I was younger, I read a lot of romance, but I think I’ve grown out of it now. I like philosophical things, topics that talk about what the point of life is and what it means to be human.”

What it means to be human? You were sick of that topic after all the time you spent in Psychology and Sociology classes, despite it being your majors. It always made you feel like less of a person because often times a student would share a traumatic personal experience and everyone else would quietly chatter among themselves to discuss how horrible they felt, and you were in the corner baffled and wondering why they didn’t act differently in that situation.

Even so, you had to at least try to seem interested. “Have you ever read No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai? I think you’d enjoy it.”

She shook her head. “I never had the time to read it, and it’s hard to find in person. In hindsight, I wish I pursued it harder rather than putting it off.”

“I have a copy of it at home, I can lend it to you if you’d like,” you offered. Your brother gave it to you a year ago, although you haven’t gotten around to reading it. Most of your brother’s gifts ended up collecting dust because you had no use for them.

She perked up immediately. “Really? If it’s not too much trouble, I’d love to read it!”

“I’ll bring it tomorrow,” you replied. Suddenly, you paused. You weren’t sure if your copy was in the Korean translation, as you and your brother were both fluent in English, and could freely choose to read anything within those two languages. “Ah, it might be in the English translation…”

“English? You know how to speak English?” She asked curiously. While English was a subject taught in school, with the lack of opportunities to practice, most Koreans could only hold a basic conversation.

“Yes, I have dual citizenship,” you responded. “If the one I have isn’t in Korean, I’ll try and find a Korean copy.”

“No, no, it’s okay!” She waived, trying to seem modest. It was a common tactic— always pretend you don’t want something even if you do.

“You’re already cooped up in here all day, I should at least try and make you comfortable while you’re here!” You insisted, although you dreaded cleaning through your bookshelf, already imagining all the dust flying in your face.

She seemed to give in with your insistence, but she probably wasn’t going to put up much of a fight either way. “Can I ask you a question?” She asked you after a moment of silence, and you nodded. “What’s America like? I never had the money to travel abroad, only within Korea.”

Well, fuck. You didn’t know how to answer her question. The United States was like every other country, and it had pros and cons. You also weren’t sure how normal your experience was, as you were very sheltered while you were there. Despite how sheltered you were, you still had to pick up a new language to the point of fluency within two years or you’d fall behind in school.

You scrunched your eyebrows. “Hm… I’d say America is a good tourist destination, just avoid the subways.” The first time you took the subway, you almost got stabbed, and since then, your dad hired a driver for you. It might’ve been partially your fault though, as it was 11pm.

She laughed. “Are the subways that bad?”

“I almost got killed the last time I took it, so you tell me,” you joked, and she gasped.

“What happened?”

“A man was drunk after a night out at the bar. I looked like an easy target. I only got away because the train arrived in time and he tripped on his pants and faceplanted onto the floor,” you recounted the story. He flashed everyone inside the trolley when he tripped, and you winced as you recalled the memory. Gross.

“Oh my, that’s so scary! I’m glad you’re okay!”

“I have a lot of luck on my side,” you bragged jokingly. If you were still unlucky after that childhood of yours, you’d bring this issue up with whatever higher power was willing to turn the tides for you.

“Since you’re American, you have an English name, right?” She questioned and you nodded. “Can you tell me what it is?”

“Do you want me to give you one?” You asked after telling her your English name. She seemed quite excited at this, and you pondered what kind of name you’d give her.

You didn’t want to give her a name that was elegant, like Eleanor or Charlotte. A name that was too common was off the table too— you’ve met enough Emilys in this lifetime, the world doesn’t need another one.

Lacy.

Unconventional, odd, and can be vulgar in certain contexts, particularly concerning the description of lingerie. It was perfect. After all, you weren’t going to give her an actual name that sounded nice, and she was ignorant enough to not know any better. Within Korea, she could go around telling people her name was Lacy and no one would bat an eye— perhaps they would think it sounded cute.

“What about Lacy? A lot of feminine English names have a long e sound.”

“Oh, it sounds quite cute! Thank you.” She clapped giddily, probably the most energetic she’s been in weeks. You typed it out on your phone and showed her the spelling of her name, and she added the English keyboard to her device, copying it.

Thankfully, your alarm rang before you had to try and come up with another conversation topic, and you picked up your purse from the floor. “I have a meeting I have to attend. I’ll come back tomorrow,” you declared. There was no meeting for you to attend, just an alarm you forgot to turn off from your school semester that reminded you to study.

“Don’t forget the book!” She reminded, and you laughed.

“I’ll try my best.”

Day 4: Squid Game 2015

Player 132 survived again.

At this point, you were really starting to believe that he could be a finalist. You spent the previous night catching up on everything you missed, mainly watching the games themselves, opting out of the downtime in the dormitory. Gongyoo said that towards the end, there were special games that occured in the middle of the night. You found out what he meant when you opened the file this morning to find several more players dead.

Concerning the book, your copy was thankfully in Korean, so you didn’t have to hunt it down last minute. You didn’t mind if she kept it forever, it was only a book, after all. You could buy a million copies if you wanted to.

You also needed to get back on track since you only started talking to Lacy with the intention of somehow getting your hands on her man. Anyone with eyes knew she didn’t have long left, and her last sliver of hope was the desperate Player 132. If he died, it wasn’t just a death sentence for him, but also Lacy and their fetus.

You had the means to give her exactly what she urgently needed, but why in the world would you do that? To make your life harder? If Player 132 survived and returned to see his wife healthy, you’d have no chance of getting in between them. If he died, Lacy would become a single mother, and you’d toss her aside like a broken doll. If the odds were stacked against you, you’d might as well let all of them die together.

The visits began becoming routine. Every morning, you’d wake up at 9, check the files for any updates, and get ready for the day. By 10:30, you were in the backseat of a car, your driver silently making his way to the hospital. Today, the only difference was the book in your hand. You didn’t have any space inside that tiny purse that was only meant for stylish purposes.

You didn’t need a nurse to escort you anymore, nor did you need them to remind you to sanitize your hands, tucking the book underneath your arm as you rubbed it in. As soon as you walked in, you presented the book to Lacy as if it was a shiny diamond, and despite the discoloured bags underneath her eyes representing her fatigue, she lit up immediately.

“You remembered the book!” She cheered, lifting her arms into the air.

“I’m glad it was in Korean. I’d have to buy a new one if mine was in English,” you responded, placing it on her lap as she excitedly flipped through it.

“I’ll be sure to finish it as soon as possible.”

You shook your head. “No need, take your time. Read when you want to, rest when you need to.”

She sighed, her shoulders drooping as her smile dropped. “I can’t return it to you if I take my time. I don’t think I have long left.” She attempted to force a half-smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m worried for my husband. What if I’m gone by the time he’s found? Our baby too…”

You feigned surprise. “Baby?”

“Oh, you can’t tell because I’m still in my first trimester. We discovered the pregnancy and the illness at the same time,” she explained.

“That must be so frustrating. You can’t even celebrate such a joyous moment because it’s given to you with bad news.”

Lacy nodded. “I’ve accepted the end, although I haven’t told anyone this except you. We can’t afford the liver transplant, and after you told me that my husband’s gone into debt to pay for my hospital bills…. I don’t know, it seems like a hopeless situation.”

“How much does a liver transplant cost?” You were genuinely curious. The cost of buying an organ was already expensive, and then combining that with the price of an operation and a hospital stay easily bankrupted families. There was also the added issue of the possibility of the body of the recipient rejecting the organ, which caused more complications. Compared to Korea, such lifesaving care was even more expensive in the States.

She sighed. “Last time we checked, it’s over 200 million won. That’s 4 years of my husband’s salary without accounting for our cost of living. I used to work in a corporation, but I quit six months ago because I kept getting sick.”

200 million won was two months of your allowance, and it made you realize how different your worlds were. You could buy her a new liver a thousand times over. You really had no business sitting in her hospital room chatting with her like this.

“Gosh, I didn’t realize it was so expensive!” You gasped. “On the bright side, now you know how much your husband loves you because of how hard he’s fighting to make sure you receive the care you need.”

She giggled. “Yes, I’m very lucky.”

“How did the two of you meet?”

She glanced at the ceiling as she reminisced in her mind. “We actually met while he was at work. He was on patrol when he saw me getting harassed by a man. He saved me, and later that day, we coincidentally ran into each other at a restaurant.”

“Ooh, you’ve got your own prince charming!” You teased, and the two of you burst into laughter.

“I wish he was a prince charming! Without me, the entire apartment would be covered in ramen packets. One time, I was away for a business trip, and I returned to plastic crunching under my feet as they overflowed from the kitchen!” She recounted, her gestures large to show you how large of a mess he’d made.

“I’d be so mad if I came home to that!” You exclaimed, and she nodded in agreement.

“I was! I chewed him out until he was begging for forgiveness on his knees!”

“But you said he knows how to cook, so why does he rely on ramen when you’re not around?” You asked.

“He only cooks for me. He doesn’t take care of his health as much as he should, yet he always worried about mine even before my illness,” Lacy sighed, shaking her head. “At this rate, I’m going to die of the stress he causes before my liver gets the chance to kill me.”

It seemed Player 132 was quite hypocritical, although in a self-sacrificing way. Going into debt, entering the Squid Games, and worrying about everyone but himself. It only made him more appealing to you. Why wouldn’t you want a partner who worshipped you like the goddess you were? And he was one of the hottest men you’ve ever laid eyes on. Seriously, if you couldn’t have him, no one else could either.

Before you could respond, someone knocked on the door. Once Lacy gave them permission to enter, a nurse opened the door while another tip-toed inside, balancing Lacy's next meal on the tray. After a makeshift table was set up on her bed, they placed it in front of her and left. Lacy glanced at the steaming food, but didn’t pick up any utensils, instead turning her attention back to you.

“Are you not going to eat?” You pointed at the food. “It won’t taste good when it’s cold.”

“Ah…” she hesitated. “I’m actually not hungry. For the last few days, I’ve been forcing myself to eat for the sake of the baby, but I can’t do it anymore, I just keep feeling worse.”

You raised both your eyebrows at the same time. “You should tell a doctor about this!” You exclaimed, about to ring the bell when Lacy grabbed your hand and shook her head.

“I told you that I’m going to die soon, didn’t I? Any treatment they give me will be for naught, and it’s only going to increase the debt.” Wow, she was just as self-sacrificing as her husband.

Dropping your hand back at your side, you inhaled deeply. “How are you so casual about dying? Are you not scared?”

Lacy averted your eyes, staring down at her yellow hands and her bedsheets. “I am scared,” she admitted in a whisper. “Inho— my husband and I have always wanted a baby. When we found out I was pregnant, I hoped I’d at least be able to carry it to term so he would have a piece of me if I'm gone, but my condition worsened quicker than expected, and I don’t think that’s possible anymore.”

Fuck, were you really feeling pity for a woman whose husband you wanted to steal? Worse, were you starting to care about a woman who’s one infection away from being taken by the Grim Reaper?

If you spend any more time with her, you were going to lose your mind. She trusted you so easily, telling you about her family— even her greatest fear. You doubted she could tell her husband about it, both of them wanting to protect each other from additional woes in such a difficult time.

Yet here you were, taking advantage of her, waiting for her to die.

Even with her illness, it was as if she was an angel, from her warm disposition to her dainty fingertips. She was pure as can be, not even suspecting if you had any ulterior motives, as if she believed in the good in people. She took everything you said and did at face value.

If you were the type of show-stopping beauty that landed you on magazines and runways, then Lacy was the opposite. She could roll out of bed, apply a tinted lip balm, lazily tie her hair up in a ponytail, and leave the house. She was an effortless beauty, the pretty girl next door that didn’t stick out, but was the talk of the town locally. You hated to admit it, but she fit Inho like a missing puzzle piece.

You were a rose, and she was a dandelion, often overlooked, yet one of the many joys brought to children who blew the seeds away when spring rolled around every year. With her illness, she was just as fleeting as those dandelion seeds. In fact, with the jaundice her condition caused, she quite literally looked as yellow as a dandelion— how fitting.

Even so, how could she be so beautiful when she was knocking on death’s door? You wanted to rip the skin off her face and glue it to your own.

“I think you would be a good mother,” you said after a long period of silence, your throat suddenly dry, yet you somehow still managed to swallow your own spit. She was much better suited for motherhood than you’d ever be, her love and dedication for a child that wasn’t even here yet was proof of it.

She smiled at you. “Thank you. If I could live for a bit longer, I’d hope this child has a better life than me, but I think my stubbornness will kill both of us.”

Even if she had prioritized herself and got an abortion, the baby was still going to die. Assuming she recovered and got pregnant again, the baby in her stomach wouldn’t be this baby. She needed a miracle to save both of them— one such miracle that her husband was willing to throw away his life for in the form of 45.6 billion won. Still, she needed to hang on long enough for the miracle to actually work.

You weren’t sure if your question was acceptable, but you decided it was now or never. “Would you want your husband to move on if you pass?” It seemed insensitive to use the word ‘when.’

“Of course. Why would I want him to wallow in grief for the rest of his life? I want him to be happy even when I’m gone. I’d only truly be at peace once I know someone will look out and care for him.” What an angel. She was truly better than you in every possible way.

The rest of your visit was a blur, and your feet trudged on the floor as you walked through the hallway of the hospital once your alarm rang. You were starting to dread tomorrow, as you knew you’d have to return, but it would also be cruel to leave her alone. She made it clear it was rare for family members to visit her in person, so who were you to steal this small bundle of happiness from her? Even if you weren’t genuine, it’s better to let her have this momentarily.

Day 5: Squid Game 2015

You officially ran out of conversation topics, awkwardly fiddling with your thumbs as you sat on a stool near her bed. She was so invested in reading she hadn’t noticed your presence, and you weren’t going to break her concentration. Impressively, she was already more than halfway through the book. She wasn’t kidding about trying to return it to you at the earliest date.

Your mind wandered back to the games and to Inho, who’d survived another round, like you expected. He was officially in the semifinals— the last stretch of the games. His chances of winning were now around 1 in 20, depending on how many players died with each passing minute you spent in the hospital.

When she turned her head slightly to reach for a cup of water on the counter, she noticed you in her peripheral vision, and yelped. “Sorry, I didn’t notice you there. Why didn’t you say anything?” She asked as she placed a bookmark inside and closed the book.

“You were so focused, I didn’t want to break your concentration,” you replied.

“We only chat for a few hours at most, and I have the rest of the day to read. My time with you is more precious than this book,” she pointed out, and your heart tingled. How odd.

“I didn’t prepare any conversation topics today.”

She burst out laughing, wheezing as she attempted to catch her breath, and the corners of your lips twitched upwards. “You prepare conversation topics?

“Sometimes. It’s a good guideline when you’re getting to know someone,” you shrugged. No shame in your game, you had to do what you had to do to avoid awkwardness.

“Well, I’ve spent the last few days talking a lot about me, but I don’t actually know much about you other than you being American, so, today we’re talking about you,” she declared, rather determined.

You chuckled. “What do you want to know?”

“Hm, let me think,” Lacy pondered. “Were you born in America?”

You shook your head. “I’m a naturalized citizen. I was born in Seoul.”

“Oh? Then how did you immigrate to America?”

“I was there for school. I came back to Seoul for school as well,” you answered. Other than being obnoxiously rich, you were still a pretty normal person.

“Which school?”

“Seoul National University.”

She gasped. “Wow, that’s a really good school!” She clapped for you, and your ears blushed from embarrassment.

“It’s nothing, really. My brother went to Harvard,” you replied. If you really wanted to go to Harvard, all you had to do was get your dad to donate a large amount to the institution, but you opted to return to Korea because, well, the Korean food in America could never compare to the real thing.

Lacy gasped even louder. “What the… is your family full of geniuses?”

“My dad has high expectations, so we’re expected to perform.” You could imagine the disappointment on his face if you hadn’t even gotten into Seoul National University.

“Gosh, isn’t that a bit cruel? I would never put that much pressure on my child, life is already stressful enough.” Her mentality was quite similar to your mother’s, although your mom still wanted you to enter a school of a decent standing even if you weren't reaching for the stars.

You shrugged again. “Every parent wants their child to succeed. School is the easiest way to climb the social ladder.”

She sighed. “I don’t want to talk about such a bleak subject,” she declared. “Anyways, what do you study? You look quite young, so I assume you’re still in school.”

Right, Lacy was probably in her thirties. You doubted Inho would date someone more than 10 years younger than him. “Psychology and Sociology. I don’t like Math.”

She giggled. “Me neither. Math was my worst subject in school.” You held your hand up to high-five her in solidarity, and she returned it without hesitation. Math victims have to stick together.

“Hm, what else can I ask you?” She thought aloud, before an imaginary lightbulb lit up beside her head. “What are your hobbies?”

Shit, she got you there. What were you supposed to say— go shopping? It would either expose your financial status or your lack of impulse control, and you weren’t going to tell her about your shopping addiction.

“I really like anything to do with beauty. Makeup, skincare, anything else you can name. I also like doing other people’s makeup,” you responded. It was basically a roundabout way of saying you had a shopping addiction without explicitly stating it.

“Ooh, I noticed that! Your makeup always looks flawless, although you already look like a doll, but it enhances your features so much more!” She praised, and you blushed harder. Receiving compliments from a pretty woman always felt nice.

“Thank you,” you mumbled shyly. You received compliments quite often, so you weren’t sure why you were so flustered when getting complimented by someone who looked like they were going to eat a banana and aid Gru in stealing the moon. As you averted your gaze, you noticed a half-used perfume bottle on the counter. That wasn’t there before! “Is that Chance Eau Tendre by Chanel?”

Lacy whipped her head towards the bottle, then back to you. “How did you know? The writing was on the opposite side!” She looked quite amazed.

“One of my friends uses it regularly. She likes perfume, and she drags me with her, so I know a lot about perfume too.”

“She probably goes shopping quite often, considering how fast you recognized that bottle.” She picked it up and held out a hand for you, which you glanced at confusingly, your eyebrows slightly scrunched. “Can you open your hand for me?”

You obliged to her request, still confused. She placed it in your hand, and you could’ve broken your neck with how fast you lifted your head to make eye contact with her. “What are you doing?”

“Keep it,” she replied, as if her actions were the most normal thing anyone’s ever done. She covered your hand with her own, the perfume bottle sandwiched in between, her icy fingertips brushing against your wrist. “I can’t finish it anyways.”

Normally, you’d be offended that someone was giving you their leftover perfume, regardless of whether or not it was free, but you couldn’t find it in you to get upset. Lacy was nearing the end of her life, and her family was struggling to keep themselves afloat while juggling her medical bills. This perfume was one of the last small luxuries she had, likely a gift she received during a holiday or a birthday.

Without realizing, your eyes prickled, and you fought back tears as you met her eyes. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” she reassured you with a smile on her face. She seemed at peace with her decision.

Thats when you knew she was going to die tomorrow.

Day 6: Squid Game 2015

God, you hated being right sometimes.

You were in the middle of a call with the CEO of the hospital, discussing the best match for the organ you were going to purchase for Lacy, when you heard the sound of hurried footsteps and heavy breathing from the other end. Lacy had died right before you were going to finalize your purchase, mere minutes before the liver she desperately needed would be delivered to the hospital and she would enter a lifesaving surgery. Fuck, sometimes it was better to be wrong.

You bit back tears as you watched Inho on the screen, now having no reason for all the suffering and psychological torture he went through.

The book was personally returned to you by the CEO, and you stared at it as if it was a foreign object— as if Lacy wasn't holding it mere moments ago. You didn't think you'd ever be able to pick up and read this book, not now, and not in the future.

The funeral was held a week later, along with a burial. Of course, you weren’t invited, but with your connections, you found out where it was held. You were dressed in a basic black dress with a matching hat, hoping to shield your eyes enough for your identity to be unclear— and so no one could see your tears. No one was aware of your existence except for Lacy herself, and as a result, you were a ghost who had no right to mourn.

It seemed even the heavens were mourning the loss of Lacy, the sky crying for her in the form of a heavy downpour. Inho was equally as crushed, his body trembling as it wracked in sobs, in the fetal position as if he was a little kid. Junho, biting his lip and staring up at the sky to prevent his tears from falling, comforted his brother by rubbing his back. Malsoon dabbed her tears with a tissue, blowing her nose before more tears fell, and she repeated the cycle.

You observed all this while standing in front of a gravestone a few rows away, which is why you brought two bouquets of flowers. How disrespectful would you be if you pretended to mourn for a random stranger without even bringing them an offering? In one hand, you had a bouquet of roses, and the other of white carnations.

You patiently waited for her family to leave, and Junho had to physically drag Inho away from the gravestone. “Inho, you’re going to get sick if you stay here for any longer! We can visit her again tomorrow!” You heard him yell.

“How the fuck can I leave her now?! I left her alone for a week, only to come back and find her dead! I can’t ever leave her again!” Inho screamed back, his anguish coating every word that left his mouth.

“Please, she wouldn’t want the two of you to fight!” Malsoon attempted to reason with them in between her own tears, and the two brothers quieted down with her interference.

As Inho hesitantly stood up and trudged away, mud soaking much of his clothing, Malsoon took his hand and guided him away. As Junho’s hand left his brother’s back, he glanced in your direction, and you quickly looked away, placing the roses on the gravestone in front of you. You prayed he wouldn’t find you suspicious. Did he realize you were watching them the whole time?

When they were finally out of sight, you walked over to Lacy’s gravestone, the mud beneath your feet coating the soles and sides of your boots. Inhaling deeply, you stared at the engraved letters for a moment, your eyes skimming through a few photo frames. In one, she held a bouquet while she smiled brightly at the camera, and in another, she sat on a small staircase with Inho as he grinned. She looked even more beautiful when she was healthy.

“I hate you,” you blurted out, placing the carnations on her gravestone.

No one mourns the wicked, but the wicked don’t mourn for the good either.

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