Chapter 7 - CHAPTER 7-Cross The Line

KARINA'S POV

I stirred awake around 9 a.m., eyes fluttering open to the soft morning light spilling through the curtains. For a moment, my heart raced—my body already reacting like I was late for something important. It was almost muscle memory at this point. I sat up slowly, blinking at the ceiling.

Wait... what's today's schedule again?

I reached for my phone on the nightstand and checked our shared group calendar.

1:15 p.m.

My shoulders dropped. A soft sigh of relief escaped my lips as I slumped back against the headboard.

A slow morning. A rare luxury.

I rubbed my face with both hands and reached for my phone again, this time to scroll aimlessly—just to enjoy the quiet. My thumb swiped across notifications, articles, memes... and then I saw his name in the message list.

Y/N.

My heart did a little flip, like it had been waiting for me to remember.

I stared at the message I never replied to. My fingers hovered uncertainly above the screen.

Should I?

I bit my lip. It had been a few days. Too many days, honestly. And I never meant to ignore him. I just—forgot. And when I remembered, it already felt too late.

But he deserves a reply... especially after what he did for Ningning.

I sat up straighter and tapped the message thread.

Blank.

No reply from me. Just his last message sitting there, still unread.

I swallowed hard. My fingers started typing, then stopped. Deleted. Typed again. Stopped again.

Why was I nervous?

I've replied to fans before. Strangers. Hosts. MCs. Celebs. I've had to give public speeches, answer weird interview questions, deal with paparazzi and haters. I've even talked down an aggressive fan once.

But now... just replying to this guy?

I felt like my heart was thudding against my ribs.

What is wrong with me?

Still, somehow, I managed to start typing again.

Hi Y/N... sorry for the super late reply. Our schedule's been way too packed this week. I honestly didn't even have time to check my phone properly. When I get home, I just crash and sleep.

It's not that I didn't want to reply—I hope you understand that.

Also... thank you for helping Ningning last night. She told me she ran into you at the club, and that you helped her when some pervert tried to bother her.

Really, thank you so much.

Actually... thank you for everything. First time we met, you helped me. Then Winter. And now Ningning.

You've been so kind to us even though we barely know each other.

I'd really like to repay that kindness...

If you're free this Sunday, would you be okay with meeting up?

I have the whole day off, so I'd like to treat you to a meal.

Only if you're okay with that, of course. 😊

I stared at the message, rereading it at least three times.

Then, I took a deep breath...

Sent.

My thumb tapped the screen and immediately retracted like I'd just thrown something into a volcano.

I placed the phone face-down on the bed and leaned back with a dramatic sigh, heart pounding in my ears.

"What is happening to me?" I whispered to the ceiling.

I covered my face with both hands. My cheeks were warm. It wasn't just guilt anymore—it was this... strange fluttering feeling.

"Unnie?"

I jumped.

Winter's voice came from my doorway, and I whipped my head toward her, eyes wide.

She was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a sly smile tugging at her lips.

"Why are you smiling to yourself while typing a text?"

"I-I wasn't smiling," I said too quickly, suddenly hyper-aware of the goofy expression I must've had just moments ago.

Winter walked in, her smirk widening. "You were totally smiling. Like this." She scrunched her face and mimicked a dreamy grin while fake-typing on her imaginary phone.

"Yah!" I grabbed the nearest pillow and launched it at her. She dodged with a laugh and plopped down at the foot of my bed.

"I knew it. Ningning told me everything." She leaned in with wide eyes. "You're texting him, aren't you?"

"Texting who?" I asked, trying to play dumb, but the heat in my face gave me away instantly.

Winter didn't buy it for a second. "Y/N~," she sang teasingly. "Ningning said he looked super hot last night. New haircut. Sharp outfit. Completely different vibe. And he saved her from a creepy dude at the club?"

I groaned and pulled a blanket over my head.

"Oh my god, unnie. Don't tell me you like him." Winter poked at my shoulder through the blanket.

"I don't," I mumbled into the fabric.

"You dooo~ You totally do. You're even blushing!"

I sat up abruptly, pulling the blanket off. "I just... I just wanted to thank him properly. That's all."

"By inviting him to lunch?" Winter arched an eyebrow dramatically.

"I mean, what's wrong with that? It's polite. It's decent. He's done a lot for us," I said, trying to sound neutral. Professional, even.

Winter just grinned. "Mhm. Sure, sure. Just a polite lunch with someone you text at 9 a.m. while smiling like a high school girl."

"Kim Minjeong!" I lunged for her with the pillow again, and she shrieked with laughter as she ran out the door.

I followed her out into the hallway where the smell of breakfast wafted in from the kitchen.

Giselle was already at the table, sipping coffee with her earbuds in, while Ningning was humming and cooking scrambled eggs.

"Oh, look who's finally up," Giselle said with a smirk when she saw me and Winter burst into the room.

"She's not just up," Winter said mischievously. "She's glowing."

Ningning turned around. "Did she text him already?!"

"Yes!" Winter laughed.

I groaned again and tried to hide behind the fridge.

"She totally did," Winter went on. "She was smiling at her phone like she was writing a love letter."

"Unnieeee~" Ningning giggled. "I told you he looked really good last night. And so cool, too! Very boyfriend material, right?"

"Okay, that's it, I'm moving out," I muttered, grabbing a mug and filling it with coffee just to have something to hold.

All three of them were laughing now.

"Karina and Y/N sitting in a tree..." Giselle started to sing.

"Stop it!" I said through a laugh, unable to hide my red face.

We all sat down at the table eventually, plates full of toast, eggs, and fruit, but that didn't stop the teasing.

Every time I took a bite or checked my phone, someone would make a comment. Winter even leaned over and whispered, "Maybe he's reading it now. Maybe he's already planning what to wear on Sunday."

"Minjeong ahh!" I hissed, half-laughing, half-ready to throw my spoon at her.

And yet, underneath all the teasing, I felt something warm bloom in my chest.

It wasn't just embarrassment.

It was... hope.

And for the first time in a long while, I was looking forward to Sunday—not for a break from work...

...but for the chance to see him.

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Your Name's POV

I woke up a little past noon, groggy and slow to move. My whole body ached, but it was my right arm that felt especially sore. I sat up in bed and flexed my fingers a little, frowning at the dull ache running up to my shoulder.

"Damn... probably because I beat the crap out of ten guys last night," I muttered to myself with a dry chuckle. "It's been a while since I used my MMA training like that... Guess my muscles aren't used to it anymore."

I groaned and stretched out, rolling my neck. "Gotta hit the gym soon or I'm gonna fall apart..."

Still half-asleep, I grabbed my phone and checked the screen.

Two unread messages.

One was from Joon.

The other... made my heart skip a beat.

Karina.

My eyes widened slightly. For a moment, I just stared at her name on the screen, blinking like I wasn't sure if it was real. She actually replied?

I quickly tapped her message open, and my eyes scanned the text.

Hi Y/N... sorry for the late reply. My schedule's been so packed this week I haven't even had time to touch my phone. I didn't mean to ignore your message... I hope you understand.

Also, I wanted to say thank you for helping Ningning last night. She told me what happened... that you stepped in when that guy was bothering her. Thank you so much, really. Even though we just met, you've helped me, Winter, and now Ningning.

So... to return the favor, I was wondering if we could meet this Sunday? I'm off that day, so I'd like to treat you to a meal—if you're okay with that...

I just sat there, staring at the screen, rereading it once... then again.

Did... did Karina just ask me out?

No, wait. It wasn't a date. It was a thank-you meal. Just a simple thank-you.

But still.

Karina—the Karina. A K-pop idol. A gorgeous, talented, insanely popular public figure—asked me if I'd like to have a meal with her.

Me.

What kind of alternate reality did I fall into?

I blinked a few times, then reached up and pinched my cheek.

"Ow—okay, not a dream," I muttered under my breath, trying not to grin like an idiot. But it was no use.

A small, stunned smile spread across my lips anyway. "What the hell did I do to deserve this...?"

Before replying, I figured I should check with Joon first. Sunday wasn't too far off. I just started this job, and I was already thinking about asking for a day off. It felt a little ridiculous.

But I had to try.

I opened Joon's message first.

Be ready by 7 p.m. tonight. Wear something sporty.

I blinked at that.

"Sporty?" I mumbled. "Aren't I supposed to wear a suit for club duty? What kind of bouncer goes around looking like he's about to run a marathon?"

I quickly typed back:

Sporty? I thought I needed to wear a suit tonight?

Not long after, his reply came in.

Who said you're working at the club tonight? Your job's different tonight. You'll see. Don't ask too many questions or I'll punch you myself.

7 p.m. sharp. Come down to the lobby. I'll pick you up.

I sighed and tossed the phone on the bed.

"Of course. I don't get to know anything until the last second," I said with a shake of my head. But honestly, it didn't surprise me. I was just a rookie in all this. It wasn't like I had the power to choose.

A moment later, a notification popped up on my phone.

[You have received a transfer to your bank account.]

I frowned and picked the phone back up, opening my banking app.

The amount made me raise my eyebrows.

"Okay... where the hell did that come from?"

Almost on cue, Joon messaged again.

That's for food. You'll need extra energy tonight.

What the hell did he mean by that?

Now I was more confused than ever. But I also knew better than to ask him too many questions. He already sounded annoyed.

So I just replied with a simple:

Thanks.

Putting my phone down, I got up and took a quick shower. I changed into a plain black t-shirt and joggers, then grabbed my wallet and headed out. I still didn't know the area well since I just moved here, but I figured there had to be some decent food nearby.

My stomach growled as I walked down the quiet street, hands in my pockets, mind still half stuck on that message from Karina.

Sunday.

She wanted to meet on Sunday.

And she wanted to treat me to a meal.

A soft, almost disbelieving smile tugged at my lips again.

Whatever tonight's mysterious job was... I just hoped I'd survive it.

-----------------------------------

The night had finally arrived.

By 6:50 PM, I was already dressed in the sporty outfit Joon had instructed me to wear. It felt strange not to be in the club uniform tonight. Still, I followed his instructions to the letter, even if I didn't know what I was stepping into.

I stepped into the elevator of my new apartment building, the quiet hum of the machinery and soft background music doing nothing to calm the stirrings in my chest. The soreness in my arms from the night before had dulled slightly after a long shower and some stretching, but it still lingered. Ten guys. I'd taken down ten full-grown men, and while I was glad I could still move like that, my body wasn't exactly thanking me for it.

The elevator dinged as it reached the ground floor. I stepped out into the lobby just as a black car rolled up outside. Perfect timing, as always.

Joon's car stopped right in front of the glass doors. I walked out calmly and climbed into the passenger seat.

"Hey," I greeted casually.

"Hey," Joon replied, glancing at me briefly before driving off. He seemed more talkative lately, or at least more open. I noticed it yesterday too. Maybe it was the way I handled that situation at the club. Or maybe he was just slowly starting to warm up to me, even if he still found me annoying at times.

We drove in silence for a minute before I broke it. "So... what exactly am I doing tonight?"

Joon didn't even turn his head. "Didn't I tell you not to ask too many questions?"

"You did," I muttered, leaning back against the seat. "Just thought I'd mentally prepare myself in case I have to fight another ten dudes like yesterday."

Joon laughed under his breath. "If it's more than ten, you still think you can handle it?"

I shrugged, smirking a little. "Maybe. Maybe not. Guess we'll see."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Sam told me you trained in MMA back in school."

That caught me off guard. I turned slightly in my seat, surprised that Sam had told him that. "Yeah... I did."

"He also said you were pretty damn good. Even entered some competitions."

"Only a few," I said quietly.

"Why'd you stop?"

I looked out the window, watching the city blur past us in streaks of neon and dusk. "Because my foster parents didn't think fighting was a career. They made it clear. I was supposed to make money. Any way I could."

Joon didn't speak right away. He seemed to be weighing my words. "Still... sounds like a waste. You had potential."

That made me glance at him again. He sounded sincere. I wasn't used to people saying that to me. Most people just saw me as a burden, a tool, or a disappointment.

"You barely know me," I muttered.

"I saw you fight once," he replied calmly. "Sometimes that's all it takes."

I didn't answer. What could I even say to that? Part of me felt strange—touched, almost—but I buried it deep.

After that, the car fell into silence again. We drove through the winding roads of Seoul, the occasional red light casting a warm glow over the interior of the car. The streets buzzed with activity, yet our car moved like it was in its own world, untouched and isolated.

Joon didn't speak again, and I didn't try to force a conversation. The silence wasn't awkward. It was... calm. In a way, it was comforting. I was used to the screaming, the demands, the insults. Silence was better.

I stared out the window, watching the familiar chaos of Seoul nightlife come alive—the glowing signs of restaurants, young couples walking hand-in-hand, the smell of grilled meat wafting through open doors. Somewhere out there, normal people were living normal lives.

And here I was. Riding with a man I barely knew to a job I didn't fully understand, with bruises on my ribs and a future that had always been a question mark.

Yet for some reason, I wasn't scared. Maybe I should have been. But I wasn't.

I leaned back in my seat, my eyes drifting to the roof of the car as I took a deep breath. I wasn't afraid anymore. Not of this life. Not of what was coming next. Because for once, I felt like I was moving forward, even if the road was dark and full of shadows.

Whatever Joon had planned for me tonight, I was ready.

Or at least, I hoped I was.

The car rolled to a stop in front of what looked like a grand hotel—but it wasn't. It was a karaoke center. A massive one. Gold-trimmed doors, marble steps, bright signage with shimmering lights, and valet staff dressed like they worked at a five-star restaurant.

I looked up at the building from the passenger seat. It screamed money and influence.

Joon killed the engine and unbuckled his seatbelt.

"We're here," he said casually, opening the door.

I nodded and followed. The moment both our shoes hit the pavement, the quiet hum of the area shifted.

From the cars parked nearby, people began stepping out one by one. Men. All dressed sharply, some in bomber jackets, others in button-ups and slacks. At least eight or nine of them. They didn't say anything—just followed behind us silently like trained wolves.

I glanced over at Joon.

He noticed. "Relax. They're ours."

I gave him a small nod, but my mind was racing. Why would we need this many guys just to go into a karaoke place? What the hell are we doing here?

Still, I kept my face unreadable. No fear. No hesitation.

As we reached the steps of the karaoke center, a black Mercedes pulled in quietly behind us. The door opened—and out stepped Sam.

He looked freshly pressed in a dark grey coat and crisp trousers, walking with the calm confidence of someone who knew he controlled the room before even entering it. His sharp eyes scanned the group before smiling slightly.

"Evening," he greeted, his voice smooth but commanding.

Everyone bowed their heads slightly in respect.

Everyone except Joon and me.

Sam walked over and gave Joon a brief pat on the shoulder. Then his eyes landed on me.

He didn't smile. But his tone was light.

"Is he briefed?"

Joon shrugged. "Didn't tell him much."

Sam turned his full attention to me. "Good."

My eyebrows raised slightly.

"You don't need a full plan," Sam said. "You just need one thing—presence. Don't look afraid. Don't look weak. If they try something stupid, you step in. Got it?"

I nodded. "Got it."

He gave Joon a small signal.

Joon pulled something from inside his coat. A sheathed knife.

He handed it to me quietly. "Just in case things go sideways."

I took it without a word, tucking it into the back of my pants. The weight of it against my lower back made everything feel real.

Sam straightened his coat. "Let's go."

We walked up the stairs and through the double doors.

The lobby inside was lavish. Velvet red carpets, chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and hostesses smiling in tight black dresses. They greeted us with rehearsed politeness—until they saw Sam. Their smiles faltered. One of them hurried to the counter and made a call.

Moments later, four security guards stormed into the lobby, eyes wide and jaws tight.

"Hey," one barked, stepping forward. "What do you people think you're doing? This isn't your place. Get lost before we make you."

I caught Sam's small smirk.

"How warm and welcoming," he said with a slight bow. "But I think I'll stay. I'd like to speak to your boss."

"Not happening," the lead security guy said, already stepping forward.

He barely got two steps before Joon and I moved.

I hit the first guy in the ribs with my elbow, spun, and kicked his legs out from under him. Joon ducked a punch and slammed his knee into another's face. Within ten seconds, all four guards were down on the carpet, groaning.

Sam sighed like a disappointed teacher.

"Why do people always complicate things?"

He walked forward and crouched beside one of the fallen guards.

"Let's make this easy," he said, almost kindly. "Take us to your boss. Or I break your jaw next."

The guard, clutching his ribs, nodded frantically.

Joon yanked him up by the collar and shoved him forward. "Lead the way."

We followed the whimpering man down a corridor, past soundproof karaoke rooms. Loud singing and bass echoed faintly through the thick glass. The guard stopped in front of a larger room, trembling.

Joon opened the door.

Inside, it was a private suite. Plush couches, a huge TV screen on the wall, fancy lighting, and drinks spread across a glass table.

Nine people were in there. Eight men standing around—and one seated man in the middle. Mid-50s, bloated face, gold rings on every finger, cigarette in hand.

The moment he saw Sam, the cigarette dropped from his fingers.

"Sam... I... wasn't expecting you."

Sam smiled politely. "Clearly."

He walked in without hesitation, brushing past the bodyguards. Joon and I followed close behind.

"Everyone else—wait outside," Joon said, pointing at the other guys.

The eight bodyguards looked unsure. A few of them clenched their fists. But when Sam glanced over at them, they backed off and filed out of the room.

That left just me, Sam, Joon—and the karaoke boss with his seven lieutenants.

Sam took a seat on the leather couch directly opposite the boss. He leaned back with the confidence of someone who already owned the place.

The rest of us stood behind him.

Sam crossed his legs.

"Let's talk about business," he said smoothly. "Shall we?"

The air went cold.

The boss tried to laugh. "This is a surprise visit. If I'd known you were coming, I would've arranged something..."

"I'm not here for drinks," Sam cut him off. "I'm here for your accounts. And an explanation."

The boss wiped the sweat forming on his forehead.

Sam's tone never changed. "You've been late on three payments. You've been unresponsive to our boys. And now, I hear rumors you're planning to cut a deal with other suppliers. That's not very respectful."

The room remained frozen in tension. I could feel every drop of sweat in the air.

The boss shifted uncomfortably. "It's a misunderstanding."

Sam leaned forward slightly. "Then explain."

I stood still behind him, silent and alert. But I could feel Joon glancing at me every so often—as if watching how I'd react.

Inside, I was ready. Muscles coiled. Breathing steady. Just waiting.

Because if one of the seven goons in front of us made the wrong move, I'd strike first.

Sam's words might've sounded calm.

But I could tell—this wasn't a conversation.

This was a warning dressed in polite words.

And I was here to make sure the warning stuck.

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THIRD PERSON POV

Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on the glossy karaoke table, his fingers laced together as he fixed the older man across from him with a calm yet calculated gaze. "Let's talk business, shall we?"

The karaoke boss, a burly man in his late forties with slicked-back hair and a thick gold chain around his neck, tried to mask his unease with a forced grin. His fingers drummed nervously against the leather couch. "Sam... you didn't have to bring a damn army just to talk. You could've called."

Sam chuckled dryly. "A call doesn't guarantee respect. This—" he gestured subtly toward the door where Joon's men stood guard, "—does."

Y/N stood silently behind Sam's right shoulder, observing the tension slowly building in the room. Eight men stood behind the karaoke boss, all of them armed with the kind of swagger that came from believing they had the upper hand. Y/N could sense it — they were underestimating Sam. Underestimating all of them.

The boss leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "If this is about the money, I already told your guy—we need more time."

Sam's smile vanished.

"No," he said, voice low. "This isn't about the money. This is about territory. About respect. And about you running your operation without cutting in the people who made sure this district stayed off the cops' radar for the last three years."

The room went cold.

Joon crossed his arms. Y/N didn't move.

The boss's men started shifting, posturing like wolves behind their leader.

"You're bluffing," the boss muttered, trying to hold onto his authority. "You can't just walk in here and take over."

Sam shrugged lazily. "I can if your men are on the floor."

That's when everything exploded.

One of the boss's men suddenly lunged forward with a broken mic stand, aiming straight for Sam's head. But Sam ducked instinctively, twisting his body as Joon stepped in and landed a solid elbow to the attacker's face, knocking him back into the couch.

Another thug rushed at Y/N.

Y/N reacted without hesitation. He sidestepped the attacker, grabbed the man's wrist mid-swing, and twisted it until there was a sharp pop. The attacker screamed as Y/N slammed him face-first into the wall, then turned just in time to block a punch from a second guy.

Behind them, more fighting erupted. Tables overturned. Glass shattered. Music still blared faintly from the karaoke machine until someone crashed into it, silencing the room except for the sounds of fists, grunts, and breaking furniture.

Y/N ducked a chair thrown at him and charged at the thrower, tackling him into the bar counter. The two rolled over the edge and crashed onto the floor. Y/N landed a swift punch to the guy's ribs, then kneed him in the jaw. The man went limp.

He spun around, spotting Sam. Sam had one man in a chokehold with his arm pressed tight around the guy's neck, dragging him backward before flinging him into another attacker.

Joon was holding his own, blood dripping from a cut on his brow, but still smirking as he landed brutal blows with deadly precision.

Y/N suddenly noticed the boss trying to sneak out the side door.

Without thinking, he chased after him.

"HEY!" he shouted.

The boss turned just in time to see Y/N charge. He tried to pull a small pistol from his waistband, but Y/N reached him first, grabbing his wrist and slamming it into the doorframe. The gun clattered to the ground. Y/N swept his legs out, slamming the boss hard onto the floor, then picked up the gun and pointed it at him.

Breathing hard, sweat running down his face, Y/N voice was cold. "Where do you think you're going? We're not done talking."

Sam appeared behind him, wiping blood from his knuckles. He looked down at the boss, then at Y/N.

"You did good, rookie," he said calmly.

Y/N lowered the gun slowly.

Sam crouched beside the boss, who was wheezing in pain.

"Next time," Sam whispered, "you listen the first time we say we want to talk business."

The boss nodded quickly, terrified.

Joon stepped in, wiping the blood off his brow. "What now?"

Sam stood up. "Now? We take his files. His contacts. His debt lists. Everything. He works for us now. Or not at all."

Sam turned to Y/N.

"Welcome to the real job."

Y/N didn't answer.

But for the first time in a long while, he felt something strange in his chest.

Control.

Power.

And maybe a little bit of fear... not for himself, but for what he might become if he stayed in this world too long.

He looked down at the boss again.

Then he turned and walked out the door.

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The sky above the city had darkened into a deeper shade of charcoal, the stars barely visible beyond the neon glow of streetlights and signage. I stood by the edge of the sidewalk, hands in my pockets, staring at the steady stream of cars passing by. My body still felt the aftermath of everything that had happened inside that karaoke place. But it wasn't the bruises or the tension in my muscles that weighed the most—it was the echo of my thoughts.

There was this strange duality swirling inside me. Guilt... and satisfaction.

I felt guilty for how easy it was becoming to hurt people. For the fact that I didn't hesitate when I saw one of the security guys make a move—I just reacted. My fists found their targets like it was second nature. That's not something a normal person should be proud of. But at the same time... a part of me felt alive. Like I had finally stepped into a world that didn't look down on me. A world where I could breathe—not just survive.

The old me would've hated this.

But maybe the old me died the day I walked out of that house.

I closed my eyes and tilted my head up to the sky, trying to collect myself, trying to remind myself who I was. Or maybe who I thought I was.

A soft thud of footsteps pulled me back. I opened my eyes and glanced sideways.

It was Joon.

He was already lighting a cigarette, the orange glow at the tip illuminating his face slightly. "You alright?" he asked, exhaling smoke in a smooth stream.

I nodded. "Yeah."

"You looked deep in your head just now," he said, flicking the ash to the ground. "I get it, though. First few jobs can mess with your mind."

"I'm fine," I answered again, maybe a little too firmly this time.

Joon gave me a side glance. He didn't press the topic. Instead, he leaned against the wall next to me and said, "You did good in there. For a rookie."

I let out a breath through my nose and gave a small nod. I wasn't really used to compliments, especially not from someone like him.

He smirked. "You don't gotta act all stoic. You earned it."

I gave a shrug. "Just did what I had to."

Joon chuckled and took another drag from his cigarette. "That's the right mindset. But don't get too lost in it. There's a thin line between being focused and being consumed."

I looked at him then. For once, I saw something more in his expression—like he knew exactly what that felt like.

He pushed off the wall and stretched a little. "Anyway... don't just stand here all night. We're not done yet."

I raised an eyebrow. "We're not?"

"Nah," he said, flicking the cigarette onto the sidewalk and stomping it out. "Sam wants to go to another spot. Told me to bring you."

I frowned. "Another job?"

Joon smirked again. "Not exactly. But I think you'll like it."

"What kind of place?"

"You'll see."

I sighed. I hated vague answers, but at this point, I'd learned not to expect full explanations. I just nodded and followed him as we made our way back toward the front of the karaoke building.

Just as we reached the edge of the parking lot, the heavy glass doors swung open. Sam stepped out, his expression unreadable as always. His coat shifted slightly as he walked, and the rest of the guys stayed behind, cleaning up or handling whatever came next.

"Ready?" Sam asked, eyes flicking between us.

Joon nodded. "All set."

Sam turned his gaze to me. "Get in. Don't ask questions."

I didn't say a word. I just followed them to the car parked by the curb. Same sleek black vehicle from earlier. I slid into the backseat while Sam got behind the wheel and Joon took shotgun.

The doors shut. The engine hummed to life.

We got into the SUV, and the vehicle rolled off into the deeper, darker veins of the city.

The ride was quiet, but heavy. Sam didn't speak. Joon had his eyes closed, arms crossed, like he was conserving energy. And me? I was sitting in the backseat, staring out the window as the streets got narrower, the buildings taller, older, more... forgotten. Neon signs flickered. Trash littered sidewalks. This wasn't the Seoul that tourists saw. This was something else.

Eventually, we reached a nondescript parking structure. Sam parked, got out, and led us to what looked like a service elevator tucked behind a corner. A broken sign above it blinked with half-lit letters.

We stepped inside. Sam used a special keycard, and the elevator began descending... deeper than a normal basement.

I felt it immediately. The hum. The energy. Something primal.

The elevator doors slid open to reveal a narrow hallway, dimly lit with red lights. It looked like something out of a video game. The floor thudded with bass—music pulsing from somewhere beyond. We walked through winding corridors until it opened up into a vast, circular underground chamber.

My eyes widened.

It was a coliseum. A hidden coliseum.

A cage stood in the center, metallic and bloodstained. Around it were rows of elevated seating—VIP booths with tinted glass, leather chairs, men in suits smoking cigars, girls in expensive dresses, old gangsters, rich degenerates... people who paid to watch others bleed.

This was it.

This was The Purgatory.

My breath caught in my throat.

Sam turned to me, noting my expression with a smirk. "Welcome to the real underground."

I didn't respond.

A fight was already happening. Two men were inside the cage—one massive, tatted all over, the other lean and wiry, quick on his feet. They exchanged brutal blows, each strike echoing through the chamber like a gunshot. The crowd roared.

I couldn't look away.

Sam leaned toward me. "This place isn't about rules. It's about dominance. Survival. Money."

I kept watching.

The lean guy delivered a spinning kick that knocked the other man out cold. The crowd erupted. Money flew into the ring. Blood dripped.

And inside me... something stirred again.

That hunger.

The part of me I'd tried to bury was clawing its way out. The part that didn't just want to survive... but wanted to dominate.

Sam must've seen it in my eyes. He let out a short chuckle. "Sit. Watch. Let it sink in."

He gestured to an empty seat near the edge of the cage. I walked over and sat down, my heart pounding.

This world... it wasn't just violent. It was alive. Electric. Dangerous.

And for some reason... it felt like home.

That's when I noticed Sam watching me.

He'd been standing a few steps away, arms folded, his sharp gaze studying my expression. Like he already knew what was going through my head.

Like he'd seen this look on others before.

He gave a faint smirk. "You like this, don't you?" he said, voice low but amused.

I didn't answer. I didn't need to. My silence was loud enough.

Sam nodded to himself, then jerked his head toward the upper level of the factory where some old couches and metal chairs overlooked the ring. "Come on. Sit down. Watch. Learn."

I followed without a word.

The sound of fists hitting flesh echoed behind us, louder with every step.

We climbed the stairs and found a seat with a clear view of the ring. I dropped into the chair beside Sam while Joon leaned on the railing, arms crossed.

From up here, everything looked more brutal. Raw. Real.

Sam didn't speak again, and neither did I.

Because I wasn't just watching anymore.

I was imagining myself down there.

And the scary thing was...

I wanted it.

The waiter returned and led us toward a slightly elevated VIP section with a clear view of the cage. Sam nodded his thanks and followed, while I trailed behind, unable to keep my eyes off the fight. The atmosphere was electric, raw, almost primal. Every shout, every thud of a body hitting the floor echoed deep in my chest like it was calling to something inside me.

We sat down. Sam casually flagged a server and began ordering drinks and food. I didn't register a word he said—I was too absorbed in the match unfolding below. A flurry of fists. Blood smearing across the mat. The sharp grunt of a takedown. I leaned forward unconsciously, completely locked in.

Sam turned slightly, probably to ask what I wanted to order, but paused when he saw me. Instead of interrupting, he simply added something extra to the order and turned to Joon.

"He's really enjoying this, huh?" he said with a chuckle.

Joon just gave a small smirk and shrugged. "Guess he's got the taste for it already."

The fight ended with a brutal knockout, the crowd exploding in a wave of cheers and jeers. I let out a quiet, "Wow," under my breath, impressed by the sheer violence and skill. There was something both horrifying and awe-inspiring about it. The chaos. The blood. The precision.

Then, the crowd suddenly quieted as a new presence entered the scene. From the side of the arena, a tall man in an immaculately tailored suit walked toward our section. The aura around him was impossible to ignore—commanding, cold, and strangely elegant.

"Sai," Sam said, standing up and extending a hand. "The Florist himself."

Sai. So this was the man in charge. I stood up out of respect, unsure what to do.

"This the new kid you were talking about?" Sai asked, his voice calm but with an edge that made the hairs on my arms stand up.

"Yep," Sam replied, placing a hand on my shoulder. "He's got promise."

I nodded and introduced myself simply. "Nice to meet you. I'm—"

"No need," Sai interrupted smoothly. "Just enjoy the night. Anything you need, you let me know. It's all on the house tonight."

That confirmed it. This whole place—this underworld arena—was under Sam's territory. Probably a piece of a much larger empire.

As Sai turned to leave, Sam called him back with a low, "Hey, Sai."

They leaned in close, whispering something I couldn't make out. But what bothered me wasn't the secrecy—it was how both of them kept glancing at me while they spoke. Like I was a topic, or maybe a concern. I felt my skin prickle.

Sai gave a faint chuckle. "I can handle it, Sam. Leave it to me."

He disappeared into the shadows, and I finally turned toward Sam, ready to ask what that was all about.

"What were you—"

Before I could finish, the lights dimmed.

An announcer's voice boomed across the room. "And now... the challenger!"

A tall, scarred fighter walked out from the opposite end of the cage, raising his fists to the crowd. He looked strong, agile—but something told me he wasn't the one everyone came to see.

The lights suddenly blacked out, leaving only pulsing red strobes circling the cage.

"And now," the announcer's voice grew more dramatic, "the undefeated champion! Two years. Eighteen wins. No losses."

The crowd erupted in a frenzy as a hulking figure stepped into the cage. His presence was suffocating—like violence given human form. He didn't raise his hands. He didn't need to.

I leaned forward again, my chest tightening in anticipation. I could feel it. This wasn't just a fight—it was something bigger. A display. A statement.

The match began. The champion moved with terrifying efficiency. He absorbed a few hits, calculated every movement, then dismantled the challenger in under a minute. Clinch. Slam. Elbow. Knee. The fight was already over, but he didn't stop.

He mounted the barely-conscious challenger and locked his arms around his throat. The crowd was screaming—some in excitement, some in horror. I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

Then, with a single brutal twist, the champion crushed the man's windpipe. The body beneath him stopped moving.

Dead.

I sat frozen.

Inside me, that duality returned.

A part of me recoiled—sickened, guilty. This wasn't just illegal. It was murder.

But another part—deep, hidden, dangerous—was alive. Awake.

Excited.

Amused.

Sam watched me with a calm smile, like he had expected this reaction. Like he was confirming something. Joon, on the other hand, glanced at me with something closer to concern.

I didn't know what they saw in my expression.

I only knew one thing.

The part of me I thought had died a long time ago... was back.

And it liked what it saw.

The match ended with a brutal silence. The lifeless body was dragged out of the cage like it was nothing more than discarded trash, and I could still feel the tension in my fists from clenching them too hard.

Sam turned to me, voice casual, as if what we just witnessed was a movie scene. "So? What do you think?"

I glanced at him, feigning indifference. "Not bad. Kinda mesmerizing, actually."

Sam smirked, leaning back into the cushioned VIP seat. "Wanna try?"

I blinked, caught off guard. "Me?"

He nodded, eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

I scoffed slightly. "You mean... with that champion guy?"

Sam chuckled. "Not tonight. You're new. I wouldn't throw you into the fire that fast. But yeah, someone else. Not a nobody though."

A strange surge of excitement kicked in my chest. Maybe this was what he whispered to Sai earlier.

"Alright," I said, straightening my posture. "I'll do it."

Sam gave a subtle signal to the corner where Sai stood, watching us like a conductor waiting for the next act to start. Sai nodded and whispered something to one of the announcers.

The crowd roared as the cage door slammed shut behind me, the heavy clank echoing in my chest. The metallic scent of blood mixed with sweat hit my nostrils like a wave. The ground beneath me was stained red, and the faint trail of previous fights was etched into the mat like battle scars. I tried to steady my breathing, but my heart thumped wildly inside my ribcage—not from fear, but from anticipation.

Across from me, my opponent stepped in with a calm swagger. He had a lean, muscular frame, and every inch of his body was coiled like a spring ready to snap. His hands were wrapped tight, and his legs bore the scars of someone who had lived through dozens of fights. He wore Muay Thai shorts and a traditional Mongkhon headband. His eyes locked with mine—sharp, calculating, like a predator measuring its prey.

The announcer's voice rang out through the speakers, giving the crowd a name, a backstory, a reason to cheer. I didn't hear it. I was too focused. My gaze didn't leave the fighter in front of me.

The bell rang.

He charged first. Fast. A low kick swept toward my shin, and I barely dodged in time. The moment I moved back, he followed with a jab to my face—sharp and accurate. I raised my guard just in time, the impact numbing my forearm. I took two steps back, feeling the chain-link cage press against my spine. He didn't let up. A flurry of punches followed—jab, hook, uppercut. Each one came faster than the last. I kept moving, keeping my arms high, trying to read him.

This guy wasn't like the punks on the street. He was a trained fighter. Experienced. Efficient. Every strike had purpose. Every move had weight.

I ducked under a wild swing and countered with a quick jab to his ribs. He grunted, but it was more reaction than pain. Still, I noticed something—the way his left arm flexed tighter than usual when he blocked.

He came at me again, this time with a spinning elbow. I slid beneath it and sent a quick low kick to his left leg, disrupting his balance. He staggered, just slightly, but it was enough to confirm what I saw. His left side—especially his arm—was tighter, more guarded.

We circled. The crowd screamed for blood. I blocked out their noise. I focused.

I attacked now—jab to the body, feint, then a right hook to his shoulder. He blocked, but his arm shook. Again. I stepped in, drove my elbow into his bicep, and darted back before he could respond. He winced. That was it. His left arm was tense. Hurt, maybe.

He rushed me with a flurry of kicks—fast, brutal. One caught my thigh hard, and pain jolted up to my hip. I bit down on the inside of my cheek to stay grounded. Another kick came, this time aimed at my ribs, but I caught it and used my weight to shove him off balance. As he stumbled, I lunged forward and drove my shoulder into his chest, sending him into the cage wall.

The cage rattled. The crowd cheered louder.

I didn't let up. I started hammering at his left arm—hook, elbow, punch—over and over. He tried to guard, but each strike made his muscles twitch in pain. I saw it in his eyes now—hesitation.

He swung back wildly. One fist grazed my cheekbone. It stung, but it didn't matter. My blood was up. I ducked low, slammed my knee into his thigh, then brought my fist crashing into his side.

He gasped. I could feel him starting to fold.

I drove him into the cage again, slamming my shoulder into his torso. He shoved me off and tried to reset, but I was already on him. A quick step, a fake, and then I spun—my elbow catching the side of his jaw.

He staggered, legs wobbling.

I moved in. Left hook to the body. Right jab to the face. A final knee into his chest.

He collapsed to the mat, gasping, groaning.

The bell rang. It was over.

The ref didn't even need to count.

I stood there, my chest heaving, arms raised slightly. My heart was pounding, but it wasn't from exhaustion. It was from exhilaration. I felt alive. More alive than I had in years. I looked down at my opponent—he was still breathing, but he wouldn't be getting up anytime soon. His eyes met mine briefly, and in them, I saw fear. Not of pain. But of me.

I turned away, walking slowly toward the exit of the cage. The crowd was still howling, the sound bouncing off the walls and vibrating in my bones. But all I could focus on was the fire building inside me. That need. That hunger.

Sam met me at the entrance of the cage, grinning like a proud father.

"Not bad for your first night," he said, clapping a heavy hand on my back.

I managed a breathless smile. "Thanks."

Joon gave me a nod. He wasn't smiling. His eyes held something else—concern, maybe? I couldn't tell.

I took my seat again, still buzzing from the fight. My fists were still clenched. My breathing, uneven. That feeling—pure, primal satisfaction—coursed through me like electricity.

I hadn't just fought. I had dominated.

And I liked it.

The energy in the underground arena hadn't dulled one bit. After my match, breath still heavy, body buzzing with adrenaline. The blood on my knuckles had dried, and the dull ache settling into my muscles felt oddly comforting—like a reminder that I was still alive... and that I could feel something again.

The next match began in the cage below us, and my eyes were drawn to it immediately. I sat forward slightly, my plate in front of me untouched as I watched two men circle each other like beasts. One of them was bleeding already, a nasty gash above his brow, and it made the crowd roar in excitement. I picked up a skewer of grilled meat and absentmindedly took a bite, eyes never leaving the cage. It was like I was studying, preparing, becoming.

Sam, meanwhile, was entertaining two female servers who had joined our table. They laughed at his jokes, leaned in close when he whispered something, and smiled every time he raised his glass. He was in his element—confident, magnetic. Joon, however, wasn't saying much. He leaned back with a drink in hand, but his eyes weren't on the girls or the cage. They were on me.

He watched me like I was some kind of ticking time bomb. Maybe he saw something in me that I couldn't fully see yet. Something changing.

Moments later, Sai appeared. He moved through the crowd like a man who owned the room—because he did. Dressed sharply in a dark suit with no tie, his hair slicked back, he had the presence of a man who commanded power, even without saying a word.

"Ah, there he is," Sam greeted him with a half-smile. "The florist himself."

Sai chuckled softly and took a seat beside Sam, glancing at me with an unreadable expression. "Congratulations on your victory," he said to me.

I nodded. "Thanks."

He studied me a moment longer before asking, "So? How was the fight? Did you enjoy it?"

I looked away from the cage to meet his gaze. "Yeah... I did. My opponent wasn't ordinary. But I could still take him."

Sam let out a small laugh, clearly entertained by my confidence. "He's got the spirit, huh?"

Sai didn't smile. His expression didn't change, but there was something in his eyes—an almost imperceptible shift. A flicker of... something. Disapproval? Threat? I couldn't tell. But Joon saw it too. I noticed his eyes narrow slightly, and he shifted in his seat.

I went back to watching the fight, unaware of the undercurrent.

"So," Sam said, turning to Sai. "How's business? Everything smooth?"

Sai nodded. "Business is fine. No issues. But I need more stock. The current supply moves faster than expected."

Sam leaned back, lighting a cigarette. "I'll have my guys send a larger shipment next week. Just make sure the market stays open."

"You know me," Sai said, "I keep things running tight."

Sai sipped his drink, then gave Sam a sideways glance. "I heard you've expanded. Got new territory."

Sam shrugged, clearly unfazed. "I do what I have to do."

Sai's lips pressed into a tight line. "Your territory's growing, Sam. Don't you worry that your enemies might grow too?"

Sam smirked, exhaling smoke from his nose. "At this rate? Who would dare?"

Sai's expression twitched for a fraction of a second. Not enough to draw attention from most, but Joon saw it again. His grip on his glass tightened. I caught it too this time, but I stayed silent.

The air at the table shifted, just slightly. That subtle kind of tension you don't really feel until it's too late.

Then Sai leaned back, tone lightening as he changed the subject. "Anyway... you boys enjoy the night. If you want company—" He nodded toward the servers fluttering around the room. "Just let me know."

Joon immediately raised a hand and shook his head. "I'm good."

I turned to him, eyebrows slightly raised. "You sure?"

He nodded without looking at me. "Not my thing."

I followed his lead. "I'm good too."

Sai gave a soft chuckle and then looked at me again. "Bathroom's down that hall," he said, pointing to the side of the lounge, where a pair of red curtains covered an archway.

"Thanks," I said, pushing back my chair.

I stood and walked away, the sounds of the crowd, the clashing fists, and the clinking glasses fading behind me. My boots echoed softly against the stone floor as I passed through the red curtains into a dimly lit corridor. The scent of smoke and alcohol clung to the air, along with something metallic—faint, but unmistakable. Blood.

I didn't rush. My mind was still wrapped in the cage.

Something about it all—the violence, the energy, the power—lit something inside me. Like I'd been cold for years and now finally found a fire I could stand close to.

And I didn't know whether that was a good thing... or the beginning of something darker.

I pushed the bathroom door open and stepped inside, the sounds of the underground cage match muffled behind me. The sharp contrast between the roaring crowd and the eerie quiet of the restroom hit me almost immediately. White tiles, dim flickering lights, and the faint smell of iron and bleach. This place was brutal even in its silence.

I stepped up to one of the urinals, unzipping while my mind wandered back to the fight earlier. The way my opponent's eyes widened when I struck his arm—the way his movements shifted from confident to cautious. It felt like something inside me had reawakened. A hunger I didn't even know I still had. The smell of blood on the mats, the roar of the crowd—it was addicting. I could still hear the echo of it in my ears.

I smirked to myself. Was this what I was missing all this time?

Then I heard the door creak open behind me.

Footsteps.

Another man entered, casually stepping to the urinal right next to mine. Strange. There were plenty of empty ones. Out of reflex, I glanced over but quickly looked forward again. Mind your own business, I reminded myself.

But something was... off.

He wasn't peeing. I didn't hear anything. No zip. No trickle of liquid. Nothing.

Just silence.

Then, his voice.

"You're the new kid Sam picked up, aren't you?"

My body stiffened instantly. I finished up, zipping up slowly while keeping my peripheral vision locked on him. I turned slightly, not fully facing him, but enough to meet his gaze.

There was something predatory in his eyes. Calm. Cold. Focused.

"And who wants to know?" I replied, keeping my tone neutral, cautious.

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, like he was sizing me up. Then, in a voice void of emotion, he said,

"With your death, you can help me."

The words hit harder than they should have. I frowned. "What the hell are you—"

He moved fast.

Too fast.

A flash of silver. I caught the glint of the blade before it reached me. Instinct kicked in and I raised my hand just in time to block the attack. My palm caught the flat of the blade near its edge. Pain surged instantly as the sharp metal cut into my skin. I grit my teeth, holding back a shout.

"Fuck—who the hell are you?!"

"Doesn't matter," he whispered, yanking the blade back. I stumbled slightly, blood dripping from my hand.

He stepped back, keeping the blade ready, his body angled like a trained killer. I backed away too, hand bleeding, mind racing.

We locked eyes.

Neither of us moved.

The room felt smaller now, the air thicker. My heart was pounding, but I wasn't scared.

I was pissed.

He wanted to kill me? Here? Now?

Fine.

I clenched my fist, ignoring the pain, and stepped forward. "You're not gonna tell me who you are? That's fine," I said, voice low. "We'll do this the hard way."

He smiled.

It was the kind of smile you only see on people who enjoy pain—giving or receiving.

Then he charged.

His first strike was clean and fast. I dodged to the side, barely avoiding a slash to my ribs. The blade grazed my shirt instead, slicing through the fabric with ease. I retaliated with a punch to his face, but he ducked and kicked my knee, making me stumble back.

He lunged again.

I caught his wrist, twisted it, but he rolled with the motion and slammed his elbow into my chest. I gasped, stumbling back against the sink. He came in again, blade leading, but I ducked and slammed my shoulder into his gut, driving him into the wall.

He grunted, and for a moment, the knife clattered from his hand.

I tried to punch him, but he recovered fast, ramming his knee into my side. I felt something crack—maybe a rib.

I dropped to one knee.

The knife was in his hand again.

He slashed.

I blocked with my bleeding arm, but I was getting slower. Cuts opened along my forearm, my leg, even across my cheek. My vision started to blur. I was losing too much blood, too fast.

But I didn't fall.

I wouldn't.

I could still fight.

He lunged again, going for the kill.

Suddenly—BANG—a loud crash echoed in the restroom as the door burst open.

"HEY!"

It was Joon.

He moved like a bullet. In a blink, his foot collided with the attacker's wrist, sending the knife clattering across the tiles again. Then, without hesitation, Joon followed up with a brutal spinning kick aimed for the guy's head.

The attacker ducked and retreated a few steps, blade-less now, but still calm.

I dropped to the floor, chest heaving. My head spun. I could barely hear the voices.

"You okay?!" Joon shouted, rushing to me.

I nodded weakly, but my body didn't follow. I collapsed, my back hitting the cold tiles.

Blood smeared the floor beneath me.

The attacker stood a few feet away, breathing hard, eyes locked on us.

"This isn't over," he growled. "Remember that."

Then he turned and bolted out the door before either of us could stop him.

Joon looked like he wanted to give chase but glanced down at me again.

"Shit," he muttered. He tore a cloth from his pocket and wrapped it around my arm, tying it tight.

"Hold on, man. Stay with me."

Just then, Sam and Sai stormed in, their eyes widening at the scene.

Sam's voice was sharp and commanding. "Take him to the hospital. Now!"

Joon didn't hesitate. He hoisted me up carefully and began leading me out.

As we moved, I caught a glimpse of Sai's face.

Expressionless.

But something in his eyes...

It didn't sit right.

Everything was dark.

No sound. No pain. No weight.

Just a cold void swallowing me whole.

Then... warmth.

A sting.

The sharp throb in my hand felt like someone was hammering nails into my bones. A dull ringing pressed into my ears, and slowly, my vision returned—blurred outlines, white ceiling, and the smell of antiseptic in the air.

I blinked hard. The room gradually came into focus. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, and I realized I was lying in a hospital bed. My right arm—wrapped in thick, sterile bandages—rested across my chest, pulsing with pain. A soft beep came from a machine to my side. Monitors. I was hooked up to one of them.

"You finally awake?"

Joon's voice cut through the silence. I turned my head and saw him sitting on the plastic chair next to my bed, arms crossed over his chest, jacket slung lazily over the backrest. He looked tired, but his eyes were alert—watching me closely.

"What happened?" I croaked. My throat felt like sandpaper.

"You passed out from blood loss on the way here. Doc said it wasn't anything fatal, but it got close. They pumped you full of new blood. That's why you're still breathing."

I exhaled, letting my head sink back into the pillow. The pain was manageable now, just a heavy dull ache across my hand and shoulder.

"I blacked out?" I asked.

Joon nodded. "Yeah. After that psycho stabbed at you, you held on for a while... then you just dropped. That bastard said something before he left, too. Told us—'This isn't over. Remember that.' Real dramatic, like some B-movie villain."

I frowned, the memory flooding back now. The stranger in the restroom. The knife. His calm voice. The speed of his attack. His words.

"He came in while I was taking a piss," I said. "Didn't even unzip. Just walked up and said I was Sam's new guy. Then suddenly tried to stab me."

Joon raised an eyebrow. "So he knew who you were?"

I nodded. "Yeah. That's the part that gets me. He knew my face. My name. I don't think it was random. That wasn't some club junkie looking for a thrill—he had purpose. Like he was sent."

"You block the knife with your bare hand?" Joon asked, looking halfway impressed and halfway concerned.

I smirked weakly. "Didn't have much of a choice. Guy was fast. Way too fast. Like he'd done that a hundred times before."

Joon gave a short laugh, shaking his head. "Still... who the hell blocks a blade with their palm, man? You're either crazy or tougher than you look."

"I didn't have time to think. Just react."

Joon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His face became serious again. "You recognize the guy at all?"

I shook my head. "Never seen him before. Not even in passing. But he... he had this look. Like he hated me personally. Like he already knew something about me."

Joon looked thoughtful. "I feel like I've seen him somewhere. But I can't place it."

I stared at the ceiling. The pain in my hand started to throb harder, like it was syncing with my pulse. "He said, 'You're Sam's new guy.' So yeah... someone told him. He came for me."

Joon nodded slowly. "That's what I was afraid of. You've been targeted."

"Why?"

"You're under Sam now. That puts a target on your back, even if you've only been with us for a few days. Some people want to scare off the new blood before they get too comfortable."

I closed my eyes for a moment. "They're wasting their time."

"Yeah, well, they don't know that yet," Joon said, smirking. "But this proves something else too."

"What?"

"You've made an impression. And not just on us. You don't send an assassin after a nobody."

I opened my eyes and glanced at him. "You think it was an assassin?"

"That wasn't some club drunk with a grudge. The way he moved, how he struck, the fact that he came in quietly, tried to finish it quick—he knew what he was doing. That's a pro. Someone sent him."

I stayed quiet for a long moment.

Joon finally stood up and walked to the foot of the bed, then leaned on the bedrail, looking down at me. "You need to train more."

I raised an eyebrow. "That obvious, huh?"

"No offense, but yeah. You're tough, and you've got heart. But we're in a different game now. Being strong isn't enough. You need to be smart, fast, and prepared—for guys like him, and worse."

I nodded slowly. "I figured."

Joon's eyes softened a bit. "But for now, just rest. Heal up. We'll talk about training when your hand stops looking like it's been through a blender."

I managed a tired grin. "Fair enough."

He started to walk toward the door, then stopped and glanced back. "You know... you're not bad, kid. I've seen new recruits fold on their first fight. But you stood your ground, even with a blade at your gut. That counts for something."

"Thanks," I said quietly.

"And for what it's worth..." he added, looking a little more serious. "I'll keep my eyes open. That guy didn't come alone. Even if he walked out on his own, he's part of something bigger. So stay sharp."

With that, he opened the door and stepped out, leaving me alone with the beeping machines and my thoughts.

The pain in my hand burned a little deeper.

So... this is what it feels like.

To be hunted.

To be someone worth targeting.

I didn't ask for this.

But I couldn't deny it anymore—

Some part of me was drawn to this world.

Drawn to the fight.

Drawn to the fire.

Even with blood loss and pain in my body... I wasn't afraid.

I wanted to get stronger.

Stronger than this.

Stronger than him

It had been a few days since I was discharged from the hospital.

I didn't tell Joon.

I figured it was better that way. He had already told me not to come back to work until my arm was fully healed, so there was no rush. And besides, I wanted to feel independent again—to take back some control over my life, even if it was just a quiet walk through the city.

Seoul was always buzzing, no matter the time of day. But that morning, it felt... lighter. The weather was warm with a soft breeze brushing against my skin. The sun peeked out from behind wisps of clouds, casting a golden hue over the city. I found myself wandering without a destination, just letting my feet carry me where they wanted.

Eventually, they brought me to Hangang River.

I hadn't planned it.

Maybe it was instinct—some subconscious part of me craving calm. The moment I arrived, I felt it. Peace. People were jogging, cycling, laughing, walking their dogs, couples sharing drinks, kids playing with bubble guns... life was happening around me, and for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel the need to hide from it.

I found an empty bench facing the river and sat down. The cool metal surface pressed against my back as I leaned into it, watching the water shimmer in the sunlight. My injured arm was still bandaged, resting gently on my lap. The pain was dull now—more of a reminder than a burden.

That's when my thoughts drifted to her.

Karina.

It had been days since she messaged me, asking if I wanted to grab a meal together. And I still hadn't replied.

Part of me wanted to. I really did. But another part... it kept pulling me back. Telling me it wasn't right.

She's a idol. I'm just... me.

And after everything that's happened—getting fired, getting beat, ending up in the hospital because of a knife-wielding lunatic—I wasn't sure if I belonged anywhere near someone like her. Her world was made of lights, fans, music, and cameras. Mine was made of bruises, silence, and secrets.

So, I didn't reply.

I thought maybe she'd forget about me.

But the guilt... it lingered. And as I sat there, staring at the calm ripples of the river, I couldn't help but think about the way she looked at me. The way she spoke to me like I mattered. Like I wasn't invisible.

I closed my eyes and let out a sigh, sinking deeper into thought.

Then, suddenly—

"Oh my god... it is you! Y/N!"

A voice. A familiar one.

I opened my eyes, startled. My head turned toward the sound, and there she was.

Karina.

Wearing a simple yet flattering jogger outfit, her hair tied loosely into a ponytail, cheeks slightly flushed from her morning run—but still looking effortlessly beautiful. Her eyes sparkled with recognition, and her smile... god, that smile. My heart skipped a beat.

She walked over and sat beside me on the bench like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, her tone warm and casual.

I froze for a second, unsure how to answer. My chest tightened with guilt.

I didn't reply to your message.

I looked away, toward the river again, trying not to let her see the shame in my eyes.

"Just... enjoying the view," I said quietly.

But I didn't look at her. I couldn't.

I felt her eyes on me. Studying me.

"Are you... avoiding me?" she asked suddenly, catching me completely off guard.

My head snapped toward her. "What? No—of course not."

Karina raised an eyebrow. "Really? Because it kinda feels like you are."

Her voice wasn't accusing, just... curious. Maybe a little hurt.

I couldn't lie to her. But I couldn't tell the whole truth either. So I stayed silent.

Then, her gaze dropped to my arm. Her expression changed instantly.

"What happened to your hand?" she asked, her voice soft with concern.

My breath caught.

The bandages. Shit.

"Oh, this?" I tried to sound nonchalant. "It's nothing serious. Just... cut myself with a kitchen knife while cooking. Dumb, right?"

Karina's eyes widened in shock. "Seriously? Are you okay?" she asked, reaching out gently and placing her hand over mine—right over the bandages.

Her touch was warm. Soft. Kind.

I swallowed hard.

She actually cared.

"It's nothing," I mumbled, not trusting myself to say more.

But I didn't pull my hand away. Not yet.

"You should be more careful," she said softly, her thumb brushing over the edge of the bandage. "You scared me."

I didn't know what to say. Her concern, her presence—it was overwhelming in the best way. My throat tightened.

Then she looked up at me again. Her eyes meeting mine.

"Why aren't you saying anything?"

I blinked.

I hadn't realized I'd been staring. Lost in her eyes. Lost in the warmth she radiated without even trying.

"I... I just don't know what to say," I finally admitted.

Karina smiled. "Well, for starters... how about explaining why you didn't reply to my message?"

I looked down, shame washing over me again.

"I'm sorry," I said, voice low. "I wanted to. I really did. But I... I didn't think I should."

Karina tilted her head, confused. "Why not?"

"Because I'm just some guy," I said, finally looking at her. "And you're... you. You're famous. Loved. Respected. You have fans. A reputation. I didn't want to mess that up. I didn't want to be the reason people talk badly about you."

She stared at me for a moment, then... she laughed.

Not mocking. Not mean.

Just soft. Surprised.

"Why do you always put yourself down like that?" she asked.

I looked away again.

She continued, "Yes, I'm an idol. But that doesn't mean I'm not allowed to have friends. Or... people I care about."

I stayed quiet.

"And for the record," she added, "before I even messaged you, I already thought about the rumors, the consequences, the what-ifs. But I messaged you anyway. Because I wanted to."

That made my chest feel tighter. But in a good way.

She wasn't just being polite. She meant it.

"You're not just some guy, Y/N. Don't ever say that again."

I blinked, unsure what to say. So I just... smiled. Small. Grateful.

"I'm really sorry," I said again. "For ignoring you."

Karina nodded. "Apology accepted. But only on one condition."

I raised an eyebrow.

She grinned. "You say yes this time."

I blinked. "Say yes to...?"

"Dinner," she said simply. "With me. Like I asked before."

I stared at her.

Was she serious?

Before I could answer, she added, "So... is it on?"

That playful spark in her eyes caught me off guard.

I hesitated.

But only for a second.

"...Yeah," I said. "It's on."

Her smile grew.

"Good. Sunday night," she said. "I'll text you the place and time. But don't cancel last minute, okay? Promise?"

I nodded. "Promise."

She gave me one last warm smile, then stood up, brushing imaginary dust from her joggers.

"I should head back before my manager starts wondering where I disappeared to," she said.

"Right," I said, standing up too.

She turned to me, waved.

"I'll see you Sunday, Y/N."

"Yeah," I said, smiling. "See you."

And just like that, she jogged away, her ponytail bouncing with every step.

I watched her go, my heart still racing.

She didn't feel like a superstar idol to me.

She felt like the girl next door.

And for the first time in a long time, I felt like maybe... just maybe... things were going to be okay

———————-

KARINA POV

The room was dim, lit only by the soft, golden glow of my bedside lamp. Everyone else had retreated to their own corners of the dorm, busy with their own wind-down routines after a long day of practice and schedules. I should've been exhausted too—but my mind wouldn't rest.

I sat cross-legged on my bed, eyes glued to my phone screen, but not really looking at anything. Just... staring. My thumb hovered over the messages, the last one from him still unread.

"Promise."

I smiled faintly just thinking about it. I hadn't expected to see him at Hangang that morning—honestly, it had startled me. But when I saw him sitting there, back turned to the river, so still and quiet... I knew. I knew it was him even before I saw his face. Something about the way he sat, that familiar silence wrapped around him like a second skin. And when he turned and looked at me... yeah. My heart did that annoying thing again.

I sighed, dragging a pillow into my arms and hugging it close. Why was I like this? Why did someone like him keep occupying space in my thoughts when I had a thousand more important things to focus on?

"Hey."

I jumped a little at the voice. I turned to see Winter standing by my door, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised.

"You good?" she asked, stepping inside without waiting for an answer.

"Yeah. Just thinking," I said, patting the space beside me. She flopped onto the bed and stretched her legs out with a sigh.

"You were totally zoning out during dinner," she said, giving me a look. "What's up?"

I hesitated for a second before answering. I wasn't usually the type to talk about personal stuff—not even with the members. But with Winter... sometimes it felt easier.

"Do you remember the guy from the convenience store?" I asked quietly.

Winter blinked. "The one who helped you that night? The one you've been low-key obsessed with ever since?"

"I'm not obsessed," I muttered, heat rising to my cheeks.

Winter gave me a knowing smirk. "Okay. Maybe not obsessed. But you did go out of your way to find him."

I exhaled slowly. "I ran into him again today."

Winter's expression immediately changed. "Wait, what? Where?"

"Hangang River. I was jogging. And he was just... there. Sitting alone."

Winter leaned in, eyes widening. "You talked to him?"

I nodded.

"And?"

I paused, fingers tightening around the pillow. "He still hadn't replied to my message from before. He said he felt like... like it wasn't right. Like he wasn't good enough to be friends with someone like me."

Winter's face softened. "That's heavy."

"Yeah," I said, my voice small. "And his hand was wrapped in bandages. He said he cut it while cooking, but I don't know... something felt off. Like he was hiding something."

Winter stayed quiet for a moment before saying, "So how did it end?"

"I asked him again about going out to eat. He said yes this time," I said. "We're supposed to meet on Sunday."

Winter gave me a long look. "And you're not sure how to feel about it?"

I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. "I want to see him. I really do. But I'm scared. I don't even know why exactly. There's just... something about him. Like he's carrying so much more than he lets on."

Winter nodded slowly. "You think he's dangerous?"

"No," I said immediately. "Not to me. But maybe to himself."

That sentence hung in the air between us like a weight.

"I don't know," I continued. "Maybe I'm just overthinking. Maybe he really did just hurt his hand cooking. Maybe he's just... guarded. Like me."

Winter nudged me gently with her shoulder. "Unnie, it's okay to care about someone. Even if you don't fully understand them yet."

I looked at her.

"You don't have to save everyone," she added softly, "but that doesn't mean you have to shut yourself off either."

I smiled faintly. "When did you get so wise?"

"I've always been wise," she said with a playful flip of her hair. "You're just too busy being mysterious and brooding to notice."

I rolled my eyes, laughing under my breath. "You're impossible."

Winter grinned. "Look, if this guy matters to you, even a little, then it's worth exploring. Worst case, it doesn't work out. But best case... maybe you find someone who gets you in a way no one else does."

I stayed quiet, chewing on her words.

"Besides," she added, "you've been so much lighter ever since you met him. You don't talk about it, but I can see it."

I gave a small laugh. "You've been watching me that closely?"

"Obviously. We share walls. I hear you sighing at 2AM."

We both laughed.

I leaned my head on her shoulder for a moment. "Thanks."

"Anytime."

We stayed like that for a while, in comfortable silence.

Eventually, Winter stretched and stood up. "Alright, I'm off. I need to put on a face mask before I turn into a prune."

I chuckled. "Go, skincare queen."

She walked to the door, then paused and looked back at me. "Just one last thing."

"Hm?"

"If he ever hurts you, emotionally or otherwise—I will dropkick him. No hesitation."

I smiled. "Noted."

Winter winked and disappeared into the hallway.

I was left alone again, but this time the silence didn't feel so heavy.

I looked down at my phone. The message was still there. Still unread.

But this time... I wasn't afraid.

I placed the phone on my nightstand, turned off the light, and lay back in bed. For the first time in days, my mind felt quiet. The kind of quiet that made room for hope.

And somehow, I knew...

This was only the beginning.

————————————-

Y/N POV

I woke up later than I should have.

Again.

The light creeping through the dusty curtain was too bright to ignore anymore, and it stung a little when it hit my eyes. I groaned, turning over and staring at the stained ceiling above my bed. My body ached in the usual way—but less than before. That was something, at least.

I sat up slowly, my back cracking slightly from the motion. My right hand still had a tight bandage wrapped over the knuckles and palm. The sharp stinging pain I used to feel every time I moved it was mostly gone now, replaced by a dull soreness. Still not perfect, but healing.

The bruises on my ribs and shoulder had mostly faded too—nothing but faint shadows of the storm that came before. I pulled my shirt down and touched the scabbed skin out of habit, then dropped my hand. No use picking at it.

It had been a few days since the attack. And I still didn't know who the hell that guy was.

He'd known my face. He knew who I was working for. And he came straight at me like he'd been waiting. The blade he carried wasn't some random street weapon—it was professional. Sharp, thin, and fast. Whoever sent him... they weren't playing around.

I leaned back and ran a hand over my face.

Was it someone after Sam? Probably. But then again, why target me?

I wasn't important. I was just the new guy. The nobody.

Unless...

Unless they were trying to send a message.

If that was the case, then I was already a piece on the board, whether I liked it or not.

I sighed and stood up, stretching the stiffness from my joints. No use overthinking it right now. But if I was going to keep working in this line—under Sam, around people like Joon—I needed to be ready. For anything.

Joon's voice echoed in the back of my mind.

"You're under Sam now. People will come for you. You better start training again."

He wasn't wrong.

I'd let my skills dull over the years. I'd been too busy surviving to care about keeping my body sharp. But after what happened in that restroom, I realized how close I'd come to dying. If Joon hadn't shown up in time... I probably wouldn't be here, standing in this cramped room right now.

I never got to really see him fight that night. I caught a glimpse—a blur of movement when he slammed that guy into the sink—but I was too busy bleeding on the floor to watch properly.

But judging from the way the attacker backed off the moment Joon stepped in...

Yeah. That guy's on another level.

I should take him up on that training offer. Even if it killed me, it would be better than going in unprepared.

I stood there lost in thought, staring at nothing, when a buzz from my phone snapped me back. I blinked, reached over to the cracked screen, and checked the notification.

1 new message.

From: Ji-min

Ah. Karina.

I unlocked the phone, and there it was:

Meet me at this café at 10AM. Don't cancel last minute. And don't be late.

I stared at it for a second, lips curling into a slow, surprised smile.

Of course she'd say it like that. No fluff. No emojis. Just direct, sharp, and strangely... cute.

I tapped a reply:

Okay.

That was all I could manage without sounding like an idiot.

After sending it, I dropped the phone on the bed and let myself fall back with a soft laugh.

A guy like me... going on a date with someone like her. It felt like something out of a dream I didn't dare believe in.

An idol.

Not just any idol—Karina. Cold on the outside, warm beneath. Her gaze, the way she looked at me, like she was trying to understand a puzzle no one else cared to solve.

She said yes to a date.

Tomorrow.

I stared up at the ceiling again, but this time, I couldn't stop the grin from spreading across my face. Nervous didn't even begin to describe it. I'd never done this kind of thing before—never had a proper "first date," let alone with a girl like her. What the hell was I going to talk about?

What would I wear?

I shot upright and started pacing.

I couldn't show up in the usual hoodie and ripped jeans combo—not this time.I tried the new cloth that joon buy for me.

I threw it on the table and stepped back, eyeing it like I was judging some runway model.

"Passable," I muttered.

Still, I needed a plan.

Where would I take her after the café?

We couldn't just sit and drink coffee in awkward silence. Not someone like her. She needed something more. Something with space to breathe.

I sat back down and pulled up Google.

"Best places to take a girl on a first date."

List after list popped up. Restaurants. Art galleries. Bookstores. Parks.

Then something caught my eye.

Lotte World.

I clicked.

An amusement park. Indoor and outdoor rides, arcades, skating rink, food courts, and those cheesy photo booths with customizable frames.

It was perfect.

Fun, casual, lots of distractions if the conversation dried up. She could laugh. Be herself. And for a few hours, maybe forget she was Karina of aespa and just be... Ji-min.

Yeah. That's the place.

I bookmarked the page and began planning the route. Train lines. Entry fees. Food stalls. I even made a mental list of which rides looked fun but not too extreme. Nothing that would risk her getting recognized or cornered.

As I was scribbling things down in my notebook, another message popped in.

I thought it was her again.

But it wasn't.

From: Joon

"When did you get discharged from the hospital? Why didn't you tell me?"

Ah. Shit.

I rubbed the back of my neck and typed back.

"Didn't want to bother you. You were busy. I was fine."

The reply came quick.

"Get ready tonight. Sam wants to meet. Just you and me."

I stared at it, my fingers still on the screen.

"My hand's not fully healed. If it's a fight, I might just slow you down."

"If it's a fight, I'll handle it. Just show up."

I shook my head and smiled a little.

That was Joon. No drama. No long explanations. Just "show up."

I tossed my phone aside again and leaned back.

Whatever Sam wanted to talk about, it probably wasn't small. He didn't waste time on casual meetups. And the fact that it was just me and Joon? That made it more serious.

Maybe he wanted to talk about the attack. Maybe he had intel. Maybe—

I stopped myself before spiraling too far.

There was no point guessing until I got there.

Still, I felt that slight shift inside me again—the cold tug in my chest that reminded me this wasn't a game anymore.

I wasn't just some cashier at a convenience store trying to survive paycheck to paycheck.

I was inside something now.

And if Sam had enemies... they were mine, too.

I exhaled and stood up again, eyes drifting toward the small mirror on the wall. My reflection stared back—messy hair, tired eyes, but something different behind them now.

Focus.

Purpose.

And a little bit of fear.

But also—something else.

Hope?

I looked down at my phone, at Karina's message again.

Tomorrow, I had a date.

Tonight, I had a meeting with people who lived on the edge of the world I was slowly being dragged into.

Two different lives.

And I was standing in the middle.

Just trying to hold it all together.

Night had fallen.

My phone buzzed with a message.

Joon: I'm here. Come down.

I replied with a short okay and left my room, heading down to the lobby. As soon as the glass doors slid open, I spotted Joon's car parked right at the curb, engine running, headlights casting sharp beams across the pavement.

I opened the door and got in.

Joon gave me a quick glance. "How's the hand?"

I raised it slightly, the white bandage wrapping around my palm. "Still healing. Doesn't hurt as much anymore."

He nodded, eyes back on the road. "Sam told me just now... Our guys caught one of the men connected to the hit on you."

I blinked. "Already? That fast?"

"Yeah," he said, voice steady. "Sam wants to meet him tonight. Interrogate him. Your job is to observe. That's it. Just watch."

I gave a small nod. "So, we going straight to where he's being held?"

"Not yet," Joon said, turning the wheel. "We're picking up Sam at the club first."

I leaned back in the seat and stayed quiet.

Ten minutes later, we pulled up in front of the club. Sam was already waiting outside, dressed sharp in a black coat, smoking calmly by the entrance. He flicked the cigarette and stepped into the car without a word, sliding into the back seat.

"Let's go," he said.

As we started moving again, Sam leaned forward slightly. "Your hand okay?"

"Yeah," I said. "Still healing, but I can move it now."

"Good. Just observe tonight," he said. "Interrogation isn't just about violence. It's about control. Intimidation. Getting what you need without saying too much."

I nodded, even though I wasn't sure I'd be able to stomach whatever they were about to show me.

The drive took about twenty minutes. The streetlights disappeared one by one, replaced by empty roads, warehouses, and silence. Finally, we turned into a dirt path leading to a secluded, rundown warehouse in the outskirts. Totally isolated. No houses. No streetlights. No one around to hear a scream.

As we stepped out of the car, a few of Sam's men were already waiting at the entrance. They bowed slightly to Sam, showing deep respect.

We walked in.

The air inside was heavy—damp, dusty, and cold. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a pale glow across the large open space.

In the middle of the warehouse, a man sat bound to a steel chair. His head hung low, black hair wet with sweat. His face was already a mess—swollen cheek, bloodied nose, a cut above his eye. He looked like he'd gone a few rounds before we even got here.

Sam walked toward him slowly, calm as ever. "So this," he said, glancing back at me, "is one of the bastards who tried to have you killed."

I stared at the man.

He didn't look up right away. When he did, his eyes met mine—and for a second, there was nothing but cold hate in his gaze.

Joon walked to a table nearby and pulled out a black suitcase. He laid it down, opened it, and pulled out a small silver object.

A cigarette cutter.

He handed it to Sam.

Sam lit a cigarette, clipped the tip with the cutter, and looked at the guy.

"What's your boss's name?" he asked casually.

The guy looked at him, then at me.

Then he spat blood to the side and sneered. "Go fuck yourself."

Sam smiled.

"I like guys like you," he said, almost warmly.

And then—without hesitation—he grabbed the guy's hand, slipped the cutter around one of his fingers, and snip.

A finger dropped to the floor.

The man screamed—raw, loud, guttural.

Blood sprayed across the concrete.

I froze.

It wasn't the blood. I'd seen blood before. It was the sound. That crack of bone and flesh being sliced through. It echoed in my ears long after it happened.

Sam calmly placed the cutter on the next finger.

"Let me ask again," he said, puffing his cigarette. "What's your boss's name? Who did he send to kill my boy?"

The man's breathing was ragged. His body shook. His lips trembled...

But he grinned. "Kill me. I won't tell you shit."

Sam clicked his tongue and—SNAP—cut off another finger.

The man let out another scream, head thrown back, veins popping in his neck.

Still, he didn't break.

Sam's face remained calm, but I could see it—the slight twitch in his brow. He was getting annoyed.

He turned to Joon and made a gesture.

Joon reached into the suitcase again... and this time, pulled out a long, slender knife.

A butcher's blade.

He handed it over to Sam like it was a normal thing.

Sam stepped forward, rolled up his sleeves, and gripped the man's face. "Last time."

He reached in, grabbed the man's tongue.

The guy tried to pull back, eyes wide in panic.

"Who's your boss? What's his name?"

Silence.

"Who tried to kill him?" Sam motioned his head toward me. "Say it. Or I cut your fucking tongue out."

The guy's face turned pale. His legs kicked weakly against the chair. His teeth were chattering now—not from the cold, but from fear.

He broke.

"J-Jin..." he croaked.

Sam paused. "What?"

"His name is Jin," the man gasped. "He gave the order... I don't know who exactly attacked him... just Jin..."

Sam released his grip, patting the guy's cheek lightly.

"See?" he said with a smile. "That wasn't so hard."

The man looked up, blood dripping from his chin. "Please... please don't kill me..."

Sam walked behind him slowly.

"Don't worry," he said.

And with one swift motion—he slit the man's throat.

The sound was wet and sharp.

Blood gushed out like a burst pipe, spraying onto the concrete. The man choked, gurgled—and then went limp.

Dead.

Just like that.

I stood frozen, my breath caught somewhere between my chest and throat. It was the first time I'd ever seen someone die like that. Not in a fight. Not by accident. But executed. Cold. Methodical. Like it was normal.

Sam dropped the knife and wiped his hands with a rag someone handed him.

He looked at me. "So. You learned how to interrogate someone?"

I swallowed hard and gave a stiff nod.

"That's how you do it," he said, lighting another cigarette. "You get your answer... and make sure your enemies don't even realize you got it."

He exhaled slowly, then turned to his men. "Clean it up."

"Yes, boss," they said, already moving to handle the body.

Sam walked off toward the exit.

"Let's go."

Joon and I followed.

But as we walked out of the warehouse, I could feel Joon glance at me a few times. He didn't say anything, but there was something in his eyes. Concern. Like he was wondering whether I'd just crossed a line I couldn't come back from.

Maybe I had.

Maybe I just didn't know it yet.