Why did Gi-hun blame Player 388 for his failure in Squid Game? The creator explains

In Squid Game, psychological pressure goes far beyond physical violence. The third season pushes that boundary even further, placing Seong Gi-hun in increasingly unstable moral territory. Among the decisions that sparked the most discussion, one stood out clearly: blaming Player 388, Dae-ho, for the failed uprising. The way it happened, cold and final, left an impression.

It was not just about who made a mistake. It was about how quickly someone broken by fear became a symbol for everything that went wrong. A single moment of hesitation turned into the weight of a failed rebellion. And Dae-ho, silent and frozen, ended up carrying more than just his own fear.

Projected guilt and what triggered the blame

According to series creator Hwang Dong-hyuk, Gi-hun’s decision to point the finger at Dae-ho was not rooted in logic. It came from grief. From shock. From the unbearable pressure of watching people like Jung-bae die during a plan he helped lead. Instead of facing what had gone wrong within himself, Gi-hun redirected the pain outward. Dae-ho became the easiest target.

In that moment, Dae-ho was supposed to bring back ammunition. That was his only task. But something in him snapped. His body froze, and his mind shut down. The fear took over. It wasn’t betrayal. It wasn’t sabotage. It was trauma. And still, Gi-hun saw it as the moment that ruined everything.

The break that changed everything

The distance between Gi-hun and Dae-ho didn’t happen all at once. It built slowly, quietly. Until suddenly it was irreversible. Dae-ho tried to speak. To explain. But by then, Gi-hun wasn’t listening. His silence, his absence of empathy, said more than any line of dialogue could.

This was not a redemptive scene. It wasn’t heroic. It stripped away whatever idealism might have been left and replaced it with something cold, cracked, and bitter. That moment, for many viewers, shifted the tone of the entire story.

What the creator had to say

In an interview, Hwang Dong-hyuk explained that Gi-hun’s reaction came from emotional collapse. He needed something, or someone, to carry the blame. Not out of cruelty, but because guilt had reached a breaking point. It was no longer manageable.

Gi-hun had never been a classic hero. From the beginning, his choices were messy and complicated. This was not a sudden transformation. It was an extension of a long, painful unraveling. The accusation toward Dae-ho was just one more step into the fallout of that descent.

Public reaction and critical response

The response from audiences was split. Some called it character assassination, saying Gi-hun had lost everything that made him watchable. Others argued the opposite. The show’s choice to let him fall apart made the story stronger. More honest. More reflective of how trauma works in real life.

Critics leaned toward the second view. They saw it as a narrative risk that paid off. A decision that brought the story closer to the edge, where it’s most powerful. Gi-hun became something that television rarely allows: someone shaped by survival, not by clarity or redemption.

Why Squid Game still holds attention after three seasons

After three seasons, Squid Game hasn’t lost momentum. Part of that is because the show refuses to offer easy answers. It doesn’t try to comfort. It asks difficult questions and lets them sit. Watching Gi-hun turn on Dae-ho wasn’t satisfying. It was painful. And it was supposed to be.

The visual design stays intense. The writing stays sharp. But it’s the moral discomfort that keeps people engaged. There is something unsettling in seeing characters who were once familiar shift into something darker. That shift keeps the story from becoming predictable.

What to expect from the upcoming season

The release date for Squid Game season three hasn’t been confirmed, but production updates suggest the premiere is near. Netflix is building anticipation with clips and teasers, keeping most plot details quiet. Promotion will likely focus on the consequences of Gi-hun’s actions and the emotional weight carried by those who are left.

The tone seems even more psychological this time, with the narrative centered less on winning and more on surviving what comes after. And that angle may deepen the series in a new direction.

After blame, what’s left to explore

The moment Gi-hun blamed Dae-ho wasn’t about justice. It wasn’t even about truth. It was about the human instinct to push pain away, to make it belong to someone else. That instinct, though harsh, felt real. And that’s where Squid Game keeps finding its power. Not in clean resolutions, but in everything unresolved.