Squid Game’s Gi-hun actor finally reveals the complete final sentence of his character from the finale

The last season of Squid Game ended in a way that didn’t offer much comfort. There was resolution on paper, yes, but in tone and rhythm, it left things hanging. One scene especially stood out, not because of what happened, but because of what was missing. A moment when Gi-hun says something, then stops. The silence wasn’t accidental. That became obvious later.

For a long time, fans debated what he was trying to say. The line cut halfway through, right when it was about to carry real weight. That moment stayed unresolved, until now. Lee Jung-jae, the actor behind Gi-hun, finally revealed what his character was saying during that final moment. The sentence had always been in the script, just never delivered in full on screen.

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The line that never made it to the end

In the final scene of Squid Game, Gi-hun stands in front of the people who built the game. He looks exhausted. His voice barely carries. He starts with “We are not horses. We are humans. Humans are” then nothing more comes out. The camera stays on him just long enough for the absence to feel intentional. Then the scene moves on. No follow-up. No explanation.

According to Lee Jung-jae, the full sentence was supposed to be: "We are not horses. We are human beings. Human are worthy of respect." That second half was never voiced. Not in the show, not in the promotional material. Until the actor shared it, viewers were left guessing.

The line, though simple, gives the scene a different weight. It reshapes the emotional context. Without it, Gi-hun’s final stand feels incomplete. With it, there’s a sharper clarity. He wasn’t just rejecting the system behind Squid Game. He was affirming something basic. That the people trapped in those games were still people.

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How the silence shaped the message

Choosing not to include the full sentence made the moment quieter, but not weaker. Silence can say as much as any line. In this case, it created a space the audience had to fill themselves. There was room for thought, for discomfort, for guessing.

The phrase we are not horses already makes a statement. But stopping there leaves a question. What are they, then? The second part answers that. They’re not pieces in a game. Not creatures to be raced or bet on. They’re people, with names, fears, and limits.

Leaving that part unspoken may have been a way to involve the viewer more directly. By withholding the rest of the sentence, the scene becomes a mirror. Each person watching Squid Game has to imagine how it ends. Some might have finished it with anger. Others with sadness. Now, with the full version known, it lands somewhere between the two.

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A line that fits the character’s journey

Gi-hun wasn’t a hero in the traditional sense. His path was messy. He made choices that were hard to understand. He failed others, and often himself. But he also held on to something others lost along the way. A sense of what mattered. Even when surrounded by chaos, he didn’t fully surrender to it.

By the end of Squid Game, that refusal becomes more clear. He doesn’t take the money and vanish. He doesn’t try to rebuild his life quietly. He returns, not to destroy the game, but to face it again. Maybe not to win. Maybe just to interrupt. That final sentence, once completed, gives that action a shape. He came back because something still needed to be said.

The line wasn’t about changing the system. It wasn’t a grand speech. It was a final reminder. That being human means something. That it should still matter, even when everything is broken.

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Public reaction and critical response

The final season of Squid Game didn’t land the same way for everyone. Some viewers admired how it pushed boundaries. Others felt it lost the emotional balance that made the first season resonate. Critics were divided. Some praised the silence in that last scene, calling it bold. Others thought it was unnecessary or confusing.

Now that the full sentence is out, those opinions may shift. The silence had meaning, but the missing words add structure. Together, they form a kind of tension. One part heard, the other imagined. Knowing the full line doesn’t remove the ambiguity. It reframes it.

This choice, to cut the line but still write it, speaks to the creative risks Squid Game has taken since the beginning. It trusts the audience to do more than just watch. It asks them to engage, to question, to return.

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Future of Squid Game: Spin-offs, rumors and what could come next

There has been talk about expanding the Squid Game universe. No official announcements yet, but the idea of spin-offs keep circulating. Some rumors suggest stories from the perspective of the VIPs, or maybe a closer look at the Front Man. Others imagine a prequel, showing how the game started.

Whether any of that happens is still unclear. But the world built by the show offers room for more. Not just in terms of story, but in how those stories are told. If future projects keep the same focus on human choices, they might carry the same weight. If they shift too far into spectacle, they risk losing what made the original so unsettling.

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The quiet sentence that stayed

Some lines are remembered for how they’re delivered. Others for how they were hidden. Gi-hun’s final sentence falls into the second category. It was there, just not spoken. Not until now.

And maybe that delay gave it more power. The scene didn’t need volume. It needed space. Now, with the full sentence revealed, the moment finds its center. Not through shock. Not through action. But through a few words that weren’t meant to impress, only to remind.

A reminder that even when the game strips everything away, dignity is not part of the bargain. It doesn’t belong to the system. It stays with the person who chooses to say, or even think, that it still matters.