No Clean Hands

In-ho never expected to survive the Games. He expected to die like the rest-reduced to nothing more than a number in a cruel experiment, his body discarded, his name erased. Instead, he emerged as the winner of the 2015 Squid Game, drowning in blood-stained riches that felt more like a curse than a prize.

Then the offer came. A way to disappear. A way to belong to something again.

The masked man who found him didn't need to say much. In-ho already knew there was no true freedom after winning. Whether it was the weight of the debt that had led him there, or the blood now permanently staining his hands, he understood: once you entered the Game, you never truly left.

So he put the mask on.

Life as a guard was easier than life as a winner. No choices, no regrets. Just orders, obedience, and the quiet relief of anonymity. No one knew who he was beneath the mask, and that was the closest thing to peace he could hope for.

Until a name from another life walked through the gates.

//

wanted to write something for them,, pre 'friend or foe', cant promise I wont make them make out once or twice oops