Squid Game season 3 exposes the true price of survival: In-ho’s fall mirrors Il-nam’s manipulation

The final chapter of Netflix’s hit series doesn’t just end the game—it unmasks the ideology that built it.

By the time Squid Game season 3 spins through its last surprise, the show stops being only a bloody game dressed up in playground memories. Instead, the camera turns inward, examining the men who designed the rules and the dark corridors of choice that kept them moving forward.

When In-ho's past finally re-emerges, fans don't just get answers; they also receive a chilling roadmap showing how the very system that rewards ambition slowly chews up anyone it first lures with promise.

At the heart of this final season in Squid Game is the chilling mirroring between In-ho, the enigmatic Front Man, and Oh Il-nam, the aging architect of the games. The show reveals that In-ho's rise to power wasn't an accident—it was a calculated descent, orchestrated by a man who knew exactly how to break a person’s will under the guise of giving them “a choice.” In-ho didn't simply lose his way. He was guided into darkness.

Season 3 doesn’t just bring back Il-nam for fan service—it resurrects him to reframe the very foundation of the Squid Game universe. His masked flashback appearances strip away the illusion that his participation in the games was ever about sentiment or nostalgia. Instead, we’re shown the mechanical cruelty of a man testing morality like it’s a hypothesis, and finding exactly the answer he hoped for.

The knife’s edge: In-ho’s last test was never about winning in Squid Game

In a harrowing parallel to Gi-hun’s own moral reckoning, In-ho’s defining moment arrives when Il-nam hands him a knife and a choice: eliminate the competition or walk away and risk death. While Gi-hun later chooses mercy, In-ho’s past decision veers in the opposite direction, and it's this fatal divergence that seals his transformation into the Front Man. It’s not a triumph; it’s a Squid Game tragedy in slow motion.

Il-nam knew what he was doing. This wasn’t a test of survival, but a manipulation of desperation. Where Gi-hun found his humanity clinging to him like a lifeline, In-ho surrendered his, seduced by the illusion of power and escape. The true horror isn’t just that In-ho killed to survive—it’s that he believed there was no other way, because someone designed it to look like the only path forward.

Master and Puppet: Il-nam’s legacy isn’t the games—it’s the people he corrupted

Il-nam’s reappearance also shifts the focus away from the spectacle of the games and into the psychology of control. His philosophy isn’t just embedded in the rules—it’s embedded in the players he molds. In-ho didn’t just win the game and rise through the ranks. He became a living embodiment of Il-nam’s worldview: that given the right pressure and no exits, even the good will turn ruthless.

Trending

This revelation recontextualizes everything from season 1’s twist ending to the grotesque rituals of season 2. Il-nam’s biggest legacy isn’t the arena—it’s the internalized logic of cruelty he passed on to men like In-ho.

And perhaps, in trying to replicate that cycle with Gi-hun, the system finally encountered a crack. Because as much as In-ho’s fall reflects Il-nam’s manipulation, Gi-hun’s resistance hints at the one thing the games couldn’t fully predict: the cost of clinging to conscience.

×

Was this article helpful?

Thank You for feedback