Squid Game Au - Blog Posts

The edge of trust

The final round of the game was approaching. The weight of it all felt suffocating. You had watched, helpless and horrified, as the other players fought tooth and nail to survive. Choi Subong (Player 230) was among the few still standing. His cold demeanor and ruthless tactics had earned him a reputation. He wasn’t like the others. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t falter.

But you hated him.

The way he schemed. The way he used others to get ahead. Every time you saw his calculating gaze or heard the smooth way he manipulated the others, it made your blood boil. He was nothing but a coward in disguise—a man who would sell his soul for a chance at survival.

And yet, here you were. The game had a way of testing everything, even your will to hate. You were down to the final handful of players, and you couldn’t afford to take your eyes off him.

The confrontation came on a cold, dark night.

You were on the verge of giving up—completely alone in the cold concrete space, trying to think of some way to survive. But when you turned the corner, there he was.

Choi Subong. His dark eyes narrowed as he saw you.

"You," you hissed, stepping back instinctively. Your heart raced in your chest, pounding against your ribs.

He said nothing at first. Just studied you, as if deciding whether to speak or simply do what he always did: use his power over others to break them. But then, after a long, tense silence, he spoke.

"You should have stayed out of my way, Y/N."

You clenched your fists, fighting the urge to shout at him. "I’m not the one who’s been playing dirty," you shot back, voice trembling with rage. "It’s you. You’ve lied, cheated, manipulated everyone. How do you live with yourself?"

His expression remained unreadable, but his jaw tightened ever so slightly. "You don’t understand," he said, his voice low, almost defeated. "We all have to do what we must to survive. You think I wanted this? You think anyone here wanted to play this game?"

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. For a split second, you saw something in his eyes. A flicker of humanity—something you’d never thought you’d see in a man like him.

"You’re just like the rest of us," you said, softer now. "You’re scared. Just like everyone else."

For a moment, it felt like time had stopped. You were both standing in the cold, staring at each other, two broken souls caught in a deadly game that offered no escape.

Then, without warning, Subong took a step closer. Your breath caught in your throat, but you didn’t back away. "If I’m going to survive this," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "I need someone I can trust."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "Trust? After everything you’ve done?"

"After everything we have done?" he shot back. "What makes you any different?"

The realization hit you hard. You weren’t any better than him. You’d made your choices, too. You’d done things to survive. You'd used your own cunning, your own desperation. And that made you just as trapped as he was.

His gaze softened for a moment, and it almost looked like he was trying to apologize. But it was gone before you could catch it.

The next round was brutal.

You worked together, not out of trust, but out of necessity. It was a strange, fragile alliance formed in the heat of desperation. But in that cold, deadly space, there was something between you—a connection that neither of you could explain.

As the night wore on, something shifted. Maybe it was the way he protected you during a critical moment, or maybe it was the quiet understanding between you when everything else was falling apart. But as the game drew to its end, you realized something you never thought possible.

You weren’t enemies anymore.

The final round came, and there was no turning back. The final test. The last chance to make it out alive.

You and Subong stood side by side, facing the ultimate challenge. And in that moment, despite everything that had happened, you understood—he wasn’t just a player. He wasn’t just an enemy. He was a part of your fight to survive. A part of your twisted, broken partnership.

You met his gaze, your heart pounding. "Are you ready?"

For the first time, there was no distance between you. No distrust. No hatred. Just two players who had been through hell together.

"Let’s finish this," he said, his voice steady.

And somehow, despite everything, you believed him.

Stop, because this has actually taken over my mind.

I imagine Gi-hun as a divorced, gambling-addicted cleaner at the opera house, living there while his daughter trains in ballet at the dormitory. He’s worked there for years, long enough to start believing in the so-called Front Man—especially since said ghost has been giving him impromptu singing lessons.

Gi-hun can’t deny that ever since the Front Man took an interest in him, most of his gambling debts have been conveniently forgotten by those he owed them to. Some creditors have even mysteriously disappeared.

One day, disaster strikes. The prima donna refuses to sing after yet another sabotage by the opera ghost—this time, right in front of the new owner of the opera house, the Recruiter. To make matters worse, a new benefactor has arrived: Cho Sang-woo.

Gi-hun’s childhood best friend.

Sang-woo doesn’t recognize Gi-hun at first—just a cleaner on stage, sweeping up the aftermath of yet another accident. But when it becomes clear that the opera will have to cancel its performance (and refund an audience they can’t afford to lose), Jung-bae, the stage manage who got Gi-hun the job years ago, makes an outrageous suggestion: let Gi-hun sing.

Gi-hun nearly spits out his drink. Everyone laughs. The idea is ridiculous. Him? The starring role?

But then—he sings.

And the laughter stops.

Before he can protest, the costumers are hauling him backstage, fitting him into elaborate robes, combing his hair, shaving his face. By the time he looks in the mirror, he barely recognizes himself. He isn’t just a cleaner anymore.

That night, as Gi-hun steps onto the stage, Sang-woo recognizes the voice before he recognizes the man. The performance stuns the audience, and afterward, Sang-woo finds Gi-hun in his dressing room, inviting him to dinner. The invitation feels surreal—too fine, too polished. The luxury, the crisp new clothes—it’s everything Gi-hun ever wanted.

But something about it feels wrong.

Later, a letter arrives. Not from Sang-woo.

From the Front Man, the opera ghost.

The signature?

A symbol.

〇△□

Before Gi-hun can make sense of it, he is summoned.

This time, not to the stage.

To the depths beneath the opera house.

Where the Front Man waits.

i dont know if this is too niche but then again tumblr never fails to surprise me so… hear me out on this????? i???? kinda need to write this au asap because the poto dynamic with 457 is actually crazy

the phantom is the og masked yearner i fear… he walked so inho could run

also the idea of the phantom (inho) being shorter than christine (gihun) has me giggling a little icl