Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The autumn breeze cut through the campus grounds of Korea National Police University (KNPU)—sharp, cold, and way too serious for Baku’s taste. Everyone around him stood stiff in perfect formation, uniforms crisp, expressions tense like they were already in boot camp.

Except him.

Naturally.

His shirt was already wrinkled from sprinting desesperately across campus and nearly missing roll call.  He didn’t even try to smooth it out. What was the point? It was already done. Might as well own it. Baku is sure that probably nobody would notice.

Excited, he shifted on his feet, stretching his neck to find Gotak in the crowd. There was a lanky, tall dude almost falling asleep, a guy with good posture but a faraway look in his eyes, an intense but pretty girl who glared at him when their eyes briefly met, and… oh, there he was—standing like a statue, jaw clenched, looking everywhere except at him in a way too obvious to not be suspicious.
The idiot probably thought Baku would do something stupid—something that would definitely embarrass him in front of everyone if they made eye contact or something.

Whatever. Embarrassment was part of the package deal when you were best friends with Baku.

But still.

They’d made it.

Or rather, they were about to. If they survived the next two weeks without collapsing, flunking out, or dying of overexertion.

A high-ranking female officer stood at the podium, finishing the admission speech. Baku tuned in halfway through.

“...admitted to the institution for two weeks, during which you will be tested both physically and academically to see who is truly fit to become a future officer.”

No pressure, Baku thought, swallowing dryly.

“Now,” the woman thundered, voice booming with the authority of someone who probably ate regulations for breakfast, “let’s see if you have what it takes to be the future of Korea’s police force!”

The crowd exploded. Cheers. Clapping. A few overenthusiastic candidates (and Baku) even jumped in place like it was a concert. Parents, friends, and partners swarmed toward the future cadets, ready to share a few last words of farewell, congratulations—or simply wish them good luck.

Among them, Baku’s own father tried to maintain his usual air of indifference. But Baku could clearly see the pride gleaming in his eyes. His chest tightened in a weird, twisty way. Their relationship was still... weird. Fragile. Like a bridge that had only just stopped crumbling. But this moment?

It meant something.

For years, his father had treated him like a lost cause. Like he was one missed call away from juvie. Or a delinquent destined for a cell. Called him too loud. Too much. Dumb. He hadn’t bothered to understand him and assumed every problem was rooted in Baku’s mere existence.

Surprisingly—or maybe not—his father attitude had started to change after being scolded by Sieun.

Baku hadn’t been there. Gotak and Juntae couldn’t remember the exact words that had been said.
But it didn’t matter. He knew Sieun.

Small, weak body, delicate appearance—but sharper than anyone gave him credit for. Sieun always spoke plainly, fearlessly—and had a way of looking at people with those piercing eyes that made it hard not to reconsider every decision you’d ever made. A voice that didn’t need to be raised for the words to hit like punches.

Whatever Sieun said, it worked. His dad had changed after that.

Not completely. But enough.

“Hey,” the man said now, placing an awkwardly gentle hand on Baku’s shoulder, like it might combust if he pressed too hard. “Don’t worry. You’ll do fine.”

Baku just stared at his dad. Amazed.

“I know how much you worry about your friends. So while the police are working you to death,” his father continued, “I’ll keep your little friends fed. Especially Sieun— You know how he gets when he’s studying.”

He even laughed, patting Baku’s shoulder. Then, as a bonus, Gotak’s too. A surprise double-hit of awkward affection.

Not that he was doing any of that for free. Baku knew his dad too well. He was definitely keeping tabs, planning to collect those favors later.

Still, it felt... good. Weirdly good.

Then—

“No need to stress,” came a voice from behind them, deep and playful and unmistakably smug, “everything related to Sieun is my job. He probably won’t even notice you two idiots are gone. But I can’t say the same for Juntae or Youngyi.”

Baku smiled before even turning around, recognizing the voice instantly.

Baku grinned before he even turned around.

Suho.

Of course.

He could recognize that voice from a mile away—the smug “hyung” energy was practically a brand at this point.

After the fall of the Union and his awakening, Suho’d spent months in the hospital. Recovery had been brutal—not just physically (he couldn’t feel his legs at first, and lost a lot of muscle mass), but emotionally.

He had woken up in a panic, expecting another blow to the head. When he realized he was in a hospital, confusion turned quickly into dread.

How much time had passed?

Hours? Days? Weeks?

Was Sieun safe?

When the nurses arrived, Suho was tangled in the sheets, trying to get out of bed. His panic only worsened.

Why can’t he move his legs?

Where’s Sieun? Is he okay?

Sieun. Sieun. Sieun.

They tried to calm him, but their voices sounded distant and muffled. No one really understood his confusion—his desperation.
He wouldn’t abandon his friends. He needed to protect them.
And Sieun’s arm was…

Sieun’s arm was…

When Beom-seok started pulling away, Suho had accepted it. He was hurt and furious, but he could admit he hadn’t handled things well either. Still, he’d seen it. The jealousy in Beom’s eyes. The desperate need to be accepted at all costs. The way he’d started to change—becoming unstable. Dangerous.

Sieun, on the other hand, had tried to understand him. To fix things. To bring peace between them. His intentions had been good, but—

It didn’t matter now.

What mattered was that Beom-seok was a coward that had tried to kill him. And if he was capable of that, who’s to say he wouldn’t try the same with Sieun? He will probably pretend to want to reconcile, and Sieun will believe it.

No.
No… he couldn’t.

He couldn’t let that happen.
He needed to find Sieun.
He needed to—

Suddenly, the air left his lungs.
Panic swallowed him whole.
The last thing he remembered before losing consciousness again... was Sieun.

When he woke up again, the world had changed.

Thirdteen months had passed.

A whole year, gone.

One second, he was a 16 years old boy, and the next… an 18 years old man.

Before the attack, the school year had barely started—just four months in—and his 17th birthday was right around the corner. Now, he’d have to repeat that entire year, putting him two years behind in school.

Sieun was in his final year, preparing for university with his new friends.
And Suho?
Suho was stuck—rebuilding his body, his life, and whatever dignity he had left.

Beom-seok had stolen more than just time. He’d taken his strength, his savings, precious time with his grandmother… even his friendship with Youngyi.

And Sieun—Sieun had changed too.
He seemed shorter. Or maybe Suho had grown taller. He was thinner. His smiles came easier than before, but behind them, the trauma still lingered in his eyes.

They were both scarred by Beom-seok. Possibly forever.

But amid the pain, sweat, and tears, not everything was gray.

Suho’s doctors were optimistic about his recovery, and he threw himself into the process.
During the first month, he focused on regaining movement in his legs, and with his grandmother’s help, brought in his beginner weights to start working his arms. As soon as he could walk again, he was jogging around the hospital, doing pushups wherever he could.

He’d always struggled to focus in class, mostly because he was bored or too anxious about money. But physical activity? That always grounded him. So, after talking it over with his grandmother, he decided to drop out of school and look for work once he recovered.

He’d never cared much about higher education anyway. The only reason he would’ve even considered it was to stay in the same class as Sieun.
But that was no longer possible.

Throughout his recovery, Sieun never once left his side. And though Suho still mourned the time they’d lost, he was deeply grateful for the time they had now—to get to know this new, 18-year-old Sieun. Still quiet, but softer somehow. Warmer.

And honestly? Devastatingly adorable.

He should probably come with a warning label—Handle with care. May cause heartache.

Suho had long lost count of how many times the nurses had stormed into his room, convinced he was going into cardiac arrest—only to find him short-circuiting because Sieun had said something. Or smiled. Or blinked. Or just… existed.

At first, the nurses panicked every single time. But after twelve days and countless false alarms, they reached the point where they barely flinched anymore. It was almost like Suho’s disaster zone had become background noise.

A glance. A quiet word. A tiny smile. That was all it took.

No coma had ever hit him this hard—May Sieun never learn how to read his mind.

It was embarrassing.

But also? Inevitable.

He always knew those eyes were a hazard to public health. His, specifically.

At least his grandmother was having fun—much to his’s dismay.

Here he was, her only and very handsome grandson, just waking up from a coma and trying to survive his first real crush. (He had a couple of dates with girls who asked him out, but honestly, they were so boring he could barely remember their names.)

Really, she really should cut him some slack. How can he be expected to woo anyone when he can’t feel his legs, can barely stay awake, and his hair looked like a haystack?

With all the free entertainment he was providing, Halmeoni could at least pay him by cutting his hair—or better yet, convince Sieun to do it.

Despite all the chaos, there was one thing he really appreciated: Sieun’s friends.

His first impression was that they looked like puppies—restless, affectionate, curious. In the early days, they kept their distance to avoid overwhelming him, but his grandmother mentioned seeing them wait outside the hospital for hours. Sometimes to walk Sieun home. Sometimes to drop him off. Somedays, they even waited loyally for Sieun at the entrance of the hospital for hours until visiting hours were over, and then the four would go off to do who knows what.

“You know our Sieun doesn’t talk much,” Halmeoni said once.
“But those boys—you should’ve seen them. They treated him like he was the center of every conversation. Like they could read every glance, every little movement.”

At first, Suho felt like they were sharing custody of Sieun.

Weekdays belonged to the Eunjang crew—school mornings until 4 in the afternoons. Weekdays Evenings and weekends were for Suho. And after Suho was discharged, Sieun often stayed the night ((his parents, as always, were nowhere to be found).

Eventually, though, the “puppies” got restless.

“We only see Sieun at school and when we walk him to the hospital!!”

So Suho grudgingly handed over custody on Saturday afternoons, too—temporarily, of course.

Eventually, the group started visiting Suho at his house or at his part-time jobs, inviting him to join their weekend activities. Basketball, karaoke, study sessions...

Well, Suho mostly came over the study sessions to make sure Sieun was eating properly.

If Sieun was working on math or writing something, Suho liked to curl up behind him, rest his chin on Sieun’s shoulder, and either play with his hair, or quietly scroll through investment videos on his phone. If Sieun was reading, then Suho could often be found dozing off with his head in Sieun’s lap, grumbling for head pats like a spoiled pup. And if Sieun got too fussy or told him to stop hovering, Suho would huff and wander off to another room to exercise in dramatic protest.

In short: Suho was hopelessly clingy.

But fortunately for him, Sieun didn’t seem to mind. In fact, much to the quiet amazedn of the rest of the group, he even encouraged the spoiled behavior—with absentminded hair-stroking, saved snacks, and a permanent spot on the couch that was always, without question, Suho’s.

Despite everything, Suho was… happy.

He had his grandmother. He’d reconnected with Yeong-yi through one of his jobs.
And even though he didn’t go to school with Sieun, they saw each other often—and on days they didn’t, they were always on the phone.

And now, he even had new friends to share jokes, games, and secrets with. He really valued them, despite having to tolerate their relentless teasing.

Every now and then, when Suho and Juntae were preoccupied rummaging through the kitchen for snacks, or when Suho had gone to the bathroom or was off doing pushups in the hallway, Baku would stretch with an exaggerated yawn and “casually” try to rest his head on Sieun’s lap—
Only for Suho to materialize out of thin air, grab Baku by the ear, and bark like a territorial guard dog:

“Hey! That MY Spot!!”

They are not dating, yet.

That scene usually ended with Suho and Baku wrestling on the floor while Gotak—who tried to break them up at first—eventually gave up and dove in, yelling at both of them for being too loud in Halmeoni’s house.

Later, Baku would confess to Suho with all the drama of a man truly pushed to his limits:

“It’s been months! At this point, it’s not about you two anymore—it’s about me suffering. A man has a limit to how many times he can hear someone talk about how Sieun’s eyes contain entire universes. I’m trying to help you!”

Baku also told him—grudgingly—that he was sure Gotak would never believe him if he confessed that the plan to make Suho jealous enough to finally act wasn’t his idea at all. It was Juntae’s.
The same “pure, innocent” Juntae who somehow always managed to materialize popcorn out of nowhere the moment the fights started.

Suho believed him. People like Sieun and Juntae should probably be put on a watch list.

Back in the present, Gotak turned just in time to see Suho strutting over with that signature over-the-top swagger, arms swinging like he owned the place—not like he was here to say goodbye at a campus gate.

Gotak sighed.
Here we go.

As expected, the moment Suho was within reach, he threw his arms wide open like some cheesy drama lead (Clearly, Baku and Suho were bad influence over each other.)

“Give your hyung a hug!” Suho beamed. “Aish, I’m gonna miss you both. Don’t forget to behave—and brush your teeth after every meal.”

He sounded less like a 19-year-old and more like someone’s eighty-year-old grandmother. And before either of them could react, he had the audacity to ruffle their hair.

Gotak rolled his eyes.

The little shit.

Still... it was hard to stay annoyed. Suho’s energy had a way of dragging people into his rhythm, whether they wanted to be or not.

Gotak glanced around, scanning the crowd instinctively for familiar faces.
His aunt hadn’t come—she’d told him she had to work, which he understood. But...

Where were Sieun and Juntae?

Suho, of course, caught the thought instantly.

“Did you forget?” he said with a self-satisfied grin. “Our little geniuses had their first day at university today.”

Right. Gotak did remember something about that now—but he’d kind of expected them to swing by anyway. It felt weird without them.

“No way was I letting them leave a bad impression at Seoul National University,” Suho went on, ever the proud “parent” —and future boyfriend, Gotak supposed. He draped an arm across their shoulders and shook his head dramatically. “First impressions matter!”

“That’s SO true!” exclaimed Baku, a little too loudly.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gotak saw Baku’s father glance up from where he stood, probably wondering what he’d done wrong in a past life to end up with a son like that. Gotak himself started to turn red when he noticed some of the other future cadets staring.

“Man,” Baku went on, completely unfazed, “I hope they find a couple of Noonas to take care of them—and then introduce us, hahaha!”

Gotak exhaled through his nose, a small, fond sigh. There was no stopping the two of them when they got like this—loud, warm, a little ridiculous.

And yeah… it was just two weeks, and then they could all hang out again. But for now…

“CAN YOU TWO SHUT UP AND BEHAVE?! OH MY GOD, I CAN’T TAKE YOU ANYWHERE!”

Chapter Text

“Okay, but tell them,” Baku said, smacking Gotak’s arm with the back of his hand. “You have to tell them how dramatic you were.”

“I wasn’t dramatic,” Gotak huffed, straightening his back like he was giving a testimony. “It was the final test, right? The mountain run? We were already behind schedule because someone—”

“I had rocks in my shoes!” Baku cut in.

“Because someone forgot to tighten his laces,” Gotak corrected, side-eyeing him. “Anyway, halfway through, I slipped. I hit my ankle bad—couldn’t stand, couldn’t walk. It was over for me.”

“What?” Juntae said quietly, a crease forming between his brows.

Suho, who had been picking at a piece of lettuce no one wanted, paused to look up. “Wait, like a sprain? Or worse?”

“Sprain,” Gotak confirmed. “But I didn’t know that at the time. I thought I’d snapped something. It hurt. I told Baku to just leave me there—run ahead. We were both competing for first place, and I didn’t want to ruin his chances.”

“You what?” Juntae looked personally offended. “You told him to leave you behind?”

“I tried to,” Gotak said, pointing at Baku. “But he wouldn’t go.”

“Because I’m not heartless!” Baku barked. “We argued for like five solid minutes while other cadets literally jogged around us like we were a speed bump.”

Suho snorted. “You guys are unbelievable.”

“It gets worse,” Gotak said, throwing his arms up. “After refusing to go ahead, Baku just crouched down and yelled at me to get on.”

“I piggybacked him down the mountain,” Baku said proudly. “All the way to the finish line. We were really late.”

“Yeah, I thought we were done for,” Gotak admitted. “But then this high-ranking officer—Lieutenant Choi—looked at us, asked what happened, and when she heard, she just said: ‘There aren’t words to express how disappointed I am in all of you. Hundreds of you, and not one paused to consider lending a helping hand.’”

Gotak paused for dramatic effect, then slipped into a gruffer voice, imitating her perfectly: “‘Police never abandon their own.’”

“I almost cried. Gotak did cry.” Baku said, overly serious.

“It was dust!” Gotak snapped. “A very emotional speck of dust!”

“So what happened after?” Juntae asked, eyes big. “You still got in, right?”

“Yeah, she passed us both. But...” Gotak grimaced. “The rest of the cadets got punished for finishing the course without even trying to help us.”

“Well at least you are both in” Sieun said, resting his head against Suho’s shoulder with a quiet sigh.

Suho draped an arm around him, rubbing his upper arm with his thumb. “They’re gonna hate you guys when you go back, huh?”

“Oh, definitely,” Gotak said, one hand lifting to massage his temple like he was already bracing for the headache. “We’re hoping Monday won’t be too awkward. I mean, technically, it’s not our fault they got punished.”

“Yeah!” Baku agreed. “Like, I’m literally a hero.”

“I wouldn’t say hero,” Sieun mumbled, clearly fond despite himself.

“Sieun,” Suho said solemnly, “if I ever sprain my ankle in the mountains, will you carry me?”

Sieun raised his head to give him a long look. “No. But I’ll walk slowly beside you while I judge you silently.”

“Even better,” Suho grinned, resting his cheek briefly against Sieun’s hair.

“Gross,” Baku muttered. “Pass me more chicken.”

“Well… I never doubted it for a second!” Juntae cheered, raising his glass with such enthusiasm he nearly knocked over the plate of fried chicken—and turning a little red upon noticing the disapproving frown from Baku’s father.

“You literally called us the night before to do a prayer circle,” Sieun replied flatly, though his hand subtly covered the soft smile tugging at his lips.

Not that Gotak noticed the smile—he was already raising his own arm like he was about to smack Juntae with it. Not seriously, of course. It was hard to even pretend he was mad—he was too excited.

He and Baku had officially been admitted to KNPU. Police cadets. The real deal.

Those two weeks of boot camp had been brutal, though. He wasn’t used to sleeping so close to so many people. He could barely tolerate Baku’s snoring when they stayed over at Suho’s. Now he had to deal with more sounds. And smells.

God, the smells.

But it didn’t matter. Every ache and awkward night was worth it if it meant he was getting closer to his dream—protecting others, alongside one of his best friends.

Now they could enjoy this Friday night with their favorite people. On Monday, it would be back to campus life—dorms, early classes, and shared bathrooms. But for now, they could breathe.

Gotak glanced around the table, taking it all in. Juntae sat alone at the front, while he and Baku shared one side of the booth. Baku, of course, was laughing loud enough to rattle the dishes, leaning over to poke Suho across the table—completely ignoring Sieun’s “Watch out, your jacket’s all over the chicken legs.”

“Alright, enough about us,” Gotak said, digging back into the food. “I want to hear how you two are doing. A fancy university like yours must be tough, right?”

While Gotak and Baku had followed their instincts into police enforcement, Sieun and Juntae had taken a different path— one in psychiatric, the other in pharmaceutical.

“Challenging,” Juntae answered, scanning the plate for the crispiest piece of chicken. “But fun! We’ve met some really interesting people, and the classes are intense. Honestly, I thought I was gonna die that first week, but I pulled through.”

Sieun nodded. “It’s a good environment.”

“And we even have a class together,” Juntae added, giving Sieun a fond look. “So future study sessions are guaranteed to keep me from failing. If someone had accepted my invitation, we could be studying together every night. Now I’ll just be... lonely and cold.”

Sieun raised a brow and lifted a hand to block Suho, who was attempting to hand-feed him with the arm that was not around his shoulders “I don’t remember you asking me that.”

“Don’t even remind me,” Juntae groaned. “I had a whole speech ready—like, heartfelt, moving, maybe even a tearjerker—about why we should get a place together instead of you moving back to your father’s house. And then boom! Suho beat me to it!”

Suho, quiet until now and still holding a piece of food between his fingers, grinned. “Timing is everything.”

Sieun shook his head, not even trying to hide the faint blush on his cheeks. “I needed somewhere steady, and he and Halmeoni had the space.”

“I swear, Halmeoni loves having him around more than she loves me,” Suho muttered, beaming as Sieun finally gave in and opened his mouth so he could feed him. “he’s family.”

Juntae pouted, glancing between Baku and Gotak. “Instead, I ended up with two weird strangers. Not bad guys—Sieun and Suho vetoed any actual creeps weeks before—but still. No the same.”

His words came out half-mumbled around another piece of chicken.

“Chew first,” Sieun said flatly, unimpressed.

“Swallow before talking,” Suho added at the same time, grinning—never mind that he was also chewing mid-sentence.

“Hey, at least you got your own room,” Gotak pointed out. “Baku and I have to share with two other guys. You ever tried sleeping next to someone who breathes like a dying vacuum cleaner?”

“Don’t exaggerate,” Baku mumbled through a mouthful of food. Sieun also shot him a look of pure disapproval because of that.

“You’re one to talk. You bark in your sleep.”

“I do not!”

“Do too.”

While they bickered, Suho added casually, “By the way, I have an interview next week. MMA and self-defense instructor gig. A friend of Seok-dae’s put in a good word.”

That got everyone's attention.

“Wait, seriously?” Baku blinked. “That’s awesome!”

“Yeah. Just part-time stuff for now. But it’s fun, and I like working with people,” Suho said, then flexed his arm with zero subtlety. “And my body is a work of art. Would be a shame not to put it to use.”

“Okay, show-off,” Sieun muttered, nudging him. But Gotak noted—annoyed—that he seemed genuinely distracted by the display. Like… come on.

How are they not dating? It was like watching the slowest, most frustrating romance drama ever.

And Gotak didn’t even like the romance genre!

“I’m just saying.”

The room was full of laughter, clinking dishes, and overlapping voices. The chaos was familiar—and comforting. They talked and joked long after the plates had been picked clean, until Baku’s dad eventually came in to kick them out with a grumbled “some of us have to open the restaurant tomorrow.” Even then, they lingered at the door, reluctant to split up.

Eventually, they went their separate ways—Baku, Gotak and Juntae heading to their respective family homes for the weekend, where they were visiting, while Suho and Sieun rode off together on Suho’s motorcycle, helmets bumping lightly as they disappeared down the street.

Life was good.

Months passed.

Suho had landed the instructor job and was thriving—his students adored him, hanging on every word like he was an action movie lead come to life. Gotak had seen him teach once during a demo session; the guy had that calm, unshakable vibe that made even the cockiest trainees sit up straight. In just a few months, Suho had become the academy’s golden boy. Popular with students, trusted by faculty—even his boss clearly loved him. A promotion already felt like a matter of “when,” not “if.”

On the other hand, Juntae and Sieun were absolutely crushing it at university—often staying late on campus or at Juntae’s apartment, since he lived nearby—studying deep into the night. Occasionally, one of Juntae’s eccentric roommates, Yang “call me Shawnl” Cheong-san, would barge in at 3 a.m. to mumble about whatever his latest conspiracy theory was, usually wearing a neon pink Post-it on his forehead that read “SHUT UP” in angry black letters— —no one really knows his actual name, but everyone just calls him "Byte," the undisputed king of passive-aggressive communication. Byte was rarely seen in person, as he was apparently a computer genius glued to his triple-monitor setup in the corner room.

Fortunately, months of this had conditioned both Sieun and Juntae to treat the chaos like background noise. Juntae once even admitted he found it “weirdly calming.”

Whatever that means.

As for Gotak and Baku—they were surviving, grinding through police training with everything they had. Defense classes were their favorite, no surprise there. But to Gotak’s surprise, the theory courses were growing on him too. One in particular, taught by Professor Yang Sung-il, always had him on the edge of his seat. The man spoke from a lifetime of fieldwork, and nothing he said felt like fluff.

One day, during class, Yang emphasized the urgency of the critical window after a kidnapping:

“Listen carefully—when it comes to kidnappings, especially involving women, the first seven hours are absolutely critical. If the victim isn’t found during this window, the chances of survival—or even finding them at all—drop drastically. You’ll always regret if you miss that chance. That’s why we train the way we do. So when the time comes, you move.”

Gotak didn’t forget those words. Neither did Baku.

They even started seeing the high-ranking officer who had delivered the inspiring speech at the welcome assembly, Lieutenant Choi, around campus.

 She never stopped to chat, barely acknowledged them, but that was expected, as she rarely had time for cadets. Her expression alone could silence a hallway. Every cadet stood taller when she passed.

In the end, life was good. Busy, challenging… but good.
Still, something in Gotak itched. Like he was waiting for something—he just didn’t know what.

“Alright, here’s the plan,” Baku announced on a Thursday morning, pacing in front of Gotak like they were about to breach a compound. “Five o’clock, we catch the bus to Gangnam. It’s about an hour’s walk from the stop to Club Octagon—yes, walk, because we’re broke. We get there by seven, stay a few hours, then hustle back by nine or ten so Teacher Yang doesn’t kill us. Gotak, set an alarm so we don’t forget.”

He pointed at Gotak like this was a full-blown military operation.

“And no drinking,” he added firmly. “We’re saving every won we can. The entrance fee alone is a robbery.”

“I still can’t believe Teacher Yang actually gave us permission to go out looking for dates in the middle of the week,” Gotak muttered, already regretting the walking part. With a resigned sigh, he pulled out his phone and set an alarm for a little after nine—just enough of a buffer in case Baku started stalling.

The screen lit up with a soft beep as the alarm locked in.

“Our instructor clearly understands what’s really important in life,” Baku grinned. “Besides—if we score girlfriends before Suho and Sieun become official, that’s bonus bragging rights.”

Gotak let out a sigh, shaking his head. “You’re hopeless.”

Baku clapped him on the back. “Hopeless and determined, my friend. Let’s go make history.”

With the plan set, the duo powered through their classes. 

They left the academy in their best clothes—though that wasn’t saying much—and dozed lightly on the bus to conserve energy. When they finally arrived at the club entrance around seven, the bouncer asked for their IDs. With practiced confidence, they flashed their student police credentials.

For a brief second, Baku noticed the bouncer’s face twitch with confusion—but it didn’t matter. At that exact moment, the crowd’s attention shifted, stolen by the appearance of an actual celebrity stepping out of a car nearby.

Baku couldn’t remember her name, but he was pretty sure he’d seen her in a trailer for some movie Young-Yi had been raving about.

Inside, the club felt like stepping into a music video. Neon lights streaked across the ceiling, the bass pulsed through the floor, and everywhere around them were people who looked like they lived online—curated, flawless. The best part: gorgeous girls everywhere.

The place was massive and surprisingly packed for a Thursday. Baku pointed out at least three influencers he followed. If Yeong-Yi ever saw his camera roll after tonight, she’d pass out.

This was definitely going to be a night to remember.

Unfortunately, just two hours later, the two of them were walking out of the club looking like kicked puppies.

“I can’t believe you didn’t even get a single number,” Baku muttered, shaking his head.

Gotak barked out a laugh. “What are you talking about? I can’t believe you danced with a girl who turned out to be not only drunk—but already had a boyfriend. Aren’t you ashamed? You gave me such a smug look before that happened.”

“Hey, it could happen to anyone! At least I tried,” Baku said, though his confidence was clearly bruised. “It’s not like I got called poor by some random girl.”

Silence settled between them.

They both knew the reality of their future: Public service didn’t come with a fancy paycheck. And with the rising cost of living, social pressures, and the ever-present expectations of being “successful,” they were likely in for a tough adult life. Especially when it came to relationships. How many parents would be okay with their daughter dating a guy with a modest salary and a dangerous job?

But then Gotak straightened up and said, quietly but firmly, “I don’t regret it.”

His voice carried weight—not just about tonight, but about the bigger picture. Becoming a police officer, doing something meaningful, protecting people—it was worth more than approval or money.

Baku didn’t answer right away. He just nodded, his expression more serious than usual.

“Me neither,” he said, solemnly.

As the two of them walked under the dim glow of scattered streetlights, laughing quietly at the night’s failures and replaying embarrassing videos they’d taken to show their friends, Gotak suddenly stopped.

“Look!” he hissed, nudging Baku hard with his elbow.

Baku squinted ahead. “Oh my god. She’s really pretty. This has to be fate. What if I ask for her number?”

The girl in question looked about their age—tall, with long, dark hair and a pale pink coat that flowed down to her calves. They caught a glimpse of her soft, delicate profile just before she turned her back and continued down the street. She had a small face and pale skin, and in one hand, she carried a plastic bag whose contents they couldn’t make out. Completely absorbed in her music, white earbuds tucked in, she was totally unaware that two idiots were now trailing after her like ducklings.

“Why are we following her?” Gotak asked, eyes darting nervously around. “We’re going to look like creeps.”

“We need her number. This is our last shot to save the night. I don’t even want to imagine Teacher Yang’s disappointed face tomorrow. The man actually believed in us,” Baku replied, dead serious, as they slipped down a narrower street.

“She’s not a mission, Baku,” Gotak muttered. “And also, who’s ‘we’? I was the one who saw her first.”

Out of nowhere, Baku took Gotak by the shoulders, spinning him around and blocking his view of the girl entirely.

“Hey—what the hell are you doing?” Gotak protested, struggling against Baku’s grip.

But Baku didn’t let go. Instead, he locked eyes with Gotak, his expression deadly serious—then suddenly dropped to his knees in the middle of the street.

“No, please,” he said dramatically, clasping his hands like he was about to propose. “Let me be the one to ask for her number.”

“Are you insane? Get up!” Gotak hissed, swatting at Baku’s arms. “People are going to think we’re reenacting a K-drama out here!”

“I won’t move until you grant me this one thing,” Baku said with mock desperation, bowing his head like some tragic hero.

“You bastard. You’re playing dirty,” Gotak growled. “Fine. Rock, paper, scissors. Best two out of three. That’s the only way I’ll accept this.”

Baku grinned and bounced to his feet. “You’re on.”

While they were in the middle of it, Baku could’ve sworn he heard a strange sound—some kind of clatter or scuffle echoing from somewhere nearby. But he was too focused on trying to predict Gotak’s next move to give it any real thought.

Okay… he’s used rock twice already. Unlikely he’ll go for it again. But maybe Gotak knows I’m thinking that, and he’ll double-bluff me. He might go paper… yeah, Gotak almost never picks scissors…

“Rock, paper, scissors!”

Baku lost.

“YAAA! HAHAHAHA,” Gotak burst out, clutching his stomach. “You actually lost to just rock? Just rock, Baku? Aren’t you embarrassed?”

While Baku was still lamenting his loss and Gotak was nearly doubled over with laughter, fate had other plans.

Their eyes locked forward.

And everything shattered.

Throughout their argument, the girl had moved a good distance ahead. The area wasn’t a main street, but it was close enough to one—and therefore, should have been relatively safe. But they saw it: the same girl they had been following like lovesick puppies was now limp and unconscious, being dragged mercilessly by two—maybe three—figures who shoved her into the yawning darkness of a black van.

Time stopped.

They were frozen, rooted to the spot as shock crashed over them like a tidal wave. It was unreal, nightmarish—something that should never be happening right in front of their eyes.

But beneath the paralysis, the scars of real survival kicked in—the months of facing chaos, danger, and raw fear back in high school forged instincts sharper than steel. Instincts that screamed:

Move. Now.

The van didn’t roar away like a getaway car in a movie—it crawled awkwardly through the narrow, twisting streets, forced to slow down by the cramped space. But even at that pace, it was faster than their desperate legs. Gotak and Baku tore after it, lungs burning, muscles screaming in protest, every step a frantic gamble against the van’s escape.

Their feet pounded the uneven pavement, the sound of their hurried breaths mixing with the distant hum of the city’s night traffic. Every corner they rounded could be the last chance— or a dead end.

Baku’s heart slammed against his ribs as he pushed himself harder, his hands clenched into fists, jaw tight. Beside him, Gotak’s breath came in sharp gasps, each inhale burning like fire in his lungs. The cold terror that had frozen him moments ago had transformed into raw, searing adrenaline. His legs moved almost automatically, driven by a desperate need to close the distance. Their feet stumbled on cracked pavement and loose stones, but they didn’t slow. There was no room for doubt—not now.

Behind them, the faint sounds of city life continued, oblivious to the nightmare unfolding in these shadowed alleys. They had chased the van carrying a girl’s life—but lost it as it veered onto the main road, likely vanishing into the stream of traffic.

Gone.

Swallowed by the city.

A heavy, suffocating dread clawed at their chests. Cold, deep, relentless. The crushing helplessness pressed on their lungs like a weight, freezing their blood and stealing their breath. Both of them stopped, bent over with hands on their knees, gasping for air—desperately trying to steady their racing hearts as the reality of what they’d just witnessed began to sink in.

This was no simulation. This was no longer a distant fear.

This was real.

Gotak was silent beside him, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles had gone white. Rage radiated off him—directed at the world, maybe at himself. Baku didn’t ask. He didn’t need to. He could see it in the way Gotak’s jaw was locked, his shoulders trembling slightly from more than just exertion.

Baku’s own veins ran ice-cold with fear, but his thoughts didn’t scatter. His heart thundered, but his focus held steady. His eyes burned with raw terror—but beneath that fear, something stronger surged: a stubborn, unyielding fire that refused to be snuffed out.

“I can’t believe this is happening… We have to do something. Now.” His voice was shaky, barely holding back the tremor—but every word was set with iron will.

Gotak didn’t respond, but he didn’t need to. When Baku broke into a sprint again, Gotak was right behind him.

Baku’s fingers flew over his phone as they ran, calling for help, trying to buy back precious seconds that were already slipping through their hands.

The night was no longer a fun break from routine. Now, it was a race against time—and the critical hours had already begun.

A sharp beep echoed from the watch on Gotak’s wrist — a reminder to head back to the academy.

Three hours before midnight.

Chapter Text

The taxi hadn’t even stopped before Baku flung the door open and bolted, Gotak right behind him. The air outside bit sharp against their faces as they sprinted toward the precinct’s front gate.

The sound of footsteps pounding the pavement echoed through the narrow streets—quick, sharp, relentless—until it was drowned out by the wail of sirens and the roar of police cruisers speeding past. But Baku barely registered the noise. Their earlier call to the police had led nowhere, and now, their only chance was to reach the nearest station in person.

“We’re from the Police University!” Gotak shouted, flashing his student ID as they rushed past the gate.

“We’re here to report a crime!” Baku added, not slowing for even a second.

The guard blinked, half-raising a hand in salute, but they were already inside.

The polished floors squealed beneath their shoes as they burst into the lobby. Behind the front desk, a uniformed officer stood, visibly startled by the urgency written across their faces.

“Missing persons unit!” Baku demanded, breathless. “Where?”

“We need their help. It’s life or death.” Gotak said, voice low and firm.

“Oh, they’re mobilizing right now,” the man said, glancing past them to a group of officers pouring out of the elevator, gear slung across their backs. “Excuse me—gentlemen!” he called out, stopping two men who followed behind the group at a slower pace.

“These two need to speak with you. Says it’s important.”

The older of the two —rumpled trench coat, glasses slightly askew—turned mid-step. He gave the panicked students a quick once-over, then looked back toward his departing team. He exhaled, clearly annoyed, and stepped forward.

“What do you need?” he asked, voice clipped.

Gotak straightened. His voice shifted into formal register. “Sir, we’re Police University students, Class of 2025. We just witnessed a kidnapping—”

“Class of ‘25?” the officer interrupted, his expression flipping from annoyance to a nostalgic grin. “No way! I was ‘07. Damn. That takes me back.”

He clapped Baku on the shoulder, like they were old friends reunited at a bar.

Baku’s jaw tensed. “Sir. We are here because we need to report a crime.”

The man blinked slowly. The smile didn’t fade, but his eyes dulled just slightly.

“Alright, alright,” the captain replied, waving them toward the exit. ““Let’s hear it.”

“We saw a woman get dragged into a car near Club Octagon,” Gotak reported, steady despite the breathlessness. “It happened fifteen minutes ago.”

The man’s expression didn’t shift. He started walking toward the exit, hands in his coat pockets, tone still light. “You knew her?”

“No,” Gotak answered quickly, glancing at Baku. “But we saw it. She was unconscious. Some men dragged her into a car—”

Another sigh from the captain. “Look, right now, all hands are on deck. Our entire unit is currently mobilized under a special directive from one of the higher-ups.” He leaned in, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. “A VIP’s gone missing—some chaebol’s grandson. Top priority stuff.”

“But this is a kidnapping!” Baku’s voice cracked. “Sir, we were taught that the Golden Hour—”

“It’s ‘critical hours or critical window,’ ‘Golden hour’ is a term for trauma medicine, but yes—they taught you well,” the captain corrected, almost amused. “But you know how it is. Orders from the top come first.”

From outside, another officer called out to the captain, hurrying him along.

“Sir, please!” Gotak begged.

The captain hesitated. Just for a breath.

The older man glanced at his team—impatient to leave—then at the two kids. His eyes were vacant, almost hollow— but the smile remained, like they were simply making small talk about the weather, polite and useless.

“Tell you what,” he offered, tone light—like he was tossing them a bone. “I’ll circle back after I get the investigation rolling. Just sit tight, alright?”

“SIR!—” Baku practically yelled, but it was no use. The captain had already jogged off toward his team, leaving the boys standing in stunned silence.

One by one, they watched as the remaining patrol cars pulled away from the station, sirens fading into the night—leaving Baku and Gotak behind as the city swallowed the last of their backup.

Helpless again.

Gotak shoved a hand through his hair. “What the hell do we do now?”

“If we wait, it’ll be too late.” Baku murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. “We're it, we’re the only ones who know what happened. That woman needs us.”

Gotak run another hand through his hair, frustration tightening his voice. “But we don’t have anything—no info, no leads.”

The ticking clock in his head was deafening. That woman’s terrified face—burned into his memory—kept flashing behind his eyes.

Gotak paced. “We don’t even have a license to question people. We can’t access traffic cams. We can’t trace a plate. We don’t even have—”

“We don’t have time,” Baku snapped. Then took a breath and shot Gotak an apologetic look. “No backup. No chain of command. Just us.”

Gotak stared at him. “We’re not detectives.”

“No,” Baku said. “But we’re the only ones who give a damn.”

They locked eyes.

They’d faced high school gangs before—violent, ruthless, reckless—but this was different. This was a black hole. And they had no idea how deep it went.

Was it ransom? Revenge? Human trafficking?

They had nothing. Not even the victim’s name.

And more than that—what would helping cost them?
Wasted time with no results?
Injuries?
A few precious scraps of intel for whatever official team picked up the case later?
Would it all be for nothing?

And yet, something unspoken passed between them. Not a decision—just recognition.

This is who they were. Who they chose to be.

Protectors.

And for that, they didn’t need orders.
They’d assign themselves the mission.

“Okay,” Baku said, trying to center his breath, his thoughts. “Besides the critical window… what else have we learned these past months?”

They began pacing, back and forth, running drills in their minds. Case studies. Protocol. Strategy. Their panic melted slowly into focus—until Gotak froze, eyes lighting up.

“The investigation sources!” he exclaimed. “We can’t question the victim. We don’t have evidence yet—but we can go back to the scene and look for clues. Let’s do that.”

“Yes. Yeah.” Baku nodded, catching Gotak by the arm just as he was about to sprint out the door. “But we need to be realistic. In real life, investigations aren’t solved by just two people. They’re solved by whole units—detectives, tech specialists, forensics teams…”

Gotak frowned, sensing where this was going, but wanting to be wrong. “What are you trying to say?”

Baku held his gaze. “I’m saying—we need help.”

“So…” Sieun cleared his throat, glancing around the alley. “Why am I here?”

He stood with Baku and Gotak in a tight triangle, surrounded by cracked pavement, the faint smell of old fryer grease, and a few overflowing dumpsters. The same alley where the abduction had taken place just under an hour ago.

After the complete disaster at the police station, the plan had shifted—fast. Baku and Gotak needed help, but not just any help. They needed someone sharp, analytical. Someone who could spot things they might miss—but this wasn’t just about strength. They needed a variety of skills if they were going to have any chance of success.

Sieun was the obvious first pick, as he was different from them.

Unfortunately, they both knew Sieun was in full study lockdown, prepping with Juntae for a major exam the following monday. And when Sieun studied, nothing—not time, not texts, not even minor emergencies—could break his focus.

Which left only one option: Juntae. Most likely also preparing for yet another relentless night of studying.

Neither of them envied the lives of top students.

Still, when they called, Juntae picked up immediately, sounding unnervingly chipper.

“Hey! Great to hear from you guys! How’s the party going?”
Which could only mean one thing: just as Sieun had warned them in the past, Juntae had a bit of a caffeine problem when exam week was nearby.

Explaining the whole situation over the phone would've taken too long—and besides, Sieun wouldn't have believed it without details. So they took the fastest route possible: asked Juntae to pass the phone to him, then told Sieun, in their most serious tone, that they needed him.

They’d send him an address—and waited.

Thankfully, if Sieun was anything, he was loyal. He agreed without much hesitation, though his voice sounded both confused and slightly concerned. Right before the call ended, they heard him tell Juntae to study without him—something about Baku and Gotak being in trouble.

With any luck, Juntae would assume they’d done something stupid again and were asking Sieun to bail them out of jail.

Baku and Gotak arrived at the scene of the kidnapping at exactly 21:40 hours.

Sieun arrived two minutes later, riding on the back of a motorcycle driven by someone neither of them had ever seen before.

“Okay, here we are,” the guy said as Sieun hopped off, yanking off an alien-shaped helmet and handing it back. “You’re really sure you’re not involved in anything sketchy?”

His voice was rapid, nervous, like he’d been waiting all day to say this.

“Because I’ve been reading up—there’s been a rise in missing socks in this district. Not on the news or anything, but the forums are full of stories. Nothing confirmed, but if there’s that many, something’s going on, right?”

“No,” Sieun replied coolly, brushing hair out of his face. “But thanks for the ride, Shawn.”

“Of course,” Shawn muttered, not sounding even slightly reassured. He scratched under his jacket, revealing a faded X-Files t-shirt beneath. “Because clearly all nerdy kids love hanging out with sketchy guys in dark alleys. You don’t look like a sock trafficker or drug dealer, but… just don’t bring any weird business into the apartment, alright? I don’t want to get caught in the middle of some junior cartel drama.”

He shot one last suspicious glance at the three of them, revved the engine, and sped off into the night.

A long pause followed.

Then Sieun adjusted his hoodie, looked at them both, and asked again—quieter this time:

“Why exactly am I here?”

His expression was hard to read—tight, guarded. Maybe he had assumed he was showing up to bail them out of jail for disturbing the peace, and now he wasn’t sure what to expect. His eyes kept shifting, flicking between the two police cadets and their surroundings, as if scanning for context they hadn’t given yet.

His eyes were bloodshot, the rims dark with exhaustion. It looked like he hadn’t blinked in hours. Studying had eaten his nights, and it showed.

Baku winced. They never should’ve called him in like this. The guy needed a bed, not another crisis.
But it was too late for that now.

The two of them burst into a chaotic storm of explanations. The words tumbled out fast, each one interrupting the other in their urgency to cover every detail of the night. But Sieun didn’t stop them. Not once. He stood still, listening intently, letting the flood of information hit him without comment.

Or maybe… he’d just fallen asleep with his eyes open.

“Okay,” he said once they finished, voice calm but thoughtful. “So you left the club, witnessed an abduction, reported it, and the police have no manpower to investigate right away.”

“Yes!” both boys said at once, relieved someone finally understood.

“I follow all that,” Sieun continued slowly. “What I don’t understand is why I’m here.” His tone dipped—still calm, but edged with suspicion. “I mean, I have my theories. But surely I must be wrong.”

Baku didn’t hesitate. “Because we failed.”

That made Sieun blink.

“The station wouldn’t help,” Baku continued, voice raw. “No one’s coming. No one cares. She’s out there somewhere, maybe still alive. But we have no time, and we’re just students.”

Sieun watched him silently, the weight of his gaze not easing any of the tension in the air.

Gotak stepped forward, the words coming out steady, but with an undercurrent of desperation. “You’re the smartest person we know. If anyone can help us find a lead—anything—it’s you. Please.”

He swallowed hard, forcing the words out. “Even if we don’t have the resources or experience, we’ve done things in the past no other high school students would’ve managed. And you! You yourself told us about how you took down that gambling ring—”

“Gotak.” Sieun cut him off sharply. “This isn’t a movie. That gambling situation was way more complicated than just ‘taking it down.’ We got lucky.”

“We know that!” Baku burst out, frustration boiling over. “But an innocent woman was kidnapped—and no one seems to care. If not us, then who?”

His voice cracked with urgency, the ticking clock ringing louder in his head.

The trio stood in heavy silence, eyes locked. The cold night air clung to them, thick with tension. Gotak fought to hold back the furious tears burning in his throat, the knot tightening until it felt like it might choke him. Suho had always teased them about their hero complex—how they couldn’t help but fix things, even when they were way out of their depth. But now, standing here with nothing but the two of them and Sieun, Gotak saw it for what it was: a weight, a responsibility that they couldn’t escape.

If they saw something wrong, it felt like their responsibility to fix it. Like fighters—restoring order.

And now, that same sense of duty and guilt was strangling him.

Sieun held his gaze for a few long seconds, his eyes sharp and unreadable.

Then finally, he broke the silence.

“…Okay. I know you two. There’s nothing I could say that would stop you from doing this.” He exhaled sharply, almost annoyed with himself. “So either I join you, or next time I see you, it'll be in body bags.”

He looked at them both, firm.

“I’m in. But you have to promise me something: we do this safely. We investigate, yes—but only to gather enough for the police force to take over. No unnecessary risks,” his eyes flicked to Gotak, “no reckless stunts,” then turned to Baku, “and no dramatic sacrifices.”

Baku and Gotak immediately felt their shoulders drop in relief. With Sieun by their side, they felt less alone. Less hopeless.

“Alright,” Sieun pulled out his phone and started tapping the screen. “Now that we’re agreed, we should call Juntae and update him on the situation.”

“No.” Both of them said it at the same time, with the same immediate intensity. Baku snatched the phone away before Sieun could react, holding it just out of his reach.

“Don’t be stupid,” Sieun shot back, eyes narrowing. “We’ve seen before how dangerous it is to stay in the dark. He needs to know what’s going on. The more people, the better, right?”

But the duo didn’t agree. They hadn’t called Sieun because they wanted to—they did it because they had no other choice. They might be police students, but Sieun and Juntae were civilians. And more than that—they were their friends. They needed to keep them safe. Putting one person in danger was stressful enough. Two? Unthinkable.

Still, Gotak knew Sieun well. He knew exactly where to push.

“Then we should call Suho too. The more, the better, right?”

Silence.

Even Baku looked surprised.

It had been a long time since Gotak had seen that dark look in Sieun’s eyes. He’d almost forgotten Sieun was capable of it. It was easy to forget, with his warm personality—or at least, warm once you got to know him. But Gotak didn’t regret it. They had to protect their friends.

“Fine. We won’t call anyone,” Sieun agreed, his expression returning to neutral. But Gotak could feel the anger simmering just beneath the surface at that mention.

Gotak shivered slightly. Seeing Sieun like this—so tense, so weighed down by fear—made him realize just how much this was affecting him. If just the thought of Suho being in danger shook Sieun this deeply, he didn’t want to imagine how Suho or Sieun would react if the other got hurt. After all, Suho would only cross the line for Sieun.

“We’re really doing this,” Sieun murmured, eyes downcast, voice barely audible.

Baku and Gotak exchanged a glance. The weight of the moment wasn’t lost on either of them. They weren’t police officers yet—but they already thought like ones. Helping was a duty. But dragging Sieun into this? That wasn’t duty. That was selfish.

He wasn’t like them. And that was both a strength… and a liability.

He was a sleep-deprived university student, not a cadet. He hadn’t trained for this. He wasn’t driven by some sense of justice or responsibility. He was here—risking everything—because he loved them.

They have to keep him safe.

“If we go in together,” Baku said quietly, “there’s nothing we can’t face.”

Gotak felt the knot in his chest loosen, just a little. The guilt didn’t vanish—but it made room for something else: resolve. Trust.

“Okay. It’s 21:55. Let’s start,” Gotak said, his voice steadier. He pointed to the edge of the alley. “The van was right here. If I remember correctly… I didn’t hear it arrive.”

“I didn’t either,” Baku added, frowning. “No engine sounds, no tires screeching. Just… silence. The only sound was when it sped off.”

Sieun tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he studied the space. “Then maybe it was already here. Waiting,” he said thoughtfully. “Maybe they knew she’d come this way so this wasn’t random.”

Baku cursed under his breath. “That complicates things—wait!"

He suddenly stepped forward, staring at something on the ground nearby. “Wasn’t that the bag the woman was carrying?”

The three of them gathered around it.

“It smells like tteok-bokki,” Sieun murmured, watching as his two friends crouched around the bag to inspect it.

“It does smell like that,” Gotak confirmed, nose wrinkling. “And it’s a big portion. Could be for three or four people.”

“You’re right! No one freezes tteok-bokki either—so she probably lives with others,” Baku added, opening the bag carefully. “Damn. No receipt. No address.”

“Hmm…” Sieun glanced around thoughtfully. “On the way here, Shawn and I passed a few street food stalls. Maybe one of them sells this kind of tteok-bokki. We should ask around.”

“Yes!” Gotak exclaimed. “And nobody buys tteok-bokki far from home. Everyone knows it goes mushy fast. Maybe if we find the food stall, we could find her home.”

Baku nodded with conviction, while Sieun gave them both a fond look, of course they would be food experts.

“Knew it,” Baku grinned. “We’re geniuses. No one can stop us. Gotak, you take the container with the food—I’ll take the lid and Sieun will come with me since he didn’t see the victim.” He snapped the lid in half and carefully pressed a bit of the food into it. “That way we can cover more ground. First one to find a lead calls the other.”

The next thirty minutes blurred by as they moved through the surrounding streets, showing the food sample to every vendor they could find. Worryingly, some vendors had already begun stacking chairs and closing up, and the lights were dimming one by one.

 Still, rejection after rejection piled on.

“These aren’t ours—the onion’s too fibrous.”
“Ours is sweeter than that.”
“Wrong color, wrong texture.”

They were getting nowhere.

Three heads, three sets of eyes, three pairs of tired legs—and still, nothing. The food stands were thinning out, lights flickering off one by one. Each rejection from a vendor hit harder than the last, wearing them down minute by minute. The trail wasn’t just cold—it felt like it had never existed.

“I swear, if we hit one more dead end, I’m calling Professor Yang,” Gotak muttered, rubbing his temples.

Baku groaned. “And tell him what? ‘Hey, Professor, remember how we said this trip might help us get dates? Turns out we are trying to solve a crime now and we really need an adult.”

“I’m serious!” Gotak snapped. “We’re out of leads. He probably has experience with stuff like this—he might think of something we’re missing.”

“We’ve got nothing to show him. No proof, no solid direction,” Sieun said, voice calm but edged with fatigue. “Just a food bag and a directionless gut feeling.”

Baku threw up his hands. “Fantastic. Maybe we should gift-wrap that gut feeling and send it express mail. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Sieun muttered, starting to look a little drowsy. “Maybe toss in some tteok-bokki to sweeten the deal.”

Gotak blinked. “You’re joking now?!”

“Of course. It’s either that or pulling out my pen and threatening people until they talk.”

Baku barked out a laugh, the sound sharp and sudden. Even Sieun cracked the faintest smile. It wasn’t much, but it eased the weight pressing on them. Just a little.

They pressed on, sticking close. Not because they had answers—far from it—but because stopping now would mean admitting defeat. And then—

“LOOK!” Baku shouted, startling the others. He darted toward a bubbling pot at a nearby stall and, without a second thought, plunged his hand into it.

“This is it! Ahh—hot!!” he cried, yanking his hand back.

Whack!

Gotak smacked him across the back of the head. “You maniac! You can’t just steal stew like a wild animal!”

“I wasn’t stealing, I was investigating! That’s different!” Baku clutched his wrist dramatically.

Sieun sighed but stepped forward to address the vendor, who was watching them like she was debating between giving them her customer service voice or just strangling Baku for touching the food.

“Excuse me,” he asked politely, as if his friend hadn’t just tried to rob her dinner pot. “This might sound strange, but was this tteok-bokki made here?” he said, holding up the food bag they’d been carrying.

When the woman nodded—though her expression turned puzzled—Sieun continued, “Okay, please bear with me. We’re asking because we saw a girl drop this in a rush. Judging by how much food there is, we figured someone’s probably waiting for her. So we’d like to return it.”

What the hell? Since when could Sieun say that many words in a row? And since when does he sound that polite?

“Aww, you little angel,” the woman cooed, looking at Sieun like he was a grade-schooler asking his mother for help to arrange playdates.

The polite smile Sieun wore instantly morphed into a far more threatening one aimed squarely at his friends, like he was silently warning: Not. One. Word.

“I’ll try to help,” the vendor said kindly. “But I serve a lot of people every day.”

“Considering the condition of the food, the sale was fairly recent. The girl was wearing a long pink coat. Small face—kind of like—” Gotak looked around, then suddenly grabbed an startled Sieun’s hand and held it up like exhibit A.

“—Like this size!” Baku exclaimed, pointing at their grumpy friend.

The woman let out a small laugh, now looking painfully endeared by the trio. “Pink coat? Ah, yeah. There’s a girl who comes by a lot. Tall, long dark hair?”

“Yes! That’s her!” Gotak and Baku chorused. Even Sieun’s posture shifted slightly, the tension in his shoulders loosening.

“Do you know where she lives?”

“Oh, of course not, sweethearts! But you’re in luck,” the woman said brightly. “I once ran into her by the 7-Eleven on the corner—” she leaned out of the stand and pointed in the direction, “—we chatted for a bit, and then I saw her heading inside of the building right across the street.”

Baku and Gotak burst into celebratory noises, bouncing in place and grabbing Sieun by the shoulders to shake him with excitement. Sieun, standing between them like a sleep deprived cat, stared at the vendor in pure shock, as if he couldn’t quite believe the plan had actually worked.

The trio thanked the woman profusely and rushed off toward the building. Baku and Gotak were buzzing with new energy, practically jogging like a pair of overexcited puppies, while Sieun trailed behind them with a more measured pace. The long nights of studying, the physical strain of running around, and the mounting stress were clearly wearing on him—but his expression made one thing clear: no one could convince him to stop now.

Finally, they had a lead. All that was left was to identify the woman, talk to her neighbors or anyone who might know why she was targeted, and piece together the possible motives and suspects. With some luck, they might even have enough to go to the police again—this time with something solid.

As they reached the foot of the building, Baku immediately began inspecting the place, squinting scanning for anything suspicious. Gotak, catching his breath beside him, glanced at the watch strapped to his wrist.

“22:35,” he muttered.

The night was moving fast.

Behind them, Sieun finally caught up, wiping the sweat from his brow. His eyes drifted up the building, then narrowed with determination.

They finally had a lead.

Chapter Text

He was officially running on empty.

Over the weekend, all he'd done was study. He wasn’t even entirely sure if he had eaten anything, though Sieun had flashes of sitting at the table while Halmeoni and Suho chatted in the background. Considering he wasn’t dead, it was safe to assume Suho had taken care of feeding him.

Sleep hadn’t exactly been abundant either. He hadn’t gotten a solid eight hours of uninterrupted rest in at least three days—but he had managed a few brief naps. On Monday, he'd fallen asleep face-down on his notes, and on Tuesday afternoon, right before heading out to study at Juntae’s place, Suho had physically dragged him to bed, wrapped his limbs around him like an octopus, and mumbled, "We’ve worked hard these past few days. We deserve a break."

Sieun didn’t protest. He couldn't. He’d passed out within seconds.

But now, no matter how many power naps he'd taken before, his body was failing him. Dots of black were starting to flicker at the edges of his vision, and keeping his eyes open was turning into an act of pure willpower. After nearly a year of relative physical inactivity, sprinting around the city all day had taken its toll. His muscles ached. His knees wobbled. Even his soul felt tired.

And yet, he kept going.

Because someone had been taken.

Someone out there was scared and alone. And if Si-eun let himself fall apart now, they might never find her.

“Uh… guys? What even is an ear cleaning salon?” Baku asked, his brows furrowed as he peered up at the flickering neon sign. “I mean, obviously they clean ears but… why would you go to a shop for that? Isn’t that kinda weird? This whole street looks shady as hell.”

“Hold on, I’ll google it,” Gotak offered, already pulling out his phone. “Give me literally one second.”

A moment later, Sieun—still dazed and slightly swaying—saw Gotak’s blurry silhouette suddenly jolt backward like he’d just been slapped by the internet itself. He stared at Baku, scandalized.

“Nope. We are not going in there. We’d get expelled just for looking.”

Baku grimaced, clearly about to argue, until he glanced at Sieun—and froze. His entire expression shifted from confused to deeply concerned in an instant.

“Sieun, man, you don’t look good.”
Probably because Sieun’s face was still flushed from running, Baku reached out and pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. “No fever…”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Sieun muttered, brushing Baku’s hand away.

But Baku didn’t move. His hand immediately slipped to Sieun’s waist, steadying him like he thought Sieun might collapse. At the same time, Gotak placed a firm hand on his arm for support.

“You haven’t eaten, have you?” Baku asked.

Sieun gave a weak shake of his head. “I was at campus. Then Juntae’s. No time.”

“And sleep?” Gotak added.

Sieun stared blankly, then slowly turned his head like a cat pretending everything was normal.

Baku cursed softly under his breath. “You’re gonna drop if we keep going like this.”

Gotak nodded toward a 7-Eleven nearby. “Rest. Eat. While you rest and eat something, Baku and I can figure out a plan."

Sieun’s first instinct was to argue. He hated being left behind. But the second he opened his mouth, he knew Gotak was right. There was no point in pushing himself until he passed out. And this area— sketchy or not—didn’t seem immediately dangerous. He had to trust them.

“Okay,” he murmured, barely above a whisper.

Both Baku and Gotak, who looked like they were bracing for a stubborn protest, immediately relaxed. Shoulders softened, jaws unclenched. Quietly, they flanked him on either side and guided him toward the store.

Inside, they waited while Sieun picked out something simple and warm to eat. Once he was seated on a stool by the window—with a clear view of the apartment building across the street—they finally seemed to exhale.

“We’ll be right back,” Baku said, though his voice lacked its usual confidence. He gave Sieun’s shoulder a light squeeze, his hand lingering a second too long—like he was making sure Sieun wouldn’t tip over the moment they turned their backs.

Gotak didn’t immediately move. His eyes scanned the convenience store, then the street outside. “You’ll keep your phone on?” he asked, his voice low but firm.

Sieun nodded. “Yeah.”

Gotak still hesitated, then exhaled through his nose and muttered, “Five minutes. If anything feels off, call.”

“We’re not going far,” Baku added quickly. “Promise.”

They exchanged one last look—half a silent warning, half reassurance—before finally stepping out into the night, leaving Sieun with food, a view of the street, and the echo of their worry still warm in the air.

Despite everything, it still caught Sieun off guard sometimes—having people who genuinely cared about him. People who didn’t see him as a burden to manage or someone to fix, but as an equal. Someone worth looking after.

So in the quiet corner of the 7-Eleven, chewing on a piece of kimbap, he couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips.

It was fleeting. The warmth of the food spread through his chest, but it couldn’t quite ease the tightness of guilt in his stomach and the ap apprehension on his chest.

It faded quickly.

The food was warm, but it couldn’t loosen the knot of guilt in his gut or the anxiety pressing against his ribs. They were chasing a girl who’d been stolen off the street. They didn’t know her name—just what she’d been wearing. She was probably terrified. Maybe hurt. Maybe dead. Maybe already another ghost, like Suho had almost been.

The thought made the food taste like ash in his mouth.

He looked at the bag of tteokbokki beside him—the one they'd carried for hours, thinking it might be a clue. It was spoiled now, been unrefrigerated for hours, passed through too many hands during the search.

Like this girl’s chances if they were too slow.

Now that they knew where the victim lived, there was no point in hanging onto it. The food had As soon as he finished eating his kimbap, he’d toss it.

He’d thought his days of danger were behind him—believed that his life would slow down to textbooks and quiet lectures. But here he was, piecing together leads in the shadows of something far bigger than them.

For some reason, and just for a moment, he wondered about Beomseok.

Bzzz. Bzzz.

Startled, Sieun pulled his phone from his pocket. Five messages were waiting for him.

Suho
I know you're studying and probably won’t read this message,
but don’t forget to eat! - 22:18

I’d be really happy if you took a power nap
instead of pulling another all-nighter. You and Juntae need to rest. - 22:34

Told Halmeoni to make your favorite,
so I’ll pick you up after class tomorrow 😉 -22:36

Juntae 
Hey Sieun, what was it the guys needed?
Come back soon, I can concentrate better when you are glaring at me ╰(°▽°)╯ -22:45

You’re coming back, right? 👀-22:48

 

Sieun sighed. He quickly typed out a short, honest reply to Suho: “I’m eating now. Thanks. See You tomorrow.” Immediately receiving a heart in response and making him smile a little.

To Juntae, he replied: “You wouldn’t believe it.” Followed by: “Should be back before midnight.”

That wouldn’t raise any alarms. Hopefully.

Now that they knew where the victim had worked, they might be able to figure out her identity. Maybe someone at her job had noticed something—maybe even knew where she lived. It wasn’t much, but considering they’d started with almost nothing, it was progress.

Statistically speaking, they weren’t supposed to be able to save her. If saving people was easy, there wouldn’t be so many missing person cases still unsolved. But maybe—just maybe—this time could be different. Maybe this girl still had a chance.

As that thought passed through him, a flicker of movement in his peripheral vision drew his attention. He looked up and spotted Gotak standing just outside the store, looking around casually. Baku was nowhere in sight.

When their eyes met, Gotak gave a small, almost sheepish wave—like he’d forgotten something, or maybe never intended to leave completely. Then he pointed subtly at the food and fixed Sieun with a steady look, the kind that didn’t need words to say: Eat. Rest. I’m still here.

Sieun blinked at him in return and looked back down at his food.

This was a mistake.

The moment the door clicked shut behind him and he heard the lock turn, Baku immediately regretted not pressing Gotak harder about what, exactly, he’d found on Google. The guy’s scandalized reaction—and then his suspiciously enthusiastic response after winning rock-paper-scissors—should’ve been a red flag.

When the two of them had separated from Sieun and crossed the street toward their questionable destiny, Gotak had casually suggested that only one of them go inside. “The lighting’s outside is crap,” he’d said. “And it’s late. Someone should keep an eye on the buildings. Just in case.”

Which, okay—fair point. After what they’d just witnessed, being too far away from either Baku or Sieun clearly made Gotak uncomfortable. Someone needed to stay close, keep watch, make sure nothing weird happened.

Baku had just smiled and agreed, because honestly? The only things keeping him upright at this point were adrenaline, anxiety, and his friends. He didn’t even mind losing the rock-paper-scissors match.

He should’ve known better.

His friends were a bunch of protective softies—but they were also assholes.

"Room 3," the doorman—or maybe he was security? hard to say—ordered in a gruff voice. The man was broad-shouldered and solidly built, the kind of guy who looked like he could lift even Baku without breaking a sweat and toss him across the room like he weighed nothing.

“No, no, good sir,” Baku said loudly and cheerfully, flashing a charming smile. “I’m just here to find someone.”
Someone who’d been kidnapped, he thought grimly.

"Room 3," the man repeated, this time with such bored irritation that Baku immediately gave in.

Respect your elders and all that.
Also… the guy was scary.

Baku followed him down a narrow, dimly lit hallway that smelled faintly of incense and something sharper—like antiseptic trying and failing to mask something more human. The floor creaked with every step, the old wooden panels groaning like they resented being walked on. The walls were thin and painted a faded peach, chipped in places and stained in others. Lining both sides were small rooms—none of them had real doors. Just curtains. Thin ones.

Too thin.

Behind the flimsy fabric, he could hear the low murmur of voices. Occasional giggles. The soft rustle of movement. One curtain fluttered as someone shifted just beyond it, casting a vague silhouette on the fabric. It was all far too easy to imagine something—or someone—stepping out suddenly.

The whole place screamed old-school Chinese establishment, complete with red tassels dangling from the wall sconces and decorative calligraphy prints that probably hadn’t been dusted since the last presidential term. In another context, it might’ve felt nostalgic or kitschy. Here, it just felt... off.

Baku swallowed hard. His footsteps slowed.

He was seriously starting to regret every single decision that had led him to this moment—agreeing to investigate, losing rock-paper-scissors, trusting Gotak with literally anything.

Baku was now actively fighting the rapidly growing urge to just nope out of existence.

Honestly, they should’ve sent Sieun in.

That guy, dead on his feet or not, could’ve stared down a wild animal if he wanted to. He probably would've outglared the intimidating man at the front with a single raised eyebrow and gotten all the answers they needed—no awkward small talk, no weird hallway, no curtains hiding god-knows-what.

Sieun would've handled this like a pro.

Baku? He was just trying not to look too much to the side in case something behind the fabric made eye contact with him.

He thought that, very seriously, as he stepped hesitantly toward Room 3—the number hand-painted on a wooden plaque above the curtain, slightly tilted like it couldn’t be bothered to hang straight. Each step forward felt like a dare he wasn’t totally sure he’d accepted. The closer he got, the louder the soft murmurs seemed to get, as if the room itself was holding its breath, waiting.

And Baku, despite everything, was still pretending this was all fine.

Outside, Gotak stood on the opposite side of the street, arms folded, watching Sieun through the wide glass windows of the convenience store’s dining area.

A part of him was very tempted to walk in and ask for a bite. After all, he and Baku had blown the last of their cash getting into Club Octagon. But another part of him didn’t want to interrupt.

Sieun sat hunched over his tray, eyes half-lidded from exhaustion, his movements slow and a little shaky. He was smaller than the rest of them, narrower in the shoulders, always looking like a gust of wind might knock him over on a bad day. And today? Today definitely qualified as a bad day. He looked like he could fold at any moment.

The more he ate, the better.

Honestly, he looked kinda cute eating like that— His cheeks were puffed out from stuffing in too much food at once, blinking like he wasn’t entirely sure where he was. He chewed with this weird combination of focus and detachment, like he’d momentarily forgotten that the world outside existed. Like it was just him and that tray of kimbap.

He must be starving, Gotak realized. Usually, Sieun picked at his food slowly, almost hesitantly—tearing things into smaller bites, organizing them into neat little groups on his plate, unless Suho was there to watch him eat or literally feed him by hand.

 Gotak pulled out his phone, the urge to record a short video bubbling up—just a quick one. Sieun, cheeks full, zoned out in front of a half-eaten triangle kimbap. It would be perfect blackmail material for later. Suho would absolutely lose it. But… nah.

If Suho ever found out they’d dragged his not-boyfriend into something dangerous without telling him, they'd all be dead. Not metaphorically. Dead-dead. Their bodies would never be found.

So instead, Gotak sighed and shoved the phone back into his pocket.

He glanced around the street. His job was to stay on lookout in case anything sketchy went down—cops, weird guys, or worse. If Baku got caught in a place like that it would cause major problems.

But still.

Gotak’s stomach growled audibly, and he groaned under his breath. The smell of warm rice and instant soup wafting faintly from the store only made things worse. And honestly, the store’s little dining area gave a perfect view of the building they were watching. It wasn’t like he’d lose line of sight or anything if he sat down for just a few minutes.

He could totally sneak in for a quick bite.

He could totally sneak in for a quick bite.

Besides, Sieun had money coming in from both of his divorced parents, and his mom came from old money or something. The guy once accidentally bought a $10 coffee because he didn’t check the price. Surely, surely, he had a few extra bills to spare for his best friend.

Right?

Gotak crossed his arms tighter, staring longingly through the window as Sieun looked down at his phone, the food still steaming beside him—warm, comforting, borderline divine compared to whatever disaster Gotak had eaten last.

His mouth watered.

Maybe just one bite.

Maybe he’d offer some moral support in exchange for a few bites and a couple of bills. That counted as a fair trade, right? Emotional labor was real.

He glanced back at the sketchy building across the street, then at Sieun—who, after a brief pause, blinked slowly and then looked down again and stuffed another piece of food into his mouth.

Yeah. He looked like he needed a few more uninterrupted minutes.

Gotak leaned back against the streetlight post, rolling his eyes with a fond smile.

Five more minutes, he told himself.

Then maybe he’d head in and join him.

Or maybe he’d just collapse into the seat beside him and beg for the crumbs—whichever came first.

Baku was definitely questioning all his life choices.
Well—maybe not all of them.

There were some things that still made sense to him. Like, he was definitely not about to back out of this search. He was in too deep now, and at the end of the day, someone needed to figure out what the hell was going on here. But the one thing he was absolutely sure of?

As soon as he got out of here, he was going to strangle Gotak.

And if Gotak died? Well, Sieun was a homie. He’d probably help hide the body, or at the very least, tell him the most efficient way to dispose of one.

But yeah. Murder was happening. Just a matter of time.

He sat awkwardly on the worn-out couch in the small room, every fiber of his being screaming to leave. The air felt stale, like it hadn't been touched by sunlight in weeks, and the low, flickering lamp in the corner cast a dim red glow that was clearly meant to make things feel… intimate.

The space was bare, almost depressingly so. There was a single threadbare couch that creaked when he shifted, a tiny side table with a box of tissues, and a faint smell in the air that was a weird mix of perfume, stale smoke, and something vaguely medicinal. The noises from the other rooms—distant laughter, low murmurs, the occasional clinking sound—weren’t helping either. Every footstep in the hallway made him jump, and every new noise sounded just a little too off to be normal.

Man, he just wanted to find a date in a party. How did he end up here?

Suddenly, the curtain was yanked open with a rough snap, revealing the same hulking guy from the entrance. His face was shadowed by the dim light, but it was easy to recognize the intimidating build, the arms like tree trunks, and the expression that screamed, you’re wasting my time.

“Who are you looking for?” His voice was blunt, with a tone that seemed to suggest Baku had better get to the point fast.

Baku froze for a second, startled by another questionable sound from the hallway.
“Uh—a girl. She has… ahh, a small face.” he stammered, cringing inwardly at his own words

The man stared at him for a moment, utterly unimpressed, before Baku kept going, his voice tinged with growing awkwardness.

“She’s tall! And had long hair—oh! She was wearing—”

He didn’t get to finish. The man made a grunt of recognition, pulled the curtain shut again, and walked off.

…Damn. That must’ve been a really good description.

With nothing else to do, he pulled out his phone and started typing a text to Gotak, eager to at least update him on the situation and get out of here as fast as possible.

But just before he hit send, the curtain jerked open again.

This time, it wasn’t the hulking guy.

It was a woman.

Baku blinked twice, feeling a wave of surprise and—he hated to admit it—a little bit of awe.

She was stunning. Just a little shorter than him, with dark hair cascading over her shoulders and a figure that was sleek, graceful, and way too perfect for a place like this. She wore a tight dress that clung to her frame, her movements elegant, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. And she was holding a tray piled high with various hygienic products, which only made Baku more confused. What kind of… salon was this?

She set the tray down on the table, her smile soft, almost seductive in the dim lighting.

Baku felt his heart skip a beat.

For a moment, he completely forgot how to speak. His brain, which had been working overtime for the past few minutes, suddenly short-circuited.

She sat in the chair across from him without a word, her eyes watching him with something that looked like quiet amusement. Seeing his confusion, she lightly patted her thighs, her voice soft, almost teasing.

“What are you doing? Put your phone down and sit.”

Baku was just a virgin. He agreed before even processing it.
No one could judge him.

And yet, the second his head touched her thighs, he sat straight up again. Something about it just felt wrong.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. It’s not you, it’s me,” he blurted out, his voice rising in panic. He began pacing in frantic circles, hands flying through the air like he was trying to explain the impossible. “You’re beautiful. Seriously. And I like you! I do. But I have so many problems. There was this guy, and things happened, and then he died—” He paused, taking a deep breath. “Wait, I’m not making sense. It’s just, uh, I really don’t do this. I mean, I’ve never—”

The woman, looking mildly intrigued but mostly confused, cocked her head to the side, watching him like she was trying to decipher a puzzle.

“Oh. That sounds... complicated,” she said slowly, her tone soft, trying to make sense of his rambling.

“Yeah, and okay, there wasn’t really, like, a ‘thing’ between us. We weren’t... we never... It was just me. You know?” His breathing was getting shallow, and now one arm flung over his eyes, while the woman continued to watch him, wide-eyed. “And the thing is? He really hurt my friends. So even if he hadn’t... you know... died, it’s not like there was a chance or anything. Did I mention he was the leader of a gang?”

The woman blinked, her eyes widening in horror.

“He was what?”

If Baku hadn’t been spiraling so hard, he might’ve noticed the horrified expression that flickered across her face.

But instead, he just kept talking, too far gone in his own spiraling thoughts to notice the change.

Gotak was absolutely devouring the food. The greasy, salty satisfaction of it made everything feel momentarily right with the world. As soon as he’d gotten the first bite, it was like his entire body remembered how to relax. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until now. The cold air outside the convenience store felt somehow less biting in the presence of a steaming, perfectly spiced bowl of ramen. And Sieun—his ever-so-slightly weird, unpredictable friend—had decided to behave today and invited him not just once, but twice, to dig in. As if to make up for all the previous times he’d skimped on the food or barely ate, Sieun was practically treating Gotak to a feast.

Right now, Gotak was finishing his second helping, a big smile spreading across his face as he scraped the bowl for the last remnants of sauce. He licked his chopsticks clean, enjoying the tangy richness, when he noticed Sieun had stepped out to throw away the trash. His friend was also on a second mission to grab—of all things—an alarming amount of duct tape.

“Just in case,” Sieun had said, tossing him a glance that was equal parts serious and cryptic before heading off to pay. Gotak had shuddered a little at the thought.

Sieun was a different kind of dangerous. While Gotak and Baku had spent countless hours training their bodies to become weapons, Sieun’s mind guided him to turn everything else into a weapon, whether it was a pencil, a rubber band, or, apparently, duct tape — so maybe Sieun was just being paranoid, and that was the best thing he could find.

Gotak had learned not to question Sieun’s preparedness, especially when it came to his obsession with being “just in case” ready.

With that thought still lingering in his mind, Gotak lifted the container to his mouth to finish the last bite, a calm moment before things took a turn for the worse.

Suddenly, a shrill police siren sliced through the air, blasting its high-pitched wail so sharply it could’ve cut glass. Gotak’s head snapped up in surprise, his senses immediately kicking into high gear. Two officers jumped out of their car, striding toward the building with purpose. The flashing lights of the police car cast sharp shadows across the street, and for a split second, Gotak’s pulse quickened.

Damn it.

His eyes darted quickly toward Sieun, whose eyes widened in disbelief, as if he could already sense the disaster about to unfold. Before Sieun could even open his mouth to stop him, Gotak was already sprinting toward the street, throwing caution to the wind. The promise he’d made to Sieun about staying level-headed? Gone in an instant. With no time to think, he yelled at the cops with all the volume he could muster:

“OI, DIRTY PIGLETS!”

The words came out of his mouth with no filter, pure instinct, and as the sound of his shout rang through the street, Gotak realized with some degree of self-awareness that it was definitely the dumbest thing he could’ve done.

Sieun, still inside the 7-Eleven and with his hands full of duct tape, dropped everything down, totally flabbergasted at his friend’s audacity or stupidity.

Outside, the two cops stood at the entrance of the building, completely stunned into silence for a moment. The younger officer was the first to recover, looking at his senior and quickly stepping forward, his expression trying to remain neutral. He placed a hand on his superior’s arm as if to stop him from charging forward.

“Sir, let’s just ignore him,” the junior officer suggested, his voice smooth but tinged with uncertainty. “He’s probably just a drunk kid, not worth the hassle.”

The older officer, though, was not having it. His face flushed a bright shade of crimson as his temper flared, eyes narrowing with righteous indignation. He was clearly the type who believed in showing young people their place in the world.

“Kids like that end up criminals,” the senior officer muttered under his breath, practically seething with fury. “We need to teach him a lesson, so he grows up responsible.”

A beat passed. Then Gotak—he couldn’t help it—yelled again from around the corner, this time even louder and with more venom:

“TAX RATS!”

The junior officer’s eyes widened, clearly unsure of what to do next, but before he could even open his mouth to protest, the older officer was already stomping toward the corner, full of righteous fury.

What followed could only be described as cartoonish. Gotak ran with the speed of a man who once dreamed of being an athlete, and behind him came the senior cop, followed closely by the junior. The older man shouted things like: “Disobedient brat! Stop being rebellious!” while Gotak shouted incoherent insults at the top of his lungs — and, absurdly, some “advice.”

“You guys should work out more! Lifting your knees will build muscle faster!” Gotak shouted as he rounded a corner, clearly enjoying himself too much.

Even when the cops stopped to catch their breath, Gotak waited until they looked recovered, then mocked them again, ignoring the junior’s incredulous complaints: “Is he Superman? He doesn’t look tired!”

Gotak didn’t even pause to look back. The gap between him and the officers only widened with each step. To Gotak, it wasn’t just about evading capture—it was about mocking the authorities in the most ridiculous way possible. These cops were his future colleagues—he couldn’t let them slack off, right? It was his duty to make sure they stayed in peak condition.

As Gotak headed back toward the 7-Eleven, still running at full speed, he spotted Sieun emerging from the store. He was carrying two large bags stuffed with duct tape. And as he crossed the street, Gotak noticed that Sieun had his phone raised in one hand, clearly filming the whole ridiculous chase for later amusement.

Gotak’s eyes narrowed in mock annoyance. As soon as he lost the cops, he was going to give that menace exactly what he deserved.

Inside the room, Baku was curled up in a fetal position, his body shaking with sobs as he buried his face into his arms. His shoulders trembled with every choked gasp, his sobs loud and desperate, a stark contrast to the calm of the space around him. The beautiful woman who had sat with him earlier now gently stroked his back, her movements tender, her touch comforting yet distant. Every now and then, she would lightly pat his back, a soft rhythm meant to calm him, but Baku didn’t seem to notice. He was lost in a whirlwind of self-loathing, his mind spiraling down into darker thoughts.

“It’s like… everything I touch falls apart,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, his words barely audible as they quivered in the air. “I try to help someone protect themselves, and they become a monster. I make a new friend, and he gets hurt so badly because of me that he has to give up his dream career. I make two more friends, and one ends up in the hospital. It’s like the only way I can help people is by staying far away from them.”

His voice cracked on the last sentence, the words punctuating the weight of his guilt and frustration. The room around him was heavy with an uneasy silence, broken only by soft murmurs from the people who had gathered. Their sympathetic coos filled the space, creating a strange sense of intimacy that bordered on overwhelming.

“Everything you’re saying is just so awful. I still can’t believe your friend-turned-nemesis beat up your new friends and then tried to recruit you to work with him. Do you need more tissues?” asked the doorman/security, who actually introduced himself as Mr. Kang. He was kneeling in front of Baku, his expression full of compassion. “Like—who does that? And you said that happened when you were still in school? Unbelievable!”

“I can’t believe you had to plan a full-blown gang fight just to stop him. He must’ve been crazy strong,” added another man—probably a client.

Baku’s chest tightened. He had no idea how to respond to that. It all felt like a distant nightmare—like it was someone else’s life. But no one else had been there to witness it. He had been the one to live it. He’d had to carry that weight for so long that it had become a part of him.

As he wiped his face, Baku’s eyes briefly flicked around the room. It seemed as if every single person was crowded in the doorway or leaning against the walls, all of them watching him, waiting, like he was some kind of tragic performance they couldn’t look away from. The women stood shoulder to shoulder, practically squeezing in through the doorway, their eyes wide with concern, while the men just shook their heads, their faces full of disbelief. Even Mr. Kang looked like he was fighting to keep himself composed, his brow furrowed as he knelt in front of Baku.

The sight of them like that sobered him up a little. He is here for a reason.

“Yeah... my life’s been a rollercoaster. But despite the pain, it’s what inspired me to become who I am today—a protector. That’s why I’m here.”

His hand wiped away the last of his tears, his movements slow and deliberate as he gathered his composure. “At nine o’clock, my friend and I witnessed a kidnapping.”

The words left his mouth, and an immediate gasp swept through the room. People shifted uneasily, their gazes sharpening. Mr. Kang’s face paled further, his hands shaking slightly as he reached for a tissue.

One of the clients gasped softly. “No…another plot twist?”

“The woman who was taken works here. She’s tall, small face, long hair, wearing a pink coat.”

A girl in the back, who had been quietly listening, suddenly stood straighter, her eyes wide with alarm. “Yun-Jung always wears a pink coat! Was it long? And her hair—was it brown?”

“Yes!”

“Yes!” Baku said, a sense of urgency flooding his veins as he saw the reactions of the people around him. The panic began to spread like wildfire, contagious and palpable.

The group exchanged frantic glances, muttering among themselves, their expressions growing more worried with each passing second. Even Mr. Kang, the stoic figure who had been trying to stay calm, looked absolutely devastated and confused.

“Don’t worry, we’re looking into it,” Baku reassured them, forcing his voice to stay steady despite the storm of panic swirling inside him. “Could you tell me where she was staying?”

The women hesitated, exchanging glances as if deciding how much to reveal. Finally, one of them stepped forward, her eyes clouded with concern. “It’s complicated. Yun-Jung ran away from home. She’s actually only seventeen.”

Mr. Kang threw up his hands in horror, still kneeling. “WHAT?! Why didn’t anyone tell me?! She told me she was 22!”

Baku blinked in disbelief. “Isn’t it illegal to hire a minor?” he asked, his voice flat as he tried to ignore Mr. Kang’s spiraling.

“Honey, all of this is illegal. Look around you,” another women said dryly. “We’re all working here illegally.”

Mr. Kang was shaking his head now, his hands pressed against his forehead as if he couldn’t quite comprehend the weight of what he’d just learned. “Oh my god. She is seventeen,” he muttered over and over, like the revelation had shattered his entire world.

A tiny woman, who had been standing quietly in the back, suddenly raised her hand. “She told me,” she said softly, her voice cutting through the chaos. “She told me she’s been staying at a friend’s house. I think they’re all on the run too. I remember it because it was just before our shift started—she said the address was 64 Nonhyun-ro 27. I’ll write it down for you.”

Baku felt emotionally drained, the weight of the information hitting him like a tidal wave. He couldn’t even bring himself to feel embarrassed about trauma-dumping on an entire room full of strangers; this was important. He had to get this information out, even if it left him feeling exposed.

“Thank you,” he said hoarsely, accepting the note she passed to him. He tucked it into his pocket, his mind already working on the next steps. He needed to leave. Fast.

Stepping outside, he was immediately hit by the harsh flashing of police lights. His heart skipped a beat as he looked toward the street, spotting Sieun standing calmly in the middle of the road, holding two bags in one arm, his phone raised in the other. He was filming something, but his eyes didn’t seem nearly as panicked as they should’ve been. In fact, Sieun seemed downright unbothered, though still a little pale and worn.

Before Baku could even think to call out to him, Gotak came charging around the corner, his feet pounding against the pavement as he screamed at the top of his lungs:

“RUUUUNNNNN!!”

Without a second’s hesitation, Baku run toward the smaller of the group and scooped an alarmed Sieun eun over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He didn’t think—he just acted, adrenaline surging through him like wildfire as Gotak bolted down the street with baku close behind.

“I got—the address!—I got the address!” Baku panted, adjusting Sieun’s weight. He could feel his friend’s muscles tense, but Sieun’s face remained eerily calm, his expression one of quiet determination. He had pocketed his phone, but the look on his face promised violence once they were safe.

“Why... is the police here?” Baku cried, out of breath as he ran.

“Just—keep running,” Gotak wheezed.

“What’s —with the bags??” Baku panted, trying to make sense of it.

“I bought a lot of tape,” Sieun replied, his tone matter-of-fact, as though they weren’t in the middle of a police chase.

And as they ran, Baku briefly considered turning back the build, just to tell everyone inside the ear cleaning establishment that his friends were utter lunatics. He was sure they’d be deeply invested in stories about Sieun and his pencil collection.

Maybe next time.

Chapter Text

By 23:03, the trio walked silently through the dim corridors of Yun-Jung’s apartment building. Overhead, the fluorescent lights flickered in and out of life, casting warped shadows that crawled along the cracked concrete walls like restless ghosts.

The air was thick, humid—charged with an unnatural stillness, as if the building itself was holding its breath, listening.

Sieun kept his eyes on the corridor ahead, but his thoughts drifted—unspooling the thread that had led him here. Just two hours ago, he’d been warm and drowsy in Juntae’s apartment, surrounded by scattered textbooks and the low, rhythmic murmur of a shared cram session. Finals were closing in like a storm front, and they’d both been too anxious to focus. They’d even joked about skipping Friday’s morning classes and bumming notes off someone else. No can’t-miss lectures anyway.

If things had gone to plan, he might’ve had lunch with Suho tomorrow—maybe found a moment of quiet before the day swallowed them both whole.

But that version of the day had slipped away. Now, all he wanted was to finish here, return to Juntae’s place, and collapse into bed. Tomorrow would be for catching up, for pretending things were normal again.

Despite everything, some strange comfort lingered in the back of his mind: they'd done what they could. That had to count for something. The exhaustion, the weight of doing the right thing—it all came with a kind of clarity. Maybe enough to finally sleep.

Hell—in less than three hours, they had gone from having a vague mental image of the missing girl to uncovering her name, address, and some halfway-decent theories. With that, the police would have something real to work with.

To his right, Baku shifted uncomfortably, arms weighed down by a mess of suspicious-looking tape rolls Sieun had insisted on buying. In truth, the purchase hadn’t been all that strategic—more the product of sleep-deprived paranoia than any real planning. He’d even eyed a can of food at the convenience store, wondering if it might double as a weapon, before deciding it could just as easily be turned against them.

Maybe once the adrenaline kicked in properly, his brain would catch up and figure out what to do with any of it.

Baku didn’t complain. He just kept walking, oddly silent, the plastic bags rustling at his side like they were trying to fill the void.

Sieun carried the takeout himself—a warm paper bag heavy with burgers, meant for Yun-Jung’s roommates. The girl had placed a food order just minutes before disappearing, which likely meant the others hadn’t eaten either. A full stomach might help loosen their tongues. At the very least, it would feel like a gesture. Something human in a situation that had stopped feeling normal hours ago.

Earlier, Gotak had offered to carry the bag for him. Sieun had shut that down with a single glare—sharp, deliberate, no room for discussion. Gotak had backed off immediately, wordless.

As the group spotted the door to Yun-Jung’s apartment, Sieun took a controlled breath and prepared himself.

“So—” Baku began, but his voice bounced too loudly off the empty walls, startling even him. He winced, instantly lowering it to a near-whisper. The air here didn’t welcome noise.

“How exactly are we doing this?” he murmured. “What’s the plan for… questioning them?”

Gotak’s confident reply came quietly, matching the hush around them.  “Simple, We tell them we’re police students. That way, they’ll take us seriously. Be more willing to talk.”

Baku caught Sieun’s disapproving sound—something between a sigh and a scoff. The way Si-eun said it made Baku pause. No, that’s a terrible idea, the tone said without words.

“She had an illegal job, remember?” Sieun’s voice was low, emotionless, but unyielding. “She might’ve been living with people who don’t want to be found. If we even hint at having ties to the police, they’ll either shut down… or run.”

Baku raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “So what do you suggest? Pretend to be her parents or something?” The idea sounded ridiculous, but better than nothing.

Gotak’s offended reply was quick. “Why would we be her parents? Do you not see how young we are?”

Baku muttered under his breath as they stopped in front of the door. The weight in his legs hit all at once, like someone had flipped a switch. “Give me a break,” he grumbled. “We’ve been walking since nine. The adrenaline’s gone, my feet are killing me—I can’t even think straight.”

He caught Sieun studying the door, his eyes dull with exhaustion, but sharp beneath it—still calculating. “I’ll try to talk to them,” Sieun said quietly. “Maybe we can pass as worried family friends or something. But no promises.”

No one argued. What was there to argue with? None of them had anything better.

Baku glanced around the doorframe out of habit—no camera, no doorbell, just a chipped metal peephole and faded numbers barely clinging to the wall. Sieun stepped forward.

Knock knock.
Knock knock.
Knock knock knock.

The rhythm echoed harshly in the cramped hallway. The sound seemed to stretch out the silence that followed. On instinct, all three of them took a half-step back, hearts ticking up as the door gave a soft creak.

It didn’t open all the way—just a sliver, just enough for the metal security chain to snap taut, holding it in place. From behind the gap, nothing but a sliver of shadowed interior, and the suggestion of someone watching.

Baku stepped forward, just enough to peer through the narrow gap in the door. His gaze locked onto the figure inside.

Older than them, definitely. Maybe early twenties. His hair was a vivid orange that flared under the hallway light like a spark ready to catch. Tattoos curled down his neck like creeping vines, and metal glinted from his eyebrows, his lip, even his ear—like his face had been carefully pieced together in silver.

He looked about Baku’s height—maybe closer to Gotak’s—but rail-thin, like he skipped more meals than he should. Still, his arms had a wiry strength to them, the kind most people would miss if they weren’t looking.

But it was the man’s eyes that made Baku tense.

Sharp. Watchful. There was something behind them—something hard to name. Not quite aggression, not fear. Just… something wrong.

Sieun stepped in then, calm and deliberate, placing himself between the door and his friends without hesitation. Baku had to suppress the reflex to pull him back behind him. He noticed Gotak shift beside him, one hand rising slightly before falling again—probably thinking the same.

Sieun’s voice came soft, even, carefully measured.

“Hey,” Sieun said “I’m Jihoon, and these are Minjae and Yunhwan. We’re friends of Yun-Jung. We knew her before she ran away from home.”

Baku watched him move slightly, just enough to keep full view of the man behind the door. His eyes sharpened—focused. Like he was trying to see past flesh, past bone, down into the man’s soul.

“She told us about this place… begged us not to come,” Sieun continued. “But we’re worried. Really worried. We understand why she had to disappear, but… is she here? Could you let her know we’re outside? We miss her. And we even brought food.”

For a second, there was silence.

Then, the man shifted. His shoulders tensed, chin dipping slightly like he was bracing for something. It was a small movement—barely there—but Baku felt it twist in his gut. A cold, crawling instinct.

Something was wrong.

Gotak must’ve felt it too. Baku didn’t have to look to know he’d gone still beside him—alert, waiting.

The man’s eyes flicked from one of them to the next, never landing, never holding. “Uh… oh,” he said finally, voice thin, awkward. “Sorry. She, uh… she left. Said she was going back to her family tonight. Took her stuff and everything.”

Oh.
That’s a lie.
He was clearly lying, but… why?

He glanced at Sieun.

A small crease had formed between his brows. Barely noticeable, but Baku caught it—and anyone who knew Sieun well would know what it meant.

Not a good sign.

Not at all.

Out of sheer instinct—or maybe paranoia—Baku adjusted the bags in his arms, shifting their weight into one hand. The other moved behind Sieun, resting just beneath the collar of his jacket, fingers curling around the thick fabric at the base of his neck.

It was a subtle grip. Controlled. Protective.

If something went sideways, Baku would yank Sieun back without hesitation.

Sieun opened his mouth to reply, but whatever he was about to say would remain a mystery—because at that exact moment, Gotak exploded.

“That’s a lie!” he snapped, voice loud and raw. “We saw her get fucking kidnapped just hours ago! So open the damn door! Someone’s life is in danger—for God’s sake, we need answers, and we don’t have time to waste!”

“Gotak,” Sieun warned sharply.

Baku’s hand tightened behind Sieun’s neck, heart pounding. He didn’t realize how fast he was breathing until the air felt too thin.

But it was already too late.

Several things happened in an instant.

The man moved fast—too fast. No shift, no warning.
His boot slammed straight into Si-eun’s stomach.

“Sieun!” Baku’s voice cracked as he yanked hard on the back of his jacket, pulling him flush against his chest to keep him from crumpling to the floor. The impact knocked the air out of him anyway, but Sieun didn’t waste time.

As Baku steadied him, Sieun let his lower body drop, wedging himself between the door and the frame just as the tattooed man tried to slam it shut. The metal groaned. Sieun gave a strangled cry, but he didn’t move.

Gotak did.

Without a second’s hesitation, he shouldered forward, bursting the rest of the door wide open—just as the older guy bolted deeper inside the apartment.

Baku’s pulse skyrocketed at the sound of fast-paced footsteps, Gotak’s furious shouts, and a sudden female cry. He hooked an arm around Sieun’s waist without even checking him over, half-carrying, half-dragging him toward the apartment.

Thankfully, Baku only had to take a couple steps before Si-eun forced himself upright again.

Before they could even join Gotak, a girl appeared from one of the bedrooms. She looked too young to be living with a guy like that—wide-eyed, tense, her voice quick and urgent.

“They went out the window!” she blurted, pointing to the back room.

Another girl peeked nervously from a doorway, her face pale with worry.

Fuck. He had to run now—before they lost them. But Sieun always run too slow. If they chased together, they’d risk being split apart in the pursuit.

Baku turned to Sieun, r releasing him from his protective grip.  He set his hands firmly on Sieun’s shoulders.

Sieun’s tired expression was gone, replaced with something sharper, angrier—too furious to even feel the pain.

There was no time to check if Si-eun was okay—not when every second felt like it could decide whether they caught the guy or lost him for good. Baku’s pulse was pounding, but his grip on Si-eun’s shoulders was steady, grounding them both for a brief moment in the chaos.

Baku locked eyes with him, expression hard but laced with desperation.
“Si-eun, stay here. Look after them. We’ll be back soon. Close the door and don’t let anyone in. Got it?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. In the next heartbeat, he was gone—sprinting after Gotak.

Gotak sprinted after the man, sneakers slapping against the pavement, the sound ricocheting through the narrow alley. His breath tore in ragged bursts, heart hammering like a war drum beneath his ribs. He shoved through a rusty side gate and rounded the corner—

Nothing.

He skidded to a halt, chest heaving. A small parking lot stretched before him, dim and empty. Too empty. The lone fluorescent light overhead flickered, sputtered once… twice… then died, plunging the parking lot into suffocating shadow.

Gotak froze, certain the guy had come this way. He strained his ears for anything—a scuff, a breath, a shift in the dark—but silence pressed in around him. Whoever it was, they were close. Just out of sight.

He drew a slow, steadying breath and held it, every muscle taut. Waiting.

A heartbeat later, the light snapped back on.

Motion sensors.

Gotak narrowed his eyes, scanning the rows of cars, and slipped inside.

He moved, slipping between the parked vehicles like a shadow of the flickering lights above—slow, deliberate, silent. Every motion precise, every step measured. He could feel the tension in the air, the sense that something—or someone—was watching, waiting to strike.

His heartbeat pounded in his ears. Too loud. It made him paranoid. What if he could hear it too?

His eyes darted from one patch of darkness to the next, tracing the faintest shifts in the stale, heavy air. Every few meters, Gotak would freeze completely, body tense and crouched, waiting for the harsh, clinical glow of the motion-sensor lights to die out. He stayed like that for seconds, maybe minutes, it was hard to tell. He just hoped that the next flicker would from someone else’s movement, not his own.

But there was nothing.
Only the distant hum of failing fluorescents hanging overhead like tired sentinels. And the relentless thunder of his heart —pounding so loud he feared it might betray him to the empty concrete halls.

Then—
A light snapped on. Right side.

Gotak spun just as a figure lunged from behind a black SUV, blade flashing in the artificial glow. Time slowed—the gleam of steel, the hiss of breath, the step of his foot.

There was no time for strategy—Instinct took over.

The knife cut air inches from his face, the attacker’s momentum pulling him forward. Gotak twisted mid-move, palm slapping the assailant’s wrist, and brought his knee up—hard—into the man's ribs. A brutal exhale burst from the man’s mouth.

But he didn’t go down.

The guy had training—the kind that didn’t flinch when hit.
Fine. Gotak had training too.

The man shifted his shoulder, and Gotak braced. Just as he predicted, the knife came again. Gotak dropped low, spinning sideways as steel sliced the air where his neck had been. His heel skidded on the concrete but his balance held, trained muscles tightening like steel cables. He launched a backward kick, aiming high, but the guy ducked, fast. Too fast.

A fist cracked across Gotak’s cheek. His head snapped sideways, stars bursting behind his eyes. He staggered into a parked car—

BEEP—BEEP—BEEP!

The alarm screamed to life, red lights strobing across the parking lot. Another alarm joined in, the noise drowning everything.

Gotak spat blood. “Shit. Okay.”

The man charged again. Gotak vaulted up, planting a foot on the hood and springing over him in a blur. He twisted midair, landed behind, and slammed a kick into the back of the guy’s knee. He buckled—but didn’t fall.

Gotak’s impulsiveness kicked in.

He sprinted for a pillar, pushed off it with one foot, spun midair, and crashed a heel into the man’s shoulder.

It was a risky move, as it requires a lot of energy, but it paid off as the man crashed sideways into another parked car. The side mirror shattered.

The guy was bleeding now, dazed, but still burning with adrenaline. Gotak heard him groan, scrambling up.

Gotak pressed forward—elbow to the temple, backhand to the jaw, a spinning kick into the ribs. But the man caught his leg mid-swing and whipped him like dead weight, slamming him into the ground.

Air exploded from Gotak’s lungs. His vision blurred. But he rolled fast, narrowly dodging a foot meant to crush his head.

From the ground, he lashed out with a low sweep, knocking the attacker off balance. Both scrambled back up, panting.

A flash of movement—low this time—an attempted sweep. Gotak jumped, legs tucked, and came down with a spinning axe kick aimed at the man’s shoulder.

Missed.

The force of his own attack threw him off balance, his tired muscles screaming. He steadied, blinking sweat and blood from his eyes—

And realized the guy was gone.

And then, suddenly, the lights flickered out.

Silent, except for the loud bangind of his own heart.

Gotak wiped blood from his mouth, forcing a smirk. The guy was fast, sure. Dangerous. But he’d seen it now— the cracks. The breathing too heavy, the swings just a little slower. Sharp moves, but sloppy edges.

Baku could crush him with strength. Sieun could mess with his head until he broke himself.
Gotak? He had something else. Stamina.

Though his opponent’s steps were swift, there wasn’t much endurance behind them. Gotak might not have been the most efficient with his own energy, but he had plenty to draw from. Better to let the guy burn through his adrenaline first, then finish it with one decisive move.

He couldn’t afford to be impulsive all the time—Si-eun would kill him. Or worse, Baku would never let him live it down. Hell no.

Gotak stilled. Legs bent. Hands loose.

The parking lot was a coffin of darkness, and until one of them moved, they were both buried in it. If he couldn’t see, he’d listen.

And then—
A sharp exhale behind him.

The lights snapped back. Gotak was ready.

This time, he didn’t use any signature move—no flashy kicks. His objective was clear now: wear him down and take the knife out of the equation.

As the man lunged, low and fast, Gotak moved backward just enough, his weight shifting light and effortless. No counter, no strike. Just distance.

The knife hissed past, snagging his clothes and leaving a small tear at his arm. Gotak twisted, let it pass, then snapped a quick kick to the thigh. Not hard. Just enough to sting.

The man snarled, spit flying. “Stop playing games and fight me!”

His chest was heaving now, breath ragged. His eyes were wild.

Gotak didn’t bother replying, only let a small smirk slip through.

His opponent widened his eyes for a moment, and then cursed.

The glare he got in return was pure hate. A sloppy, desperate strike followed, easy to read. Gotak sidestepped, stomped his foot, and danced back out of reach.

For a moment, he remembered. The taekwondo competitions. The way he could read opponents like open books, predict the strike before it came. Back then, he was sharp. Focused. Then Seongje happened. Then the knee. Then the anger, the reckless fire that made him fight like he had nothing to lose. It pushed him forward, but it also left him wide open, the kind of fighter more likely to burn out—or lose—when it mattered most.

He can’t be that kid anymore. If he kept feeding on resentment, it would drag him down—and everyone he cared about with him.

He wanted to be a cop. A protector. Not out of duty, but because he loved it. Protecting people, standing in the gap. To do that, he had to let the anger go. Had to fight smart.

So for the first time since his injury, Gotak waited. Not rushing in. Not chasing the thrill. He let the guy come to him. He watched, measured, listened—

And prepared for the perfect moment to strike.

He moved sideways, backtracked, spun, even rolled once to dodge—but every movement was measured, calculated to burn as little energy as possible. He kept his breathing steady, his steps controlled, and watched as the tattooed man began to sweat harder, his swings growing sloppier.

And then—finally—the moment he’d been waiting for.

The man tightened his grip on the knife and slashed. Weak. Clumsy. Predictable.
Gotak’s body moved instantly: a sidestep, a wrist twist—one clean motion he’d drilled a hundred times in class, but never for real.

The knife clattered to the concrete.

Both of them froze for a heartbeat, stunned.

Gotak didn’t hesitate. A jumping, spinning back kick—perfect form, perfect timing—smashed into the man’s chest like a wrecking ball. The impact lifted him clean off his feet and slammed him into the side of a van so hard the suspension groaned.

He hit the ground, coughing, groaning, trying—failing—to rise. His arm twitched, but the strength was gone.

It was over.

The fight had felt like forever, but it couldn’t have been more than five minutes.

“Damn,” Gotak muttered with a smirk, watching the guy writhe. “They really do teach us well.”

“Oh my God,” a voice rang out. Baku. “That was one of the most badass things I’ve ever seen you do.”

Gotak groaned. “Please tell me you weren’t just standing there watching.”

Despite himself, Gotak smiled. Pride flickered in his chest, warm and unshakable. He loved his friends—trusted them with his life—but finishing this fight alone meant something. No backup. No help. Just him, standing tall at the end.

Still… he hadn’t really been alone.

The way he toyed with the guy’s temper, baiting him into mistakes—that was pure Sieun. And that final strike, clean and crushing, had been all Baku: brutal, efficient, impossible to ignore.

Gotak might have stood here by himself, but every move he’d made carried a piece of someone else.
And for the first time in years, he wondered—did they fight the same way? Did they carry him too?

As Gotak was lost in thought, Baku strode over, one hand landing firmly on his shoulder, the other carrying Sieun’s 7-Eleven bags. Gotak winced, and for a brief moment, Baku’s gaze softened, almost sympathetic.

“Sorry I was late. You did well,” Baku said.

Gotak fought the instinct to reply, Really? Instead, he nodded, a small smile forming, and then both turned toward the mess at their feet.

Baku’s expression hardened. He looked down at the man on the ground, disdain clear in every line of his face.

“Why did you run?” he demanded, placing the bags aside. He flipped the man onto his stomach, forcing his arms behind his back, pinning him with a knee.

The man groaned but said nothing, face pressed into the cool pavement.

“Gotak, hold him,” Baku ordered, reaching into the man’s battered pockets for his phone.

When he found it, he barked, “Unlock it. Give me the passcode.”

“I’m not telling you anything!” the man hissed, teeth clenched, spitting the words out.

Gotak, done with the standoff, kneed him hard behind the legs.

“IT’S 1111!” the man screamed, writhing in pain.

Gotak rolled his eyes. “you got to be kidding me.”

Baku unlocked the phone, his intuition guiding him straight to the messages. As he scrolled past numerous conversations, one thread stopped him cold.

His face drained of color. “What the hell is this?” he demanded, voice rising. “Did you sell Yun-Jung?! Are you kidding me?!”

There was no other explanation. The evidence was clear. The contact wasn’t saved, no number displayed. The messages from the unknown contact had been deleted—but the man hadn’t erased his side.

His last messages? Payment received. You aren’t going to kill her, right?

Then a deleted response from the unknown number, and finally: Probably better this way.

Gotak stared at him, stunned. “Wait—what?”

“I don’t know anything! I just gave them her name!” the man insisted.

“Who the hell is Jaeryeong? How do we find him?” Baku snapped, while Gotak twisted the guy’s arm a little harder for emphasis, feeling overwhelmed.

“The contact doesn’t exist anymore… but you can go to the lamb kebab place! In Daerim-dong! He works there! If you don’t believe me, he gave me his card—it’s in my wallet!”

Gotak kept a firm grip while Baku rifled through the man’s belongings. A worn leather wallet appeared, stuffed with cash—and, just as the man had said, a business card.

“Why were they interested in Yun-Jung?” Gotak growled, tightening his hold.

Baku’s fingers trembled as he continued to examine the wallet, flipping through cards and receipts. “Why… why would you even sell a person? Your own underage roommate?”

“I… I needed money…” the piece of shit gasped, closing his eyes as Gotak tightened his grip even more.

Gotak saw red. “You greedy son of a—”

“Gotak,” Baku interrupted sharply. He held up the card. “Look. It says Cheongang Lamb Kebab. With a phone number too.”

“Cheongang?” Gotak repeated, scanning it quickly. The name was unfamiliar, but something about it felt heavy.

Baku’s eyes narrowed. “We need to move. Now.”

But they both paused, their attention snapping back to the man groaning beneath them.

They looked at each other.

Then at the bags in the corner.

And without a word, they both understood.

Moments later, scotch tape covered nearly every inch of the bastard body—arms bound tightly behind him, torso immobilized. Only his nose and eyes were left uncovered. He looked like a terrified mummy.

“We should thank Sieun for buying all this tape,” Baku said, stepping back to admire their handiwork.

“Seriously. That guy’s always ten steps ahead. Creepy smart.” Gotak took out his phone and snapped a few photos of the scene—and of the guy’s ID card —for evidence. He even took the others’ phone and screenshotted the conversation, just in case. Still glaring at the taped-up man, he muttered, “Try running now.”

Baku wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, chest still heaving.

Gotak knelt, checking the bindings one last time, when the sound of gentle footsteps made them look up.

It was Sieun.

He just looked at them, then at their art, staring, expressionless.

“This subhuman decided to sell Yun-Jung,” Gotak summarized, noticing Sieun’s concerned gaze. “Thankfully, we have a new lead we can check—but we can leave this creep here.”

Seeing Sieun’s worried look linger, Gotak continued, “I’m fine. Just tired and a little banged up, but nothing’s broken.”

“You do look kind of rough, Gogo,” murmured a concerned Baku, gently poking one of Gotak’s cheeks with a finger. All the adrenaline from seeing his friend’s victory and the new lead had made him forget the beating Gotak had taken.

“Don’t worry about me. My body hurts a bit, and my face is sensitive, but nothing serious,” Gotak said with a small smile, the corners of his bruised face tinged purple. “Sieun… how did you find us? Are the girls okay? Are you okay?”

Sieun nodded. “They’re okay, just a little overwhelmed and confused. I didn’t tell them the real reason we’re here, didn’t want to scare them, but I did ask a few questions about Yun-Jung.”

He lowered his gaze, expression unreadable, but a shadow of sadness fell over his eyes. “They told me she ran away from home because of family violence… they didn’t know anything else. They’re in difficult situations too.”

Gotak’s stomach tightened; his heart felt heavy. All these tragedies kept hitting him, one after the other.

Sieun continued, “So… I had to call her.”

“Call her?” Baku asked, confused.

“You really owe me one,” a smug, female voice sounded behind them. “You’re so lucky I work at a bar on Thursdays and Fridays, right near here. Don’t you think I’m the best friend? You all would probably be dead in a ditch without me.”

Before any of the boys could respond, the shorter girl’s smirk turned into an angry glare.

“But what the hell are you doing on a Thursday night?!” she scolded, hitting each boy hard on the arm. “Shouldn’t you be studying or something?”

“Oww, what the hell! Sieun, why did you call Youngyi?” Gotak criticized, while Baku still rubbed his sore arm.

“Of course I was going to call her! Don’t you know I’m the most reliable?” Youngyi replied, once again sounding arrogant.

“The girls are in trouble too. I didn’t want to leave them here. I left them some money, but given the hour…” Sieun began.

“I know what it’s like to be in their situation,” Youngyi interrupted, crossing her arms and adopting an indifferent expression. “If anyone can help them, it’s me. There’s space where I live, don’t worry. Seok-dae can probably help me find them safe work. We can make it work. They seem sweet and didn’t react badly to the idea.”

Gotak felt a warmth rising in his chest and had to suppress the urge to pull everyone into a group hug.

“Thanks, Youngyi. I… really mean it, thanks,” Baku said, his voice breaking slightly. He and Gotak both felt the weight of the world pressing on their shoulders after hearing Yun-Jung’s roommate confess.

Speaking of the bastard…

“Mmmmm! Mmmm!” the man groaned, his voice muffled by the tape.

Youngyi turned to the man, only now noticing his presence. Without changing her expression, she lifted the phone from his hand—Youngyi never let go—and took a photo.

“Huh,” she murmured in a disinterested tone, glancing at the image.

Gotak wasn’t sure whether her lack of reaction said more about her or about them.

“I’ll leave the girls in your care, then, Youngyi,” Sieun said, offering no explanation. “I know it’s late, but maybe you could call Hyung to help with… that,” he added, glancing at the tied-up man.

“Yeah, yeah. Go have fun or whatever,” Youngyi replied, sounding bored. Gotak noticed Sieun’s expression shift briefly into concern, only to be immediately replaced by a neutral mask.

“Okay, we’ve made good progress, but we have to keep moving,” Baku reminded them, urging the boys forward—but Youngyi grabbed his arm.

“Wait! I don’t think you should continue…” she stammered, uncertain. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but…” she looked at the fallen man. “…the girls, that guy. It’s so late already, almost midnight. Shouldn’t all of you be sleeping? Or playing games in your rooms? I know Sieun was supposed to be studying tonight with Juntae, and Suho couldn’t stop whining about it.”

“We’ll check just this place and then give the police all the evidence we collected for them to work the case. Hopefully this will be enough,” Baku said. Gotak silently hoped that, by then, there would at least be a patrol nearby or someone who could help them, rather than waiting until morning.

“Thanks again, Youngyi. Don’t worry. Give us an hour. We’ll even update you along the way if you want,” Gotak added, placing a hand on Sieun’s shoulder to guide him in the opposite direction.

And so, the trio left, taking a taxi with the last of Sieun’s money, leaving behind Youngyi as she watched them go toward their final destination of the night.

Only once they disappeared from sight did Youngyi’s mask crack—her face contorting with a primal, suffocating fear she’d been holding back. Something was obviously wrong. Deep down, she could feel it.

She had failed before—not just once, but twice. One of her friends had ended up in a coma, and she had abandoned the other to suffer alone for years.

Her boys had grown older and more mature, but they were still young. They still felt invincible, and they still liked to take on the world’s burdens alone to protect the people they cared about.

Last time, in their need to protect each other, they had withheld information. They had separated and moved like chess pieces, willing to be sacrificed to achieve their goal.

She would not make the same mistake again.

She would call Seok-dae, bring the weirdo and the girls home safely, and then she would update Juntae. The last she knew, Suho was expecting Sieun to be with Juntae, so he needed to be informed.

If anything were to happen, she would be prepared. And this time, they would face it together.