It is 2026, and we are still talking about that steak knife. Honestly, if you haven’t rewatched the original Squid Game lately, you might have forgotten just how much of the show’s soul rested on the jagged, uncomfortable bond between Player 456 and Player 067. We call them Gi-hun and Sae-byeok. One is a gambling addict with a heart of gold and the common sense of a goldfish; the other is a North Korean defector who wouldn’t trust you if you gave her a winning lottery ticket.
They shouldn't have worked. On paper, they’re a disaster. But their relationship became the moral compass of a show that mostly focused on people falling off glass bridges.
The Pickpocket and the "Pushover"
Let's look at where it started. It wasn't some grand cinematic meeting. It was a literal collision. Sae-byeok pickpockets Gi-hun while he's celebrating a horse racing win. He’s frantic, she’s invisible. Later, when they’re dumped back on the streets of Seoul after the first game, he’s the one tied up in his underwear, begging her for help.
Most people remember the "swearing on my mother" bit. It’s classic Gi-hun. He makes a solemn vow to get his hands untied, and the second he's free, he tries to chase her down for his money. He fails, obviously. But there’s a weirdly human moment right there: even while he's yelling at her, he stops to pick up the coffee cup he knocked out of her hand.
That is the Gi-hun and Sae-byeok dynamic in a nutshell. It’s a constant push and pull between "I need to survive you" and "I can't help but care about you."
Why Sae-byeok Trusted a Loser
By the time we get to the middle of the games, something shifts. Sae-byeok is a loner by necessity. She’s been burned by everyone, especially the broker who was supposed to help her find her mother. To her, the world is just a series of people trying to take what she has.
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Then there’s Gi-hun. He’s loud. He’s annoying. He spends his time worrying about an old man with a brain tumor instead of strategizing. But he’s the only one who treats her like a person rather than a threat or a tool.
During the riot night—the "Special Game"—he actually looks for her. He invites her into the circle. She says no at first, because duh, she’s Sae-byeok. But eventually, she realizes that in a room full of wolves, the guy who’s worried about a stranger’s dignity is the only safe bet.
The Turning Point: Marbles and Glass
If you want to talk about Gi-hun and Sae-byeok, you have to talk about the trauma they shared during the later rounds. By the Glass Bridge, they are the only ones left with any semblance of a conscience.
There’s a moment on that bridge where Gi-hun is paralyzed. He doesn't know which tile to pick. Sae-byeok is the one who steps up. Not because she’s a hero, but because she’s practical. She sees him failing and, for the first time, she doesn't just watch. She intervenes.
But the real heartbreak happens at the dinner table. You know the scene. The fancy suits, the steak, the silence. Sae-byeok is literally bleeding out from a shard of glass in her gut. She’s dying, and she knows it.
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What does she do? She asks Gi-hun to make a promise.
"Whichever one of us makes it out... we take care of each other's family."
This isn't just a plot point. It’s the final evolution of her character. The girl who started the series stealing from Gi-hun ends it by trusting him with the only thing she loves: her brother, Cheol.
The Vision in Season 3 and the Ghost of 067
For those who followed the series through the later seasons released in 2024 and 2025, Sae-byeok’s impact didn't end with her death. In the final season (Season 3), she appears to a much darker, more cynical Gi-hun.
He’s at a breaking point. He’s about to kill the finalists in their sleep—exactly what Sang-woo did to Sae-byeok. In that moment of moral decay, a hallucination of Sae-byeok stops him. She repeats the words she told him back in Season 1: "You’re not that kind of person."
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It’s a brutal callback. It reminds us that Sae-byeok didn't just survive for a while; she fundamentally changed the man who would eventually take down the entire system. Without her, Gi-hun would have become another Front Man.
What Most People Miss
The biggest misconception? That they were "like a couple." No. That’s a shallow take. Their bond was far more complex—it was a surrogate sibling/father-daughter hybrid born out of absolute desperation.
Gi-hun wasn't trying to date her; he was trying to save her soul because he couldn't save his own. And Sae-byeok wasn't looking for a boyfriend; she was looking for a reason to believe that not every human is a monster.
He eventually kept his word, too. Finding her mother and getting Cheol out of that orphanage wasn't just a "good deed." It was Gi-hun’s way of keeping Sae-byeok alive. As long as her family was safe, the girl who stole his money and then saved his life hadn't died for nothing.
Actionable Takeaway for Fans
If you’re revisiting the series or diving into the lore, focus on the visual parallels in their scenes.
- Look at the way Gi-hun holds her at the end versus how he held his own mother.
- Notice how Sae-byeok’s coldness melts only when Gi-hun does something "stupidly" kind.
- Track the "You're not that kind of person" quote across all three seasons; it’s the literal backbone of Gi-hun’s arc.
The legacy of Gi-hun and Sae-byeok is that even in a system designed to strip you of your humanity, you can still find someone worth losing for. He didn't win the games because he was the strongest; he won because he was the only one left who still cared what a girl like Sae-byeok thought of him.