Okay so I canāt stop thinking about this Inho Whump headcanon (457 + VIP warning)
The VIP quarters are directly connected to the Frontmanās. No guards between them. No cameras. No locks. Just a private hall, intentionally designed for easy accessāstraight from the guests to Inho. Itās something we, the audience, are shown in the first season. Itās deliberate. Itās not about convenience. Itās has to be about ownership.
The message is clear: the Front Man is available to them. When they want. How they want.
Gihun doesnāt know any of this. Not yet.
So fast-forward to the second rebellionāthis time it works. The games collapse. The players rise up. Systems are torn down piece by piece. And Gihun gets lucky. He tracks down Inho before anyone else does, makes it into his private quartersāalone.
Heās expecting a confrontation. A power play. Maybe even some smug final words. Heās got a gun in hand and a thousand accusations on his tongue. He bursts in, ready to deliver all of them. Heās ready to drag him out, hold him at gunpoint, interrogate him, whatever.
But what hits first is how quiet the room is. The mask is on the nightstand. Inhoās half asleep, lying on his side in bed. No guards, no escape plan. Justā¦ a man. For a second, Gi-hun falters, but then he raises the gun and yellsāsomething like āDonāt moveā or āGet up.ā
And Inho shatters.
Not like someone caught. Like someone reliving something.
He jerks awake with a choked gasp, eyes wide but unfocused, pupils blown and dartingānot seeing Gihun. Not recognizing anything. His whole body seizes up, then folds in on itself like heās trying to disappear. His hands go upānot to fight, but to shield his face, his head, his chest. He scrambles backward into the corner of the bed, legs pulled to his chest, trembling so hard the mattress shakes.
And then he starts talkingāno, begging
āPlease not tonight. I was good last time, I didnāt fightāplease not again. I canāt. It hurts, it hurts so muchāā
Gi-hun justā¦ freezes. The gun lowers slightly, his mouth open but no words come out. He doesnāt know what heās seeing. At first he thinks itās another performance, another twisted act meant to deceive himābut then Inhoās voice cracks. And then he says something Gi-hun canāt unhear.
āI did what he asked, I didnāt say no, I didnāt bite. I wonāt cry this time. Just please not againāā
Thatās when it hits Gihun.
Not all at once. Slowly. Like watching someone bleed out and not realising until the redās all over your hands. Gi-hun looks at Inhoāat how small heās made himself, at the way heās covering his head, the way he flinches at even the slightest shift. And he realisesā
The connected rooms.
This pitiful, desperate script spilling from Inhoās mouth like itās been rehearsed through tears and pain and blood. Like heās learned how to beg.
Itās not guilt. Itās not remorse. Itās terror. Conditioned, helpless terror.
This isnāt some power-hungry mastermind. This is a man whoās been violated so thoroughly he doesnāt even recognise when someoneās pointing a gun at him anymoreābecause the nights that came before were worse.
Gihunās stomach flips. Something cold and foul coils in his chest. He thought he was coming here for vengeance. Thought heād get the satisfaction of seeing Inho afraid. But this?
This is something else.
This is sick.
And now heās just standing there, gun lowered, heart pounding, face burning with rage he doesnāt even know where to aim anymore.
Because how the hell do you punish a man whoās already been through this?
