Chapter Thirty Eight: Mercy And Madness
Pairing: Dark!Inho (Frontman) x Fem!Reader (y/n)
Fandom: Squid Game (오징어 게임)
Summary: A week passes, and Y/n begins settling into the strange routine of pregnancy under Inho’s watch. Though he becomes unexpectedly soft, doting, and protective, she remains haunted by fear—fear of the island, the games, and the future of their child.
Warnings: Emotional turmoil. Intense arguments. Pregnancy stress. Violence and death (Squid Game elements) Power imbalance.
Author's Note: Is y/n going to escape again? Tell me what y'all think.
Tag list: Lemme know if you want to get tagged.
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Y/n blinked awake, her lashes fluttering. The first thing she registered was not fear, not confusion—but the warm aroma of food.
Soft, gentle… nothing like this place.
She turned her head and found a tray of healthy breakfast—porridge, fruit slices arranged neatly, warm tea. And sitting on the edge of the bed, facing her as if he hadn't looked away even once.
His posture perfect, his maskless face strangely soft, eyes tracing every movement she made.
“Good morning” he murmured. “How are you feeling? You… and our baby?”
Y/n couldn’t help the small breathy chuckle that escaped her.
“Inho… our baby is probably the size of a dot right now.”
His expression didn’t change—still intense, still frighteningly sincere.
“A dot.” he said, voice low, “but my dot. Our dot. My child.”
He reached forward, brushing her hair off her forehead as if she were made of glass.
“Size doesn’t matter. They’re already everything.”
Her heart tightened. Softness didn’t suit this place, and yet he wore it so perfectly it made her chest ache.
“Inho… what’s happening with the games?”
Her voice was cautious, testing.
For the first time all morning, something dark flickered behind his eyes—just a shadow, quickly swallowed.
“I haven’t been paying attention,” he admitted. “I paused everything for the past week.”
Then he reached out and rested a hand on her stomach—barely touching, almost reverent.
“I was focused on you. On our future.”
“But today,” Inho continued quietly, “the players will resume. They’re going to play a game.”
The room felt colder instantly.
Y/n rubbed her fingers together under the blanket, grounding herself.
A week of softness from a man made of stone.
A week of safety that didn’t belong to this island.
And now reality was creeping back in.
The metallic hum of machinery filled the surveillance chamber — a wide, cold room where every wall was a screen. Hundreds of angles. Hundreds of lives.
All dancing on strings pulled by one man.
Inho sat alone in the center of it.
His throne was a black leather couch, the kind that swallowed sound. A glass of whiskey rested between his fingers, amber light reflecting off the giant screen in front of him.
Soft classical music played in the background — haunting, almost elegant. A tune he always used when watching death unfold.
On the screen, players were playing Keys and Knives.
Fear, sweat, betrayal — all beneath his calm gaze.
This was the Inho the island knew.
The one without softness.
The one who only stopped being a monster when she was near.
He didn’t turn, but his voice softened instantly.
“Y/n. Are you okay? Do you need anything?”
She walked into the dim light, eyes adjusting to the huge screen, to the maze of chaos displayed before her.
“No, I just…” She gave a small, tired exhale.
“I’m tired of lying in bed all day.”
Before he could respond, movement on the center screen caught her attention.
Tired. Exhausted. Barely standing.
Her heart dropped into her stomach.
“Gihun…” she whispered, voice cracking.
Inho heard the name and his jaw locked so hard it ticked. Like a crack forming in marble.
He didn’t like that tone. He didn’t like the way her eyes glistened for another man. He didn’t like the way she whispered Gihun’s name like a prayer.
“Y/n.” His voice turned sharp, slicing cleanly through the music. “Go back.”
She didn’t even hear him.
Her entire body leaned closer to the screen, eyes shaking, breath trembling as she watched Gihun fight for his life.
He set the whiskey down too hard—glass slamming on wood.
He stood, walked toward her, grabbed her chin gently but firmly, forcing her to look at him.
She shook her head, stubbornness burning through fear.
“I want to see them” she said. “I want to know what’s happening downstairs.”
His nostrils flared, but he controlled himself.
“You shouldn’t watch this.” His voice lowered, steady but threaded with warning.
“You’re pregnant. These games aren’t meant for—”
“But living with a man who runs all this is fine?” She snapped without thinking.
The kind of silence that feels like something breaking.
His eyes widened — not with anger first, but with hurt.
Like she had stabbed the last soft part of him.
His hands slowly dropped from her face. His fists curled at his sides, knuckles turning white.
Y/n’s stomach twisted with regret.“Inho—no, I didn’t mean it—”
“You still see me as a monster” he said quietly.
She stepped closer, cupping his jaw with trembling hands.
“That’s not true,” she whispered, and leaned up to kiss him — a soft peck on his lips, gentle, pleading.
But Inho didn’t kiss her back.
Like he was trying to understand why the only person he ever loved could still fear him.
“Inho, please…” She swallowed hard. “Let me watch. Just… let me see what’s happening.”
His breath hitched. Between jealousy, fear of losing control, and love so violent it hurt him.
The screens kept showing blood.
And Inho stood there, torn between two lives— the monster this island made him and the man who wanted to give her the whole world.
Inho stood there for several seconds, jaw strained, chest rising and falling with a quiet storm.
Y/n’s words still hung between them like a blade, and guilt was already burning her skin. She hated herself for saying it, hated the panic in his eyes when she compared him to the cruelty he commanded.
But she also knew him—knew his patterns, knew that stubborn edge inside him that only softened for one person.
He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, fingers trembling the slightest bit as he looked away from her, then back.
“…Fine,” he muttered finally, voice low, defeated in a way only she could make him. “You can watch.”
Relief washed over her, her shoulders dropping. Before she could speak, he had already taken his seat again—leaning back on the black leather couch, the glow of the huge screen casting sharp blue lines across his face.
He extended a hand toward her.
She stepped forward, and the moment she was close enough, he pulled her down onto his lap—firm but careful, his palm instinctively settling over the small curve of her belly.
The very place that held the life softening him piece by piece.
He lowered his head and pressed a soft kiss just over the fabric of her shirt, lips lingering there longer than usual.
And then, together, they watched.
The sound of the game filled the room.
Metal clashing, footsteps echoing, breaths hitching. Y/n tensed every time a player fell—her nails digging into Inho’s arm without realizing.
But every time, his arms tightened protectively around her waist, thumb rubbing calming circles on her belly.
But he felt every reaction she had.
The game was nearing its end when the screen abruptly switched feeds.
The girl was curled on the cold floor, sweat covering her face, hands gripping her stomach as she writhed.
She was whispering for help—but too weak to scream. And the cameras captured every tremble of her body, every tear, every broken breath.
“God…” Y/n whispered, her heart stopping. “Junhee…”
Y/n turned toward him quickly. “Inho—do something.”
He took a sip of his whiskey, eyes still locked on the screen.
“Inho,” she repeated, pushing at his chest this time. “How can you just sit here?! She’s in labor—she needs help—she’s going to die!”
“I didn’t take responsibility for saving them,” he said flatly.
His tone made her flinch.
Her eyes stung. “How can you be so—so cold? How can you watch that and do nothing when I’m—” She cut herself, but emotion burst through her voice anyway.
“When I’m pregnant too! What if I was the one on that floor right now?!”
His head snapped toward her so fast she almost recoiled.
His eyes darkened into something dangerous.
“That,” he said through clenched teeth, “would never happen. You would never be in that place. You will give birth to my child in the finest hospital I can build if that’s what you want.”
His gaze dropped to her belly.
“No one will touch you. No one will frighten you. No one will let you suffer. Not when you’re carrying mine.”
Her anger softened—just barely.
She lifted her hands and cupped his face gently, thumbs brushing his cheekbones.
“Then show it,” she whispered. “Inho… please. You’re going to be a father. How can you ignore someone else suffering through the same thing I will one day?”
The word father hit him like a bullet.
Something inside him cracked—not loudly, not violently—but like a small glass window finally letting sunlight in after years of darkness.
Looked back at the screen.
She pressed more, voice trembling. “If you can protect me… protect our baby… then you can save her. Just this once. Please.”
His throat worked as he tried to fight it—fight her—fight the humanity she kept pulling out of him.
Because he always lost when it came to her.
With a long, heavy exhale, he reached for the walkie-talkie on the table.
Every muscle in his arm was tense, as if giving the order physically hurt him.
“This is the Frontman,” he said finally, his voice cold and authoritative again. “Player 222. Send a guard. Assist her and take her back to the dorm. Make sure she’s stabilized.”
There was silence on the other end.
The guards never got orders like that.
“Yes, sir.” the guard finally replied.
The walkie-talkie clicked off.
Y/n’s eyes filled with tears—relief, gratitude, something warm and overwhelming. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly, burying her face in his shoulder.
“You’ll be the best dad” she whispered against his neck.
He hugged her back, but slowly—hesitantly—because deep down, a fear had already started spreading in him.
A quiet, dangerous thought.
What if he couldn’t live up to what she believed?
What if father was something he didn’t know how to be?
What if loving them… ruined them?
He swallowed those doubts, locking them deep inside as he held her a little tighter.
Because she believed in him.
And for the first time since his childhood…
he desperately wanted to deserve it.
All players returned. Bloodied, exhausted, shaken. Yet when the vote was cast, card after card turned red.
Junhee sat on one of the lower bunks, her newborn wrapped in a thin blanket, held protectively against her chest.
Gihun and Jungbae crouched beside her, worry etched into their dirt-stained faces.
Jungbae rubbed the back of his neck.
“How did they even let you come back? You were mid-game. They never—ever—do that.”
Junhee shook her head, still panting, still pale. “I don’t know. I thought they were going to kill me. But someone came. Helped me. No explanations.”
Gihun frowned deeply. His eyes drifted toward the cameras in the corners of the dorm, his instincts tightening like a trap.
“This isn’t right,” he whispered. “The Frontman I knew wouldn’t show mercy. Not like this. Something has changed…”
He exhaled slowly, suspicion forming in his gaze.
Y/n had been watching silently, heart aching as Junhee held her baby girl, trembling, alive only because she had begged Inho. Because she was pregnant too. Because he couldn’t ignore her voice.
But the room suddenly felt suffocating.
“I’m going back to the bedroom” she murmured to Inho.
He nodded without looking at her, eyes still fixed on the screen. She slipped out and closed the door behind her.
The quiet hallway stretched in both directions, dim and sterile. She pressed her back against the wall, exhaling shakily.
A desperate thought whispered through her mind: Is the way out still the same as eight years ago?
Is escape still possible?
Before logic could stop her, her legs were already carrying her down the corridor. Past the room with the large staircases.
Past the places she remembered only in nightmares.
She held her breath at every corner, eyes darting, pulse ringing in her ears.
She remembered running for her life here once. Remembered the smell of metal and blood. Remembered the cold night air when she finally escaped.
Inho closed the screen and the room fell dark.
He leaned back, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together. His eyes closed slowly.
She had called him a monster.
He had pretended it didn’t matter.
He breathed in—slow, heavy.
Everything in him was torn straight down the middle.
Part of him wanted to take her far from here, somewhere warm, somewhere normal. To give her sunlit mornings, peaceful nights, a home where their child would never have to see blood.
The part shaped by years of humiliation, betrayal, and being told he was nothing. Whispered that leaving meant losing control.
Losing the one place where he was untouchable.
He had built this empire with his own hands.
And here, no one could hurt him.
“To protect my child… I have to stay powerful.”
The hallway camera showed movement.
His heart seized—but not with fear. With something far darker. He stood instantly.
Y/n continued down another corridor, then another, trying to trace the path from memory.
Left, then straight, then down the metal stairs… was it? Or right? No—no, wait…
Footsteps echoed behind her.
His voice. Low. Quiet. And far too calm.
She knew that tone—it was the voice he used when he was angry in a way he didn’t show on his face.
“What,” he asked, each syllable slicing through the silence, “are you doing here?”
She turned her head just slightly—
Standing at the end of the hallway.
Eyes burning, not with rage…
…but with something she couldn’t name.
He took one slow step forward.
Y/n swallowed, heart pounding so violently it hurt.
She didn’t have an answer. And he already knew that.
