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Jun-ho took tentative steps through the cemetery. Even though he knew exactly where he was going, he had no desire to reach his destination.
‘First, Sun-young. And now…’
His mind refused to finish the thought despite being poignantly aware of the new reality. Sun-young, his brother’s late wife, passed away tragically young from liver failure years ago.
Not only did In-ho lose his wife, but he also lost the baby girl she was carrying. The man hadn’t been at the hospital, but Jun-ho had been. Nobody knew In-ho’s whereabouts at the time. He just disappeared one day without returning any calls. He wasn’t at home or any of his old haunts. Jun-ho remembered their mom fearing the worst, that In-ho took his own life shortly after losing his job. Jun-ho still carried guilt over how he snapped at his mom back then, yelling how In-ho would never abandon them all like that.
One week later, and only three days after Sun-young and the baby left this world, In-ho returned a changed man. Jun-ho felt like he was looking at his brother and a stranger simultaneously. His brother always had a serious disposition, but something in his eyes looked different. At the time, Jun-ho attributed the haunted look to grief, though an underlying inkling told him that there was more to the story.
In-ho had always been a closed book to most. Both Jun-ho and Sun-young had the unique gift of being able to read him if they tried hard enough. However, after he came back after being missing, it was like the pages of his story were written in another language. Jun-ho wanted to know what happened more than anything, but In-ho retreated. Shortly after they put Sun-young to rest, and In-ho sold the house they built together, he disappeared again.
Now Jun-ho knew the truth, but it still wasn’t an easy pill to swallow. He knew In-ho had gone to that damn island to play those games that promised the winner 45.6 billion won. Those games—children’s games—appeared simple on the surface, but were, in fact, sick and twisted versions that resulted in the losers being gunned down, falling to the bottom of a red sea.
Nobody came out a winner—not even the victor of the games.
In-ho may have left that island with his life and the money, but he lost the man he once was. Jun-ho wanted to believe more than anything that remnants of the old In-ho still existed somewhere deep down.
After walking in the cemetery, he reached his destination. Right next to Sun-young’s resting place was In-ho’s. Jun-ho’s fingers carefully traced the letters of his brother’s name on the cold marble. He set two small bouquets in front of each grave.
“Hyung… Why?” Jun-ho whispered to himself.
Without realizing it, he had echoed the same words back in that moment where he came face-to-face with his brother on the edge of a cliff.
He had been cornered, and the masked man continued to advance on him. Jun-ho warned the man if he took another step forward that he’d shoot. He would use the last bullet and go out with a bang. If none of the evidence he gathered on his phone went through to the police, he would, at the very least, bring the monster down with him.
However, he always had a good heart. He became a cop to protect people—not kill people. He wanted to follow in his big brother’s footsteps. If he was forced to such extremes, he only protected himself in self-defense.
So, when he took the shot, he hit the masked man in the shoulder instead of anywhere lethal. The pink guards immediately raised their guns, but the masked man held up his hand, signifying that they all hold their fire.
“It’s over. Come with me,” the masked man said. Strangely, the words sounded more like a plea rather than a demand. He took ginger steps toward Jun-ho.
Jun-ho backed up. He now stood on the precipice of the cliff, one heel dangling over the edge. One more step back and he would fall. His hand trembled while holding his gun, the weapon now useless with its lack of bullets.
“Do as I say. That way, you live.”
When the masked man’s words shifted into something more demanding, Jun-ho lowered his gun. In that moment, he knew. Even though he still asked for the man’s identity, it was all so obvious to him now.
Before In-ho’s heart had frozen over, he used to say those very same words to his baby brother in jest. Usually, he told Jun-ho this whenever he had unfinished chores or needed to pick up his toys. Jun-ho never listened to him then. He went through rebellious phases. They never had much in the way of a father, and their mother worked hard to keep food on the table and a roof over their head, leaving much of the childcare to In-ho.
However, even when he was a brat, In-ho never retaliated with cruelty. If he punished Jun-ho, it was timeout with no TV, computer, or video games. He never laid a hand on him. When Jun-ho calmed down, In-ho would help him with the chore he asked him to do before the punishment.
“Why are you doing this?” Jun-ho asked with a pout. He only came up to In-ho’s knee in those days.
His older brother offered him a tiny smile. While small, it was true and reserved just for him. “It’s easier as a team,” In-ho answered. “If you need help, all you have to do is ask for it.”
Even when Jun-ho didn’t ask for help, In-ho readily offered it after the child endured one dialysis treatment for his failing kidney. Jun-ho still recalled how his heart leapt out of his chest and how his stomach was in knots when they went to the treatment center. In-ho held his hand the entire time. He couldn’t understand why he was sick when other kids his age got to have fun, laugh, and play.
He remembered the pain of the needles and how he sat endlessly in that chair while the treatment was underway. Every hour felt like an eternity, and not even his Super Mini Comboy could keep him entertained. In-ho tried to keep him occupied, too, with books and card games. Jun-ho felt tired after the treatment ended. He was so weak that In-ho carried him home in his arms.
When In-ho unmasked himself that day on the cliff, it confirmed how his big brother went down a dark road. He even beckoned Jun-ho to go down that road with him, holding out his hand. Jun-ho hesitated for a second or two, but he started to just barely shake his head in response. In-ho raised his gun with a trembling hand.
“Hyung, why—”
In-ho gave no verbal response to the question. Instead, he pulled the trigger, giving Jun-ho a matching shoulder wound. The fact made Jun-ho remember their matching kidney scars. It was his last thought before falling backwards off the cliff and plummeting into the ocean.
A year later he woke up in the hospital. When other cops asked what happened, he gave them the truth aside from omitting the most important detail—naming the mastermind of the games: Hwang In-ho. Maybe his brother had succeeded in planting a seed of wickedness in his heart that day he beckoned to him on the cliff. He never lied about anything that important before.
Even when Seong Gi-hun asked if he saw the masked man’s face, Jun-ho avoided the man’s eyes and lied. Seong Gi-hun, the man who was desperate to put a stop to that game once and for all. Even now, after it was all over, Jun-ho still carried the heavy weight of guilt from lying to Gi-hun and the authorities. The information could have possibly helped them avoid so much bloodshed, especially if they could have stopped that game before it began.
He hoped he wasn’t truly wicked. He only lied to protect In-ho. His big brother always protected him in the past. Even after In-ho shot him, Jun-ho later learned how the man who saved him, Captain Park, was just another one of his brother’s obedient dogs. Ironically, In-ho was still trying to protect him, too, even after the confrontation on the cliff.
Ultimately, Jun-ho couldn’t protect In-ho. His brother refused to let himself be saved.
Jun-ho tried to imagine what went through his brother’s head in those final moments back on the island. In the end, it was Jun-ho, Gi-hun, No-eul, and Geum-ja with the late Jun-hee’s baby girl in her arms.
“Hyung, come with us,” Jun-ho plead.
In-ho, unmasked, shook his head. “I made my choice.”
The rest of the party had already escaped, but Gi-hun lingered, his eyes on Jun-ho. He avoided looking at In-ho. “Let’s go.”
Jun-ho knew he should listen to Gi-hun. They only had minutes until the bomb went off—the one that would destroy the main facility where they held that game. In perhaps what could be seen as an act of redemption, In-ho had started the destruction sequence for them.
The Hwang brothers stared into each other’s eyes one more time. Jun-ho could still see the love he had for his brother reflected back at him.
“Jun-ho… I’m sorry,” In-ho said, his voice just barely above a whisper.
Those three words made tears well up in Jun-ho’s eyes. “Don’t apologize. Just—just come on.” This time he reached out his hand to his brother, hoping he’d come to his senses and take it and leave this awful place and the man he became behind.
“I can’t,” In-ho stated firmly. “Like I said, I made my choice. I can’t leave. It wouldn’t be fair.”
Jun-ho blinked, and hot tears streamed down his cheeks. One choked sob escaped him before he could stop it. “I don’t understand. Wh-Why can’t you just let me save you? Just… Just this once?”
That tiny smile he reserved only for Jun-ho twitched onto In-ho’s lips. Traces of sadness appeared in his dark eyes. “What kind of big brother would I be if I allowed that?” He paused for a moment and shook his head. “Go on, Jun-ho. Now.”
“Goodbye, hyung.”
Even though it broke him, Jun-ho tore his gaze away from In-ho. Fate told him his story didn’t end here with In-ho, though a small part of him wanted it to. He couldn’t imagine living the rest of his life without his big brother, who had been in his world from the very beginning.
But he had to. While In-ho made his choice, in many ways Jun-ho felt like he had no choice.
He and Gi-hun fled the facility with only seconds to spare. Right as they made it to safety, that game ended for good in a fiery explosion. Jun-ho swallowed hard as he imagined In-ho going with it, watching the orange and red glow of the flames and the smoke billow up into the air.
News of that game made headlines all over South Korea and the rest of the world. The games held in other countries were exposed and shut down. Gi-hun had won, and In-ho had lost. However, for whatever reason, Gi-hun also kept Hwang In-ho’s name out of the news reports.
Jun-ho told his mother how he found his brother and how he died a hero.
Back in the present, Jun-ho put his hand on In-ho’s grave, feeling the marble’s cold touch in full this time. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand,” he murmured.
Because of the explosion, there weren’t any remains. However, a careful man like In-ho purchased his plot next to Sun-young’s shortly after her death. It gave them a proper place to mourn. They even held a funeral. All the men who used to work with In-ho on the force offered their sincerest condolences. Even with the scandal of the bribe that led to him losing his job, they only spoke fondly of In-ho now that he was gone.
At the very least, Jun-ho managed to save his brother’s reputation.
With a heavy heart, he straightened up. He stared at the pictures of In-ho and Sun-young from a better time. He hoped the two of them, as well as their daughter, were all together again in the next life.
Jun-ho departed the cemetery and left for home.
Upon reaching home, he grabbed his mail mechanically before heading inside. He sorted through it while standing at the kitchen counter. Most of it was junk and bills, but one postcard with the Golden Gate Bridge stood out to him. He flipped it over, finding a message written in Korean on the back. It read:
Jun-ho,
Sorry for your loss. While I never really knew your brother, I think I saw a glimpse of who he once was. It’s a shame no one could help him. Still, I can tell he loved you very much and was proud of you. I hope that comforts you.
I made it to America. San Francisco has been a breath of fresh air after what we’ve been through. My daughter is growing up fast. I’m glad she still remembers me and forgives my bad communication. My ex-wife let me have special visitation. We are going to travel more around California, and I will take my daughter to Disneyland.
Wishing you well. If you need me, you have my number. I will be home next Friday.
Seong Gi-hun
Misty-eyed, Jun-ho hung the postcard on the fridge with a bittersweet smile on his lips.
Now that it was all over, Gi-hun had no obligation to keep in touch with him. However, the man seemed like he’d always have a vested interest in the game’s survivors and all the individuals who helped him take it down. Jun-ho respected him for that.
He would give Gi-hun a call once he returned to South Korea. Maybe they could share a bottle of soju together.
For now, he sat alone on the couch. An old picture album his mom gifted him the last time he visited her rested on his coffee table.
He picked it up and opened it. The album began with baby pictures of him. In some he was alone, but in others family and friends held him. His father wasn’t in any of the photos. In-ho, however, was. He held him the day he was born. Jun-ho swallowed hard around a lump in his throat.
In-ho was there all throughout his childhood—in both big and small moments. His first birthday, a trip to Seoul Zoo, a random Sunday fishing, his elementary school graduation. He stayed throughout the years. Even when his mother wasn’t home, In-ho was. He somehow always arranged his schedule around Jun-ho’s, uncompromising in every job he worked.
Jun-ho kept thumbing through the pages of the photo album, looking at photos from adolescence to adulthood. He saw one from a trip to Jeju Island. In-ho, Sun-young, and Jun-ho stood together on the beach smiling. Sun-young asked a kind passerby to take the photo of the three of them. They all got along well.
There were beautiful photos of In-ho’s wedding following the Jeju Island trip. Jun-ho had been his best man.
In-ho only tapered off with his daily presence when Jun-ho became a young man and went to college, but they always made a point to get together once a week.
They kept this schedule for years; In-ho loved schedules. They managed in the busiest of times. When Sun-young got sick, the trio banded together. Both brothers spent most of their time with the ailing woman in the hospital. When visiting hours were over, Jun-ho always went home with In-ho.
The brothers were in each other’s lives until that game made him disappear.
Sun-young’s last words had been: “Jun-ho… Where… Is… In-ho?”
Jun-ho shut the photo album. He had no good answer to give his brother’s wife. At the time, all he could do was say, “I don’t know, nuna. He—He’s not answering his phone. I’m sorry.”
She shut her eyes for good after that. Jun-ho held her hand and felt it go limp. The whole hospital room went cold moments after she passed. Jun-ho liked to think it was Sun-young’s soul leaving her body and beginning her journey to the afterlife.
Setting the photo album down, Jun-ho wiped away the stray tears with the back of his hand. By in large, the In-ho he and Sun-young knew may have died the moment he returned from that game. But the way In-ho spoke with him at the end told Jun-ho that some part of the old In-ho had managed to survive, even in the cold and callous form of the masked man.
If he didn’t, he wouldn’t have pushed the button to ignite the bomb.
“Dammit, hyung,” Jun-ho muttered under his breath. He allowed himself to cry as all the memories consumed him.
Everything about the man—the good and the bad—were forever etched into Jun-ho’s heart. To those who played the game, he was a monster. A survivor like Gi-hun would never mourn him. But, to Jun-ho, he wasn’t just a monster. He was his big brother.
As he calmed down, he realized his mother had called him. Jun-ho listened to her voicemail. She was having trouble working her TV and made too much food, so she wanted him to come over for dinner. He managed a pained smile, welcoming any distraction at this point.
He went to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. Then he returned her call, knowing she was a terrible texter. He promised to be there in fifteen minutes.
All Jun-ho could do was go on.