you don’t get to judge me. i’m doing the best i can. — @033mg
the hours left in his wake all blur as one — hands wrapped around faulty father surrogate's neck until the struggle stops, warmth of infantile form held against his body through the unrelenting demand of jump rope, crystalline tears cascading down jun-hee's cheeks as she begged and pleaded for him to protect her daughter. if there is any purpose to his miserable life, it is this. animated corpse walking the earth catatonic, offspring pressed into his chest as the last lifeline tethering him to humanity. he must protect this child. that much is evident. dressed in the finalist's suit, adorned like a doll in the hands of the game: he cares not what is done to his physical form, so long as the bulk of his arms can carry the baby to safety. he looks to her, so tiny in his hold, scrutinizes her delicate features, and is almost moved to emotion by the thought that jun-hee never had the chance to name her own child.
sky squid game plays out as it must, and dae-ho watches taciturn as player after player plummet to the flooring below. avaricious scum attempts to part him from the infant, staking the claim that the innocent's life was worth the won wagered on her participation. naturally, he does not let up, staring daggers into jeong-dae's band of lackeys and their impudent insistence upon extraneous wealth to line their pockets. sickening. he attempts not to reason with the detractors, regarding them as little more than soulless roaches with the repulsive desire to harm an infant / no tears are shed when the collision of their bodies against flooring below reverberates through the stadium. numbers dwindle, and soon it is only he and myung-gi that remain.
isn't it funny ? how unworthy opponent thinks himself as bathed in the coruscating light of fortune ? to go untouched by scorn and judgment as one because of a meager attempt ? if dae-ho were still capable of releasing emotions onto the stoic stone of his countenance, perhaps he would laugh. first there is grief laid atop his visage, a solemn goodbye to every life he has loved and lost within the walls of the games. then there is anger, visceral rage at blame placed onto him even after the scrape of his good intentions. then, it all fizzles into one; his eyelid twitches, and he steps away from myung-gi. one step, two. enough to put distance between them without lingering near the platform's edge.
❛❛ don't — don't come any closer. ❜❜ he has firsthand bore witness to what his opponent was capable of, adversary after adversary eliminated in cold blood to progress the rounds onward. perhaps it was what those bastards deserved — callous, but wasn't it what they all deserved for trying to sentence an innocent child to death ? he couldn't care less. ❛❛ i fucking mean it. you're not gonna touch her. ❜❜
