The Ghost in the Machine

The city felt colder now.

Even with millions in his account, Gi-hun felt emptier than he ever had before. The suitcase of cash sat untouched in the corner of his apartment, its weight more suffocating than liberating. He hadn't touched a single bill.

All he could see, every time he closed his eyes, was In-ho's face-bloodied, broken, yet smiling as he died in his arms.

He had won the game, but lost the only person who made it worth surviving.

Weeks passed.

He avoided the press, the phone calls, even his own reflection. The world outside moved on, but Gi-hun stayed frozen in that moment. In the final game. The kiss. The knife. The silence.

Until one night-everything changed.

It was just after midnight when he heard it. A faint knock at his door. He didn't expect visitors. No one knew he was here. He moved slowly, cautiously, and peeked through the peephole.

Nobody.

Just a small envelope taped to the outside.

He snatched it and slammed the door shut, locking every bolt. With shaky fingers, he tore it open.

Inside was a single photograph.

A surveillance still.

In-ho.

Alive.

He was walking through a dim hallway, face bruised but intact. Behind him, masked men trailed closely, almost protectively. In the corner of the photo, a timestamp. From just five days ago.

Gi-hun's heart almost stopped.

"This can't be real..." he whispered, clutching the photo. "You... you died."

But he knew the truth in his bones. He hadn't checked for a pulse. He had just held him, screamed, and cried like a fool. What if it had all been staged? What if...

Suddenly, the pain twisted into something sharper-hope.

---

The next morning, Gi-hun booked a one-way ticket to Jeju Island, the place where the old Squid Game facility had supposedly burned down a decade ago. But whispers in the dark corners of the internet hinted it had simply moved. Some spoke of secret tunnels, hidden codes, and games still ongoing for the rich.

Gi-hun wanted in.

But to do that, he had to think like them.

He shaved his beard, got a new haircut, dressed in a sleek suit, and forged an identity: a fake millionaire, a Silicon Valley dropout eager to "invest in games for the rich." It was dangerous, but he didn't care. If it brought him to In-ho, he'd sell his soul.

---

A week later, he was invited to a private party hosted at an estate deep in the Korean countryside-exclusive, luxurious, and surrounded by discreet armed guards.

This had to be it.

As Gi-hun stepped out of the black car, masked attendants greeted him. A woman in a red dress approached with a tablet.

"Mr. Yoon, welcome," she said smoothly. "We hear you have... special interests. Would you care to join the demonstration tonight?"

Gi-hun gave a small nod. "I want to see something no one else has seen."

The woman's smile was thin. "You will."

---

Inside the estate, everything screamed decadence-marble floors, velvet curtains, golden wine glasses. But beneath the surface, the air was tense. People laughed, drank, gambled, but their eyes were sharp. Everyone here was watching each other.

He kept his head low and wandered the corridors.

Then he saw it-a security door, slightly ajar.

With his heart pounding, Gi-hun slipped inside.

A control room.

Dozens of screens showed camera feeds. Players in green tracksuits. Guards in red. VIP lounges. It was all still happening.

And then-one screen flickered to life.

Room #7.

Gi-hun's breath caught in his throat.

In-ho.

No mask. Dressed in black. Standing alone, his back to the camera. His hands were clenched into fists. A guard entered, saluted him. In-ho turned slightly, revealing his face.

He was alive.

Alive, and working.

The screen blurred, zoomed in. Gi-hun could see the scar over In-ho's chest-where he'd stabbed himself. A clean, healed line now. His eyes were tired, colder.

Different.

Gi-hun's heart shattered all over again.

What had they done to him?

What had he become?

---

Suddenly, the door behind him slammed shut.

Gi-hun spun around-but it was too late.

Two guards stormed in and grabbed him, slamming him against the console.

"Visitor 61 has breached the control room," one barked into a radio. "Awaiting orders."

A pause. Then a voice crackled over the speaker.

Cold.

Commanding.

"Bring him to me."

Gi-hun recognized the voice instantly.

In-ho.

---

An hour later, Gi-hun sat in a dark cell, wrists bound. His heart was thudding, mind spinning.

He heard footsteps outside.

A figure entered.

Black boots. Black gloves. Black coat.

The man removed his mask.

In-ho.

Their eyes locked.

No words.

Just silence.

And in that silence, Gi-hun's emotions roared-rage, heartbreak, betrayal, longing.

"I saw you die," he whispered.

"I let you believe I did," In-ho replied flatly. "You were never supposed to follow me here."

Gi-hun stood, eyes blazing. "And yet here we are. You're still playing their game."

"I'm not playing," In-ho said quietly. "I'm running it."

Gi-hun felt like he had been stabbed again.

In-ho stepped forward. "You should've stayed out."

Gi-hun clenched his jaw. "You think I could? After what we-what you-left behind?"

Another step. The air between them sparked with tension.

"You should hate me," In-ho said softly.

"I do," Gi-hun growled. "But I still want to save you."

For a moment, In-ho's cold mask cracked-just slightly. Pain flashed in his eyes.

Then he turned away.

"You'll be gone by morning."

But before he left the cell, he paused in the doorway. Without turning back, he spoke again.

"There's another game starting tomorrow. If you stay... you'll be a player again. And I can't protect you."

The door slammed shut.

Gi-hun stood there, trembling.

But a fire had reignited inside him.

If In-ho wouldn't leave, he'd win the game again-this time, not for the money. But for him.

---

Hey bestie, I know that ending hit hard, right?

Gi-hun's going feral for love and honestly, same.

If you thought the games were over-think again.

Grab your snacks, 'cause Chapter 11 is about to get wild.

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