Every Game in Squid Game Explained: Rules, Origins & Death Tolls

I'll never forget the first time I watched Squid Game. It was 2 AM, I'd told myself "just one more episode" about four episodes ago, and my heart was pounding so hard I could hear it. What hooked me wasn't the violence—it was the horrifying simplicity. These are games I played as a kid. Games we ALL played. And watching them transformed into life-or-death struggles genuinely messed with my head in the best way possible.

After rewatching all three seasons more times than I'd like to admit (okay, five times), I've put together this complete breakdown of every game. I'll cover the rules, the Korean cultural origins I've researched obsessively, the death tolls, and the strategies that actually work. Whether you're doing a rewatch or just want to understand what all the fuss is about, I've got you covered.

Game 1: Red Light, Green Light (무궁화 꽃이 피었습니다)

The Rules: Players must cross a field while a giant doll faces away. When she turns around singing "무궁화 꽃이 피었습니다" (mugunghwa kkoci pieot seumnida), anyone caught moving is eliminated—literally shot by snipers hidden in the walls.

I remember physically jumping off my couch when the first player got shot. The tonal shift from "quirky childhood game" to "massacre" happens so fast that my brain genuinely couldn't process it. Brilliant filmmaking.

Korean Origins: This is one of Korea's most beloved children's games, equivalent to "Red Light, Green Light" in Western countries. The phrase translates to "The Mugunghwa flower has bloomed," referring to Korea's national flower. I've since learned that Korean kids play this in schoolyards all the time—obviously without the lethal consequences.

Death Toll: 255 players eliminated in Season 1. More than HALF the contestants gone in the first game. That's when I knew this show wasn't messing around.

My Strategy Take: The key is controlled deceleration—I've watched this scene frame by frame. Players who tried to stop suddenly were more likely to wobble. Gi-hun's strategy of hiding behind others is morally questionable, sure, but it worked. If I were there (terrifying thought), I'd go for steady, deliberate movement with a low center of gravity.

Game 2: Dalgona (Sugar Honeycomb)

The Rules: Players must carve a shape out of a thin honeycomb candy (dalgona) using only a needle. Breaking the shape means elimination. Time limit: 10 minutes.

This game stressed me out more than any other. I was literally holding my breath watching Gi-hun work on that umbrella. My partner had to remind me to breathe.

Korean Origins: Dalgona is nostalgic Korean street candy from the 1970s-80s. After watching this episode, I actually ordered a dalgona kit online to try it myself. Let me tell you—it's HARD. The umbrella shape is brutal. I have so much more respect for what Gi-hun pulled off.

Death Toll: Approximately 79 players eliminated. The umbrella really was a death sentence for most.

My Strategy Take: Gi-hun's improvisation of licking the back of the candy to weaken it? Absolute genius. I tried this with my dalgona kit and it actually works—the moisture softens the candy, making it easier to separate without cracking. Just don't overdo it or the whole thing dissolves. Trust me, I learned that the hard way.

Game 3: Tug of War

The Rules: Two teams of 10 pull a rope over a platform suspended high above the ground. The losing team falls to their death.

Death Toll: 80 players (8 teams lost)

This is where the show's social commentary really clicked for me. Watching the "weaker" team with older players and women get dismissed, only to win through strategy? Chef's kiss. Il-nam's moment to shine.

My Strategy Take: Il-nam's winning strategy became iconic for good reason: "Step back, lean back, hold for 10 seconds." I've actually tested this concept in a real tug-of-war at a company picnic (I'm that guy now, I guess). The sudden release of tension genuinely throws opponents off balance. Position matters too—your anchor at the back should be your heaviest, strongest person. The physics checks out.

Game 4: Marbles

The Rules: Players pair up, thinking they'll work together. Then the devastating twist: they must play against each other. Each pair has 30 minutes to win all 10 marbles from their partner using any game of their choice.

Death Toll: 80 players (half of remaining contestants)

I'm not ashamed to admit I cried during this episode. Gganbu. That word is burned into my brain forever. Watching Il-nam and Gi-hun, Ali and Sang-woo... this episode broke me. I had to take a full day before I could continue watching.

This is the most emotionally devastating game in the entire series, and I'll die on that hill. The cruelty isn't in the game itself—it's in forcing people to betray the only connections they've made in this nightmare.

My Strategy Take: Honestly? There's no winning here emotionally. Some players (like Sang-woo) used deception. Others (like Ali) trusted too completely. The marble games themselves have optimal strategies, but nothing—NOTHING—prepares you for betting against someone you've bonded with. This game isn't about marbles. It's about what you're willing to sacrifice.

Game 5: Glass Stepping Stones

The Rules: 16 players must cross a bridge of 18 paired glass panels. One panel in each pair is tempered glass (holds weight), the other is regular glass (shatters on contact). 16 minutes to cross. Wrong step means falling to your death.

Death Toll: 14 players

I paused the show during this game to actually calculate the probabilities. Yes, I'm a nerd. No, I don't apologize.

The Math That Haunts Me: Position matters enormously. Player 1 has roughly a 1 in 262,144 chance of surviving if guessing randomly. That's essentially zero. Each correct step by previous players improves odds for those behind. The glassmaker (Player 13) could identify tempered glass by its appearance—which I thought was such clever writing—but then the Front Man turned off the lights. Brutal.

My Strategy Take: Go last. Period. Being player 16 gives you approximately a 50% survival rate if everyone ahead guesses randomly. The show made picking order seem random, but if you ever find yourself in a death game (please don't), volunteer to go last. Let others gather information for you. It sounds cold, but the math doesn't lie.

Game 6: Squid Game (오징어 게임)

The Rules: The namesake game. An attacker must enter a squid-shaped court and reach the head. A defender must stop them. Players can push, trip, and tackle. The first to touch the squid's head wins—in the show's context, one player dies.

Korean Origins: This is a real children's game popular in 1970s-80s Korea. The court is drawn in sand, and games could get quite physical. After researching it, I understand why Hwang Dong-hyuk chose this as the finale and the show's title—it required both strength and strategy, and it's deeply nostalgic for Korean audiences.

The Final Showdown: Gi-hun versus Sang-woo. Former childhood friends. I've thought about this ending so much. The game came down to moral choice as much as physical prowess. Gi-hun choosing mercy over murder, and then Sang-woo's final act... I still get chills. It perfectly encapsulated everything the show was trying to say about humanity.

My Final Thoughts

What makes Squid Game brilliant isn't the death or the twists—it's how it takes innocent childhood memories and reveals the desperation beneath society's surface. These simple games became mirrors reflecting capitalism, inequality, and the lengths people will go to survive. Every rewatch, I notice something new.

I've built recreations of these games here that capture the tension without the danger. Test your reflexes in Red Light, Green Light. Prove your steady hand in Dalgona. Challenge your memory on the Glass Bridge. Experience the games that captivated over 1.65 billion viewing hours—with the only thing at stake being your pride on the leaderboard.

Trust me, they're harder than they look. My high score on Glass Bridge took me embarrassingly many attempts.