Chapter Text
"We are not horses."
—We are humans.
…
—And humans are...
good, bad, despicable?
That question would never have a correct answer. With that in mind, Gi-hun took a step back, letting all his weight drift away.
He was not afraid. Not anymore. Death whispered in his ear with a warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time.
His thoughts wandered as he fell. What would his mother or daughter think of him? He was never a good son, nor a good father. All the mistakes he had made slid through his mind.
Perhaps, if he hadn’t been addicted to gambling, he would never have separated from his wife. Maybe they would even be a happy family. If he had had a good job, maybe he could have helped Sang-woo with his financial problems or lent some money to Jung-bae.
His mother wouldn’t have died alone at home, with no one to accompany her in her final moments. And his daughter wouldn’t be on the other side of the world, with someone else as a father figure.
He hated himself completely. He had returned to the games with a single mission: to end them so they would stop using people as racehorses. However, the ending was identical to the previous game: all dead, 455 dreams and hopes vanished.
His mind twisted recalling Young-il, and how stupid he felt upon discovering the betrayal of his supposed friend.
Young-il had shown support and warmth during the last days, lifting not only his spirits but the entire team’s. He spoke with Jung-bae as if they had known each other for years, gave advice to Jun-hee about raising her baby, supported Dae-ho when he was down, and was always there for Gi-hun, even telling him about his supposed sick wife and unborn child.
Was that true? How much of that story was real? Was it another tactic by the leader to get into his mind and destroy him from the deepest part of his being?
When he was called before the leader, Gi-hun thought he could face anything. However, when he saw the face of someone who was supposed to be dead, he couldn’t think clearly.
There, sitting in front of him, was the killer of his best friend.
He handed Gi-hun a knife with the excuse of killing the other players so that he and the baby could get out safely.
Rage consumed him inside. He could kill the leader, end the person who had occupied his thoughts for years. However, as he took the knife and pointed it directly at the leader, Gi-hun hesitated.
He had never felt so pathetic.
Before, he had ended Dae-ho’s life as if burning a leaf, without hesitation. He had blamed him for something that wasn’t his fault and destroyed him without remorse.
But now, facing the true cause of all that pain, he hesitated. The knife trembled in his hands, and a knot of nausea seized his stomach.
He wanted to vomit all that weight he carried inside.
The blow to the ground was brutal, as if the whole world crushed him. His vision darkened, a black veil covered his consciousness. Blood filled his lungs and the air became an impossible enemy to reach. He couldn’t cough, couldn’t fight. He could only surrender to the darkness that embraced him with cold and silence.
He lay there, without pain or regret, because he knew he had done the right thing. His soul was ready to leave, to reunite with his mother, with those who once gave him light in the darkness.
But just when nothingness seemed to consume him, he felt soft and warm hands gently rest on his skin. Like a whisper of calm and love, those hands wrapped him in an invisible embrace, while other hands lifted him in the darkness, filling the void with tenderness and hope.
A familiar, sweet and soft voice broke the silence with a whisper full of promises:
— “It’s not your time yet.”
And in that instant, he surrendered to stillness, while the world faded around him.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________
The pain Gi-hun felt was not new, but this time it was different: it was not just a sting, but an overwhelming heaviness, an unbearable burden that sank him without letting him breathe.
He could feel the cold bed beneath his body, but the heaviness was so intense he couldn’t even open his eyes.
Around him, distant voices mixed into a strange murmur, a strange language, almost incomprehensible, tormenting him with echoes of confusion. Flashes of light pierced him like daggers, making his head throb to the edge of madness.
And then, he gave up. His senses faded and he fell into a deep sleep, a momentary escape from that storm.
When he came to, the blow of reality was brutal. He didn’t know where he was, he only understood that he was in a hospital.
The truth hit him like a punch: there was no escape. The leader, that shadow that had relentlessly pursued him, wouldn’t let him go so easily. He was his most precious “racehorse,” and he was trapped.
The pain in his head intensified, accompanied by dizziness that churned his stomach until nausea invaded his body.
Suddenly, the nurse in the room rushed at him, words of congratulations surrounded him, apparently he had woken from a coma — or so he understood, because she spoke in English, a language he only partly mastered.
He had tried to learn English to get closer to his daughter, to look for a new life with her in the United States, but he barely knew the basics, scattered words that now failed to comfort him.
And when he heard her call him “Adams,” a name that didn’t belong to him, confusion completely enveloped him.
He cleared his throat and tried to speak.
— Excuse me, but my name is not— His voice broke; it sounded unrecognizable, like something foreign that did not belong to him. He cleared his throat again and tried a second time, but the result didn’t change: his voice was no longer the same, it was completely different.
— Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Adams — the nurse said — It’s normal to have a hoarse voice after a coma. You are very lucky; thank God, the impact you suffered during your car accident didn’t damage vital organs. — She smiled at Gi-hun — Also, the person who hit you had the decency to pay all damages, even your recovery here in this hospital.
Gi-hun went blank. Car accident? What the hell was that nurse talking about?
The pain in his head intensified and he began rubbing his hands with discomfort, but stopped abruptly. He felt the absence of something. Without lowering his gaze, he rubbed his hands more carefully; he couldn’t feel it. He lowered his gaze.
His scar was not there.
Panic took hold of him. He quickly pulled the sheets off his body and lifted the gown covering him. The nurse screamed in surprise and looked away, embarrassed. However, Gi-hun didn’t care because he had noticed that the scar Myung-gi had made on his side during their struggle was also gone. His side was clean, without a single mark, only multiple bruises he didn’t remember having.
Gi-hun quickly got out of bed.
— A mirror — he murmured — I need a damn mirror.
The nurse approached him with her hands raised trying to calm him down.
— Mr. Adams, I need you to calm down.
— Don’t call me that — Gi-hun’s voice came out dryer than he intended — I need a mirror.
Gi-hun approached the exit and the nurse blocked his way.
She tried to immobilize him, but Gi-hun slipped quickly to the side and stumbled out of the room.
— Stop right there! — shouted the nurse, while calling her coworkers.
In seconds, the hospital became a chaotic scene: nurses running here and there, bumping into medicine carts, shouting orders without much coordination.
Gi-hun zigzagged through hallways, knocking down a plant here, almost crashing into a cart full of syringes there, while several nurses tried to block him but ended tangled among themselves or crashing against walls.
A couple of nurses threw themselves to the ground trying to catch him, but Gi-hun made a clumsy jump and shot towards one of the hospital bathrooms.
Once inside, Gi-hun blocked the bathroom door with one of the cleaning brooms. From outside, the nurses banged against the wood, demanding he come out.
When he was sure the door wouldn’t give way, he sighed deeply and closed his eyes, letting the dizziness caused by the chase take over him for a moment.
He slowly approached the sink and splashed cold water on his face, letting that coldness filter through his skin, trying to anchor him to reality.
But when he opened his eyes and looked up at the mirror, he froze.
Because he couldn’t recognize the person staring back at him in the reflection.