Squid Game: Honoring Cho Hyun-ju, Player 120
Now that a few days have passed since the final season of Squid Game hit Netflix, we’ve had some time to sit with our emotions, and one thing’s clear: we’re not done thinking about Player 120 (Park Sung-hoon). Cho Hyun-ju might not have had the longest arc, but she had one of the most powerful. And we’d be doing her, and ourselves, a disservice if we didn’t take a moment to honor her life, her sacrifice, and everything she meant to us as a trans woman character in a Korean mega-hit.
If for some reason you haven’t watched the new season of Squid Game, please stop reading and come back later because there will be major spoilers ahead. You’ve been warned.
Let’s start with the scene that left us gutted, Season 3, Episode 2 The Starry Night. We knew this world was brutal, and we knew most characters wouldn’t make it out alive, but the way Cho Hyun-ju went out? That hit different. Because her choice wasn’t about the game. It wasn’t about strategy. It was about love. Protection. Sacrifice.
Hyun-ju had the keys. All three of them. The exit was open. She could’ve walked through and made it to the next round. But instead, she turned around. She went back. And she died trying to protect the people she’d come to care about—Jang Geum-ja (Kang Ae-sim), Kim Jun-hee (Jo Yu-ri), and the newborn baby she’d just helped deliver. That choice? It’s one of the most profoundly human moments this franchise has ever given us.
But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Let’s rewind a bit for those who need some context. Hyun-ju was first introduced in Season 2: a trans woman and former Special Forces soldier who was discharged from the military after coming out. With no support from her family and no way to fund her transition, she enters the game hoping to win enough money to get gender-affirming surgery and start a fresh life in Thailand. She’s highly trained, smart, and resilient, but what stood out to us most wasn’t just her skill. It was the quiet strength she carried. The way she held onto her sense of self, even when the world kept trying to strip it away.
And listen, we’re not going to ignore the discourse around her casting. When it was revealed that Park Sung-hoon, a cis man, would be playing her, there was understandable backlash. We’ve said it before and we’ll keep saying it: trans roles should go to trans actors. No debate there. But we also know things look different in South Korea, where the pool of openly trans actors is extremely limited and opportunities for LGBTQ+ visibility are still rare. Director Hwang Dong-hyuk has said before that it was “nearly impossible” to cast a trans actor for the role. That doesn’t make it okay, but it does place the decision in a different context and shows the uphill battle the industry still has to fight.
But ultimately, what’s important here is the intention behind the portrayal, and honestly? Credit where credit’s due: Park Sung-hoon handled the role with care, depth, and genuine empathy. It didn’t feel like a stereotype. It wasn’t mockery or parody, it was real. Human. Honest. In interviews, he talked about the responsibility he felt, saying, “I really did not want to offend anyone. I just hope that my character, Hyun-ju, would show people a way toward acceptance.” He also pointed to the way Geum-ja’s relationship with Hyun-ju evolves through the seasons—as someone who first doubts her and then grows to see her as a friend, even family. That arc isn’t just about those two characters. It’s about what this kind of representation can do for audiences who might still be unlearning their own biases.
And we think it worked. We’ve seen the reaction online. We’ve seen the fan art, the tribute edits, the comment threads filled with people saying how much Hyun-ju meant to them. Her presence in Squid Game didn’t just feel important, it felt radical. A trans woman in a Korean dystopian drama, shown not as a victim or a joke, but as a hero. A protector. A woman who made her own choices and followed her own moral compass, even when it cost her everything.
In Season 2, we see a woman trying to survive, trying to win, because she believes the prize is her only hope for a real life. But by Season 3, something changes. After Seong Gi-hun’s (Lee Jung-jae) rebellion falls apart, Hyun-ju finds herself paired with Geum-ja and Jun-hee. In Episode 2, they’re thrown into a particularly cruel round, a sick game of hide-and-seek where half the players are designated killers and the other half hiders. The hiders are being hunted, forced to either die or find the hidden exit. Hyun-ju, Geum-ja, and Jun-hee—assigned to the hiders’ team—stick together immediately. As they navigate the deadly round, Jun-hee gives birth, and suddenly, they’re four. Hyun-ju becomes the protector of their small makeshift family, forced to kill opposing players as they close in, relying on her military training to keep them safe.
As the round progresses and Hyun-ju stumbles with the exit, she doesn’t even flinch before deciding to go back for her friends. She could’ve saved herself, but she chose not to. She could have walked through the door. She had everything she needed to save herself. But she didn’t. Instead, she turns around, goes back for Geum-ja, Jun-hee, and the baby, and dies in the process. And that says everything about who she is.
For us, that moment redefined the kind of storytelling this show is capable of. And it reminded us that representation isn’t just about showing up, it’s about being seen fully. Hyun-ju wasn’t perfect, and she didn’t need to be. She was layered, flawed, brave, compassionate. She was real. And in a world where trans characters are so often flattened into clichés or discarded as afterthoughts, that meant the world. We talk a lot about how media can change hearts and minds, and while Squid Game isn’t the beacon of queer liberation, Player 120’s existence in this story meant something. Hyun-ju was a reminder that even in a world where people are willing to kill for money, some still choose to do the right thing. To protect. To care. To love.
We wish she hadn’t had to enter the games in the first place. We wish Gi-hun had succeeded in the rebellion and put an end to the system once and for all. We wish the whole nightmare could’ve ended on a happy note. But greed and power are like the thousand-headed hydra—cut off one head, and two more grow in its place. That’s the horror of the world Squid Game presents, and let’s be honest, sometimes it’s the horror of real life too.
But amidst that horror, Hyun-ju shone. She was a light in that darkness. A reminder of what it means to care about others, even when everything’s telling you to care only about yourself. Her story, while brief, hurt. But it also gave us hope.
Rest in power, Player 120. You deserved better. But we’ll remember you. And we’ll keep fighting for a world where people like you don’t have to play a game just to live.
All three Seasons of Squid Game are available to stream on Netflix. Follow us on X and Instagram for all queer stuff!
Featured Image: Courtesy of Netflix
