Gi-hun felt the cold weight of the arena once again, the familiar fear and desperation creeping up on him. The Squid Game had a way of clawing at you, even if you had survived once before. Now, he was back—on his own terms this time. After tracking down the recruiter and making sure he paid for his role in the game, Gi-hun managed to convince the Front Man to let him rejoin. But little did he know, the game had changed in ways he couldn’t have imagined.

As Gi-hun stood in line with the other contestants, waiting for the game to start, his eyes scanned the faces around him. They were just as terrified, just as desperate. The rules hadn’t changed, only the players. But then his gaze fell on one man, standing apart from the others. He was tall, with a sharp look in his eyes—far too calm for someone caught in a life-or-death game like this.

That man was Hwang In-ho, but Gi-hun didn’t know that. To him, he was just another player—another contestant to survive the game. What Gi-hun didn’t realize was that Hwang In-ho wasn’t just a contestant. He was the one pulling all the strings, the one who had controlled everything behind the scenes, and now he was playing the game himself.

Gi-hun couldn’t help but feel an odd sense of familiarity when he looked at the man. There was something about him that seemed out of place. His eyes, calculating and observant, never seemed to show fear like the others. His movements were confident, almost like he knew exactly what would happen next.

As the first game began, Red Light, Green Light, Gi-hun found himself running for his life, his heart racing as the doll turned its head and players were gunned down without mercy. But through the chaos, he saw Hwang In-ho again—moving with eerie precision, as if he knew exactly when to stop and when to run.

Gi-hun felt a cold sweat trickle down his spine. Why wasn’t he panicking like the others? It made no sense. The game was about survival, but Hwang In-ho seemed almost... in control.

That night, as the players returned to their dorms, Gi-hun couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. As he lay on his bunk, his mind raced with questions. Who was that man? Why did he seem so different from the others?

The next day, during the second game, Gi-hun found himself observing Hwang In-ho once again. The man was quiet, calculating, always one step ahead. Gi-hun tried to stay focused, but there was an itch in his mind—an overwhelming sense that Hwang In-ho was hiding something.

Later, when the players were separated for the night, Gi-hun couldn’t resist. He decided to approach Hwang In-ho, just to get a better read on him.

“Hey,” Gi-hun started, trying to sound casual as he stood near the man. “You’re… different from the others. What’s your deal?”

Hwang In-ho glanced over at Gi-hun, his expression unreadable. “Different?” he echoed, as if the word itself was foreign. He turned back to the wall, his posture still poised. “We’re all the same here, aren’t we?”

Gi-hun frowned. “I’m serious. You don’t act like the others. You don’t even seem afraid.”

Hwang In-ho’s lips curled slightly into a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Fear is just a tool. It doesn’t help to let it control you.”

Gi-hun studied him closely. He wanted to believe that Hwang In-ho was just another player, like him—caught in the game’s deadly trap. But there was something about him that didn’t add up. The way he stood, the way he observed everything with calm precision. It was almost like Hwang In-ho was playing a different game entirely.

“You’re just here to survive, right?” Gi-hun asked, his voice laced with suspicion.

Hwang In-ho didn’t answer right away. He simply stared at Gi-hun for a moment, his eyes cold. “We’re all here for the same thing, in the end.”

Gi-hun felt a chill run down his spine. “Yeah… to survive.”

The conversation ended there, but Gi-hun couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something important. He knew he had to stay focused—on surviving, on ending the game. But something told him that Hwang In-ho was far more dangerous than any of the other contestants.

The next few days passed in a blur of deadly challenges and growing tension. Gi-hun began to watch Hwang In-ho more closely. There were moments when he would see the man speaking with one of the guards, his posture rigid, his words measured.

It was only later, as Gi-hun uncovered more of the game’s inner workings, that he started putting the pieces together. The way the guards respected Hwang In-ho. The way he seemed to control the flow of the game without lifting a finger.

Gi-hun’s mind raced. Could it be?

But he couldn’t let himself believe it. Not yet. Hwang In-ho was just another player. He had to be.

Yet, deep inside, Gi-hun couldn’t shake the feeling that the man standing beside him was something far worse than just a contestant.

And soon, Gi-hun would discover the truth: the man who had been right next to him, the man he had trusted—was the very same one who had been controlling everything from the shadows all along.