Archive of Our Own ^beta

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Sieun believed in two things.

One, that he had always been a great observer. He spent most of his free time looking at what other people did. Looking for patterns. His life lately could be described as a monotonous pattern as well—a peaceful one: get up, go to school, study, go to cram school, revise, hang out with his friends, eat, sleep, and repeat.

Two, he may not look like it, but he was always curious. Not nosy—just curious. He always wanted answers to the questions in his mind because unanswered situations bugged him. And at times, if he had to break out of his perfectly set routine to get answers, he would.

Today was one of those days.

Sieun didn’t really spend his time gaming. His friends did. The 3POP PC Bang Cafe had become a usual spot for the four of them after school. Sieun preferred his spot on the cafe’s side tables, under the pinboards that displayed neon posters and gaming tournament announcements.

Sieun preferred listening to music, texting Suho, or going home early and sleeping. They were close to graduating soon.

Suho wasn’t online to talk to him today. Suho had been busy from what Sieun last knew. He had healed well with physical and mental therapy in the past few months, and then he moved out. Sieun wasn’t happy, but he understood the fact that Suho wanted to get back and work. Suho worked at a cafe owned by a friend of his now.

His phone was low on battery, and he was bored. Sieun realized that it was the perfect time to get an answer to a question that had been on his mind for quite a few months now.

He looked around to see Juntae, Baku, and Gotak still very immersed in their game. They sat in the second row. All the seats in that row were taken. He waved to them as he decided to sit in the row opposite theirs.

“Finally, will you play? I’ll give you the code to our room,” Baku said as he followed Sieun’s eyes running through the row, figuring out where he would sit.

“No, I’ll just browse a little—” Sieun’s response was cut off by a wave of loud cackling, whistles, rude remarks, and what smelled like a mix of expensive colognes as a group of guys entered the PC cafe. Several heads turned towards them, and many people went quiet. Some took off their headphones. The clicking of keyboards stopped momentarily in several rows.

Sieun recognized the uniforms—red and crisp: Ganghak High.

Sieun realized everyone was looking at Hu-min. This was not the first time this had happened, but Baku just grinned at the group and got back to gaming. Sieun heard some people sighing and some shaking their heads in disappointment. There would be no fights and confrontations now. Everyone knew that.

“Damn, for a moment I got excited. Maybe we could’ve seen something happening,” Sieun heard someone say at the back as he watched the Ganghak group looking at them and just filling into the seats in the row he was standing next to.

Sieun was looking at the group of guys, mentally recalling their seating plan.

He’ll sit there, and then the one next to him sits in the next seat. They’ll sit till the second-last seat in the row, he mumbled to himself. Sieun saw it again—the pattern. The pattern he had been seeing for months. The pattern of the Ganghak High boys occupying the first row but never entirely. They always left one seat empty. The seat that Sieun was looking at right now. And what was interesting about this pattern was that nobody sat at that PC. He had seen people preferring to wait rather than sit there. Like the seat was plagued or it was off-limits.

Sieun had thought of asking his friends about it but decided to test out the theory himself. He walked towards the seat and pulled the chair to sit in. It was just as if on cue, the entire row claimed by Ganghak looked at him. In a second, it wasn't just Ganghak—several others peeked out of their rows to see what he was doing.

He looked at his friends looking at him as well, but he sat down anyway, switched on the PC, and logged in. Sieun knew some people were still looking at him. Maybe if he sat a little longer, someone would tell him why he shouldn’t be sitting there in the first place.

Sieun opened the search engine to do some random browsing, check up on the latest news, and then he saw it. A headline that made him stop his scrolling momentarily:

ASSEMBLYMAN OH HYUN TAE FOUND DEAD IN OFFICE — INVESTIGATION ONGOING.

It had been a while since he’d heard that name. Longer still since he thought about the person through whom he’d come to know it.

Oh Beomseok.

Sieun would be lying to himself if he said that he hadn't thought of Beomseok since he last saw him. He had—many times. When visiting Suho in the hospital. When looking at the framed picture of the three of them. He had never put it away. He couldn't.

He had wondered how Beomseok was doing. He’d even tried calling once. Just once. The number didn’t exist anymore. Sieun hung up before the second ring.

He didn’t know where Beomseok had gone. But if the news was to be believed, maybe the media would soon come looking. After all, wasn’t he next in line for his father’s fortune?

Sieun was broken out of his thoughts when the boy next to him pulled his headphones down and spoke. “Why today?” the guy from Ganghak High asked Sieun.

“Huh?” Sieun looked at him as he continued to speak.

“Don’t you usually just sit there and watch everyone, Eunjang? You’re switching up things today,” the guy said, his eyes looking up at Sieun, awaiting an answer.

“Why does nobody sit here?” Sieun asked as the Ganghak guy just shook his head and smirked, mumbling something like “what an idiot” from what Sieun could hear as he put his headphones back on and looked at Sieun with a look he couldn’t read.

“Keum Seongje. You’re sitting in his seat.”

The boy got back to gaming as Sieun sat processing, having gotten the answer to his question—but it didn’t seem enough. Now, he had more questions.

If this was Seongje’s seat, why did they keep it empty?

Were they waiting for him to come back?

The Union’s control over Yeongdeungpo was over, so what was this?

Were there more rules like this still being followed that he didn’t know of?

It was amusing, because Seongje seemed to have disappeared like a ghost—as if he never existed—since Sieun had last seen him.

[....]  A FEW MONTHS AGO

Eunjang was ecstatic.

Buzzing with excitement, chatter, and activity. Baku and Sieun had defeated The Union. The other boys who had joined fought their share too, with much credit going to Hyoman’s now-legendary plastic bag tactics—which he seemed incredibly proud of. They had paved the way for dozens of kids who once lived in fear—fear of being mugged, beaten, and threatened by The Union. Now they were free.

It was a loud, undeniable message to every other school involved in The Union’s web: their reign was over, and their threats would no longer be tolerated.

It was a moment worth celebrating, and celebration meant a party. They spilled into the nearest diner in large, laughing groups, loud and euphoric.

Sieun hadn’t wanted to attend at first. Not because he didn’t care, but because his throat still burned from an incident earlier. One of Seongje’s lackeys had nearly choked him out—slow and deliberate—while Seongje watched, amused. This was Seongje’s entertainment. Sieun knew.

It had been the price Seongje demanded to turn against The Union, and Sieun had paid it. Willingly. That, and ten painfully awkward minutes of watching Seongje eat while he went on about how Sieun had stabbed him.

"You stabbed me, remember? Had to get a tetanus shot. Still hurts sometimes. You could kiss me to make me feel better. I don’t mind, you know."

Seongje had called it a date.

Sieun had seriously considered stabbing him again.

Sieun liked the party, even though he didn’t like loud people and spaces. It was a very different feeling, seeing everyone happy and united. For the first time, he felt like he had done something good. Some students even thanked him for saving them.

"Save." That word stuck with Sieun.

He had managed to save people—something he had failed to do before. He hoped Suho would be proud of him. He would tell Suho about this during his next visit.

Sieun had lost count of time at the party—the music, the dancing. He watched how people interacted warmly with Juntae. Juntae kept his distance from Hyoman. Sieun had heard that Hyoman had once again apologized for what he had done to Juntae on the staircase. Juntae still refused to forgive him.

Gotak and Baku managed to keep everyone on their toes, as Baku stood dancing and laughing in the center. He was truly the guardian of Eunjang, as they called him.

Baku came around after a few minutes to pull Sieun to join them. He sat down next to Sieun as Sieun handed him his phone, which he had entrusted him with.

"You have 3 missed calls. I think you should take this," he said as Baku looked at his phone.

Three missed calls from Baekjin.

"I don’t want to. I have nothing to say to him, and it’s better it stays that way," Baku said. Sieun saw the hesitation on his face as he said so. He was lying. Sieun also knew that Baku was not as happy as he pretended to be at the party, but he decided not to question him.

Their jovial celebration was broken by one of the employees, who came in yelling, frantic, the manager behind him. They stopped the music, catching the attention of the others.

"Which one of you is Yeon Sieun?" the manager asked. Sieun raised his hand as his friends looked between him and the manager again. The manager and his employee signaled for Sieun to follow them. Some other guys followed out of curiosity, all of them coming to a stop at the entrance of the diner.

Hyoman was holding a man by the collar. The man already looked badly beaten, blood spilling from his nose and mouth.

"Please—I was just following orders... Mr. Choi told us to come here, to beat some guy called Yeon Sieun," the man gasped as Gotak shoved him away. Gotak then stepped outside the diner entrance to see nine men passed out, injured, bleeding. The others followed closely behind him.

"This is crazy," Baku mumbled.

"If they came for Sieun... who did this to them? Sieun was with us upstairs," Juntae said, looking a little worried. Sieun gave him an assuring look. Juntae always cared for everyone.

Some guys turned and looked toward Hyoman, who looked just as puzzled. He looked back at them and dropped the collar of the man in his grasp. The man fell flat on the ground.

"I didn’t do this—I came out for a smoke and saw this rat escaping."

Hyoman would have loved to take credit for it, but surprisingly, he didn’t.

Baku looked at the men a little longer, as if trying to figure something out. Then he shook his head and turned around, walking back inside.

"Anyways, everyone—what’s done is done. Sieun is safe. And it is time for us to party!" he said enthusiastically. The guys roared back in unison as Baku gently tugged Sieun’s arm, moving him back inside the diner.

"I better not see any of you fuckers clicking pictures. I’ll break your hands. Do you want to pick a fight with me?" Gotak joked, smacking the heads of a few guys who had decided to take pictures of the beaten-up men.

"What about them?" the diner employee asked.

"Don’t worry. Someone will come and take them in a while. If they don’t, I’ll help," Baku said, ushering everyone back to the first floor. But he still waited there.

In a few minutes, it was just him and Sieun standing at the diner’s reception.

"Who do you think did it?" Sieun asked, looking at the men sprawled outside.

"I don’t know," Baku said. He actually looked unsure for once. "They were some of Choi’s best men. I’ve seen them on security rounds when Choi came to the bowling alley."

"Is this going to be a regular affair now? The Union has disbanded," Sieun said.

"No. They won’t come back again. For now. Aren’t you afraid... worried?" Baku asked, concerned.

Sieun just shrugged.

"We would have fought them together. And won. I know. I trust you," Sieun said. He didn’t know why that came out of his mouth, but it definitely took Baku by surprise. Sieun wasn’t very good at talking about his emotions. He rarely did.

Baku’s phone rang again. Na Baekjin. The caller ID read. Baku disconnected the call and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"It wasn’t him who sent them. I’m sure," Sieun said.

"I know. He didn’t send them. But they did come to hurt you because of him. It’s a miracle that someone decided to do a good deed and thwart them off," Baku said as he heard people upstairs calling him.

"Coming?" he asked Sieun.

"No. I’m going home. A little tired," Sieun said.

"I’ll drop you—wait, I’ll get the other two from upstairs as well," Humin said halfway down the staircase.

"No. I’ll be fine. I promise," Sieun said.

Baku looked hesitant but agreed, watching Sieun move out of the diner. Sieun heard it again—the ringtone of Baku’s phone fading away. He was sure it was Baekjin, and he also knew that Baku wouldn’t pick up.

He sighed as he looked around at the nine men on the floor. Lip busted, hand twisted, nose broken, bleeding. One looked like his arm had been dislocated. Sieun moved away and stopped as something shiny caught his eye, reflecting in the diner’s entrance porch light.

Sieun stood there for another minute and observed the bodies. Then in a moment, it all clicked.

One man in front of him had been stabbed in the foot with a broken spectacle frame—one that looked a little too familiar. Another man’s shoulder and arms had been stabbed with a pen—the pen still lodged in his wrist. One man’s head had been smashed with a flower pot. One had been hit on the back with a chair. One had been choked with his own chain. One man’s face was covered in a bloodied plastic bag—it looked like he had been blinded and punched. One had been choked with a shoelace. And one had been shoved across the corner of the diner’s entrance.

Sieun knew the attack methods. The means used in the attack. They were all familiar. Anyone who had seen him fight would assume it was he who did this to these men.

Except—nobody would recognize the already broken spectacle frame like he did. Or who it belonged to. Or the unfinished cigarette dropped in the middle of the piled bodies.

Sieun walked away from the sight. Behind him, he could hear a car rolling in and a man gasping and panicking as he told someone next to him to call “boss.”

Baku was right. The men would be collected.

Sieun took out his phone as he made his way to the bus stop and scrolled through his gallery. He looked at a screenshot he had taken from Baku’s phone an hour ago, while Baku celebrated with the others.

No, Sieun did not mean to snoop. He was pissed off, so he had snapped a picture of a number he did not need—but kept it just in case. Sieun saved the number and texted it.

Sieun, for once, already knew the answer to the question beforehand. This was rare. But he still had to test it out.

Sieun ―

Stop littering your cigarette buds like that. It’s annoying.

Keum Seongje ―

Whatever.

Sieun did not thank him. Not because he didn’t feel the need to—but because he was annoyed, and his throat hurt. Sieun didn’t keep grudges over petty things, he told himself.

Later that night, before he could sleep, his phone screen lit up again with a new message:

Keum Seongje ―

Newbie.

That pen wrote like a dying cockroach.

I didn’t even throw it that far.

Would’ve loved to watch you crawl after it like a good boy—hell, I’d have filmed that instead of your stupid friends you played hero for.

I left you a gift. It’s with the diner’s receptionist.

The pens are better. They actually write.

Sharp enough to gut someone, if you’re bored.

Don’t lose them. I’m not your fucking stationery supplier.

 

Sieun scoffed. He liked the pens he used. He told himself he wouldn’t go and take them. He was sure. He did not even question as to how Seongje knew it was him who texted. He WOULD NOT go and take whatever the guy had left.

[...]

Sieun went to the diner the next evening.

He gets the bag of pens back. They were nice, sleek, black metal and a golden tip and cap design. They looked expensive—at least compared to what he used. They wrote well too. Sieun counted them. There were 20. He didn’t need that many. But he kept them neatly in his drawer anyway.

Sieun discarded the pen in his pocket and kept the new one. Maybe the pens Seongje gave him were sharper, he reasoned with himself. He had no other reason to keep them.

Self-defense. Maybe to stab Seongje again.

A few days later, Sieun used the pen. Not to stab someone, but to sign an entry at a funeral house.

Na Baekjin had died.

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[...] Back to present time.

Graduation came and went by fast in the next few days—faster than Sieun had expected. He had aced his finals, his entrance exams as well. Graduation day went well. He was happy and relieved to see Suho, finally hug him, although he did not try to think much about it later on. Sieun stayed over. Gotak had a grand idea for a sleepover. Suho left the next day.

The four of them sat at Humin’s dad’s restaurant. Papers were scattered all over the table as it was past the restaurant’s opening hours. Jin Chul had closed for the day early, in the afternoon itself, so that his son could have his friends over. They were making plans for university after all.

The four of them had an agreement to stay together. They had applied to different universities. Sieun got accepted into SNU. They were, in fact, having chicken to celebrate. Instead of living in the dorms or one apartment together, they decided on two apartments in the same complex. Baku and Gotak in one, and Juntae and Sieun in the other. It was a great plan. Gotak and Juntae had already gone house hunting and found two apartments on the same floor. It was good news. Baku did not want to take any chances after the incident at the diner months ago even though everything around them had been largely peaceful.

Sieun never asked why Juntae looked so flustered after those house visits with Gotak. That was a question for another day.

He watched as Baku and Gotak fought over a chicken wing, while Juntae tried to stop them, worried they might spill their drink on his laptop.

Sieun wouldn’t have interrupted the moment, but he remembered that he had a question he needed an answer to.

"Where is Keum Seongje?" he asked suddenly.

Baku and Gotak stopped fighting and looked at him. The chicken wing dropped from Gotak’s hand as Juntae caught it.

"Thank you. I’ll take that," Juntae said, happy.

Sieun repeated his question again.

He got no answers. His friends pretended like the question had never been asked.

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The room looked like it would suffocate everyone sitting in it, but it didn’t—only because Seongje wasn’t smoking like the serial chainsmoker he usually was. He was engrossed, deeply. Occasionally, he looked up at the two men sitting in front of him, and the one standing beside him.

“Did you check if they’re all in order? I’m not gonna waste my fucking time going through this shit again. It’s exhausting.”

“We have. All the details are in there. There will be no problems in the legal procedures. We just need his signatures. It’s a cakewalk since he’s already 18,” the lawyer said from across the desk.

“It better be a fucking cakewalk, or I’ll make sure you never practice law again. Or anything, for that matter,” Seongje said with a sly smile. “I’ll call when it’s time to get the signatures.”

He shifted lazily in his chair as the man beside him ushered the lawyers out of the room.

“When will you talk to him?” the man now standing in front of him asked.

“Now. Don’t worry, Secretary Park. You worry too fucking much. Why are you always so anxious? Everything’s in place. I’ve even decided to give you a bonus—since the cops will never figure out I killed your boss. You're on a clean slate,” Seongje said, chuckling.

“Will you call him to Korea?” the secretary asked.

“Yes. Book a flight for tomorrow and make arrangements. You’re free to leave after he’s back in Korea,” Seongje said. The secretary nodded and left, placing a thick envelope on Seongje’s desk on his way out.

“You’ll need to know about him to bond with him. He’s a sensitive kid,” the secretary added.

“Fuck me... He’s 18. Why the hell am I on babysitting duty?” Seongje muttered as he tore open the envelope roughly. Several photographs spilled out across the table.

He picked up a photo of a pale boy with sullen eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses, slightly long but well-trimmed hair. He stood in a black blazer with a school crest on the chest: Byuksan Middle School.

“He does look like a loser. Shit,” Seongje mumbled, flipping through the pictures. Most had the boy with a girl—maybe a girlfriend, or some classmate.

He was about to toss the stack when one particular photo caught his eye. He put it down, then snatched it back up.

The moment he looked closer, he froze. Three people in the picture. All of whom he recognized.

“What the fuck?” he muttered. “How the actual fuck do they know each other?”

Rummaging through the pile, he found more shots of the trio. He stared like he’d just won the goddamn lottery. And then — he laughed. A sharp, wild, real laugh.

“This shit is insane. Are they all fucking with me? What the fuck is going on?” he said, tapping the photo like it owed him answers.

“Coma boy... pretty boy... and this little shit loser? Same school? Same fucking school?” he said louder, shaking his head in disbelief.

He already knew the loser had nearly killed someone — that’s why he was sent off. And coma boy? Yeah, he’d been rotting in a hospital bed around the same time.

Seongje slapped the table and grinned. He had connected the dots in his head.

He’s not a loser after all,” Seongje said. He picked up his phone and dialed a number.

“Hello?” a soft, dim voice answered. It sounded depressed—enough to make Seongje nearly sigh—but he wouldn’t let that ruin his mood.

“You sound like shit,” Seongje said bluntly.

“My dad died. I wasn’t even allowed to go to the funeral.”

“I know. You should come back. I told Secretary Park to book your tickets.”

“Did you kill him...?” the voice asked. There was a pause.

“Not with my bare hands, no. The stubborn bastard almost bashed my head into a wall. He had it coming. Should’ve listened when I was being fucking nice.”

“Why did you help me?”

There were a hundred things Seongje could’ve said. A hundred ways to spin it to his advantage. But for once, he chose honesty.

“Because we’re family, Beomseok. Not exactly, but... well, you know how this shit goes. It’s complicated. Just come back. We’ll talk later,” he said, cutting the call before the boy could respond.

Seongje believed in two things.

One — he was always a goddamn opportunist. Watching people, waiting for them to screw up, and then turning their failures into leverage. Results. Or just entertainment.

Two — he got bored. So fucking fast. Rarely did anyone amuse him long enough to keep his interest.

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Sieun had not estimated that moving in would be such a tiresome experience, even though he had done this before with his mom. This time was different — because it was four of them, and it was extremely chaotic. Sieun felt like banging his head somewhere. Or hitting someone. (Not literally.)

He eventually gave up and crushed the list he had made. There was no way everyone’s excitement was going to let them do anything in order. He had to just go with the flow.

The locality they were shifting to wasn’t very far from high school — especially by subway. Sieun had studied the area properly. There were several university student lodges, many in the same building they were going to be staying in. He was also surprised by how Juntae and Gotak managed to find such a good-looking complex. Maybe they were good at negotiating.

Their parents came to drop them off — Sieun’s mom, Juntae’s mom, Gotak’s parents, and Baku’s dad — and a lot of food. Their apartments were on the same floor, just in opposite directions. They spent an absurd amount of time deciding who would take which apartment. In the end, Juntae suggested the only viable solution.

Sieun already saw Gotak warming up his fists and smirking at Baku.

Juntae: “Rock, paper, scissors.”

Much to Gotak’s adrenaline-fueled disappointment.

Juntae won. Baku cried foul and demanded a rematch.

Juntae won again and immediately pointed to the apartment he wanted.

“It’s okay, it’s okay — we’ve seen both the houses. There’s literally nothing different. All this hue and cry for nothing,” Baku muttered as they finally split toward their respective places.

Sieun noticed how Juntae smiled. He knew he was going to win.

Both of them turned around when Baku called from the other end of the corridor, holding a string of sticky notes.

“You already stuck them on the fridge? Thank you,” Baku grinned.

“Of course. Gotak sucks at rock, paper, scissors,” Juntae replied, shutting the door behind him and Sieun.

“I won. I won. Yes!” Juntae punched the air, tapping Sieun’s shoulder for effect.

Sieun just smiled. “I guess Gotak is our neighbor now.”

“Shut up,” Juntae groaned and chucked a cushion at Sieun, who was looking out at the balcony.

“It was the view, wasn’t it?” Sieun asked, noticing the sunset. He saw Juntae nod.

“Yes. I had chosen this one for us when I came house hunting. I thought you’d like it. And anyway, those two would enjoy whatever view they get.”

“What’s so funny?” Sieun asked.

“Their apartment’s on the other side. I heard there are ridiculous street fights between drunk or wasted students down there. Baku and Gotak might just enjoy it — they’ve been reeling from the side effects of not getting into any confrontations for so long.”

Sieun blinked. Juntae continued.

“Don’t worry. Gotak already saw how it is. It's nothing like Yeongdeungpo. Me and Gotak saw one. It was… honestly pretty ridiculous.”

Sieun sighed with relief and flopped onto the couch. He didn’t feel like setting up his room just yet. He noticed Juntae staring at him.

“That day at Baku’s restaurant. You asked a question. Were you disappointed when the two of them evaded it?”

Sieun nodded. “Yes. But I understand if they don’t know.”

“Nobody knows where Keum Seongje went, Sieun. But I’ve heard theories,” Juntae said.

“Such as?” Sieun made himself comfortable on the couch, facing him.

“Most believe he left Korea. Surprisingly — he was good at studies. Did really well. Sports too, apparently. That’s why the teachers let him go with just a reprimand and no suspension, despite what he did.”

“You’re right. He didn’t look like someone interested in studying. Every time I saw him he was either at a PC café, the bowling alley, or beating someone up…” Sieun trailed off, not mentioning the hospital visit.

“What else do they say?” he asked.

“Another theory is that he’s secretly still controlling the Union and went underground. Didn't even come for his graduation ceremony.”

Sieun’s eyes narrowed. “He was a senior, right? Should’ve graduated a month or so after the fight with us.”

“Exactly. But I don’t believe that theory. Whatever's left of the Yeongdeungpo Union is in shambles. Na Baekjin’s death and Seongje being almost taken out broke the Union.”

Juntae leaned forward.

“Do Seongmok and Baek Dongha? Useless. Good fighters. Terrible leaders. Seoknam Gorilla? No way he’s replacing Baekjin after his fight with Baku.”

Sieun nodded slowly. “So you're saying Seongje was the only possible replacement.”

“Exactly.”

“And not just him — Seoknam, Dongha, and Seongmok haven’t been spotted in a while either. There’s a theory they were arrested.”

Sieun’s eyes flickered. “So if the Union ever reformed, it’d only be if he led it?”

“Yes. And what’s strange is… he never even seemed interested in taking Baekjin’s place.”

Sieun tilted his head. “How do you know so much about him?”

“He’s always been a hot topic. You never noticed because you always slept during lunch. But he was always up to something. Something that affected other schools.”

“Like what?”

Juntae grinned. “You seem pretty interested in him.”

Sieun’s eyes narrowed. “I was just curious that day. As I am now. Nothing else.”

“Oh yeah?” Juntae said, pulling out his phone. “Because I heard a rumor — that Seongje once announced only the person he dated could sit at that PC Café seat.”

Sieun choked.

Juntae definitely noticed, but said nothing.

“Okay, since you insist,” Juntae smirked.

“I’m not insisting.”

“Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” Juntae opened his Notes app.

“You… wrote them down?”

“Of course. People made bingo boards. I had to collect money for the winners. Courtesy of Hyoman.”

Sieun blinked.

“Let’s see…” Juntae began scrolling. “Seongje faked his own kidnapping to see which Union member would find him first. Wore a neck brace to skip a test — then used the same brace to choke a Yeo-il kid. Spiked drinks at the bowling alley with truth serum. Put severed chicken feet in lockers. Made a confession hotline website, then leaked all the entries. Sent people’s chats to the wrong contacts. Installed spyware on their phones. Catfished Union members and their victims, made them believe they were being cheated by the same girl. Watched them fight each other for fun.”

Sieun stared.

“Beat a Union guy with a tray for harassing girls and paraded him around in a skirt. Stole someone’s phone, messaged their crush, leaked the rejection. Faked an injury to skip a fight, showed up anyway — used the crutches as weapons. Broke a guy’s tooth and left it in his locker with ‘tooth fairy’ money. Rearranged three floors of desks at Hyeongshin the night before exams. Burned a girl’s love letter to him with a magnifying glass… right in front of her.”

Sieun raised his eyebrows. “Why would he do all that?”

“Apparently couldn’t stay with one person for long. Didn’t believe in the whole ‘falling in love’ thing.”

Sieun shook his head. “Seems like he was really popular.”

“Oh, there was a separate bingo board for that.”

“I’m not interested.”

“Sure. Let me read you just one.”

“Juntae—”

"He once got a letter from a girl from Eunjang itself. He took it happily and returned it by lunch—he had corrected all her grammar mistakes with a pen and gave her an 8/10 for her handwriting. Pretended to be serious about the girl and then introduced her as his stalker in front of everyone. It was really embarrassing, but she actually turned out to be a stalker. He once offered a guy his jacket when he looked cold—the guy swooned. Next day, Seongje shoved him into a puddle and said, "Still warm now, sweetheart?"

Sieun blinked.

“That’s insane,” Sieun muttered.

“Oh, the guy used to bully me, He was a part of Hyoman's extended friend circle. So… I didn’t mind. I don't like Seongje or don't know him enough to judge but I was thankful”

Sieun rolled his eyes. “Of course.”

Girl went on a "study date" with him. Made her read aloud while he slept with noise-cancelling headphones. Woke up, gave her a test, and scored it in front of her. She failed. He said, "You’re not even pretty enough to be this dumb."

Dared a guy to tattoo his name and when they did, he played clown music on a loudspeaker around him. Agreed to take a girl on a date and took her and her ex to a funeral. Told a girl to wait for him after school. Left through a back exit. She waited for 3 hours. Next day he asked, "You still out there?" He posted the pictures of the girl waiting on one of the PC Cafe’s chat groups.

Sieun muttered, “What a jerk.”

“Here, you can read from here — I’ll get us some beverages. I put a few bottles in the fridge,” Juntae said, getting up and handing Sieun his phone.

“Cold water for me,” Sieun said.

Juntae nodded, groaning as he walked away. “Why won’t you have the drink I got for you, Sieun - ah? , it'll cool down your system.

He took the phone and scrolled through a series of ridiculous things people had done to get to Seongje and things he had done to them.

And then he saw it.

An asterisk-marked line at the bottom of the note:

RUMOR: Seongje records intimate moments with people (not confirmed).

Sieun choked on his water this time.

He showed it to Juntae. “What the hell is this?”

“Oh. That. It’s a rumor that he records people he’s intimate with. There’ve been photos of kisses — nothing more, not the sex - I don't know. But…”

Sieun’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

“What?”

“Seongje…He kissed me.”

Juntae spat his drink out — some of it landing on Sieun.

Sieun didn’t even flinch.

Maybe he got to try Juntae's “cool your system” beverage after all.

━━━━━━━━━

━━━━━━━━━

Sieun stared at his phone. He had no plans of calling Seongje back. He had already looked at the message Seongje had sent him. Instead of responding back in text, Sieun chose to react with a thumbs-up sign. He was not going to do what the seniors wanted to do anyway.

At least the scented pain patch had worked miracles.

Sieun kept his phone down as he just stared at the wall thinking, a little half-smile creeping under his eyes. It was funny how he had managed to escape, how everyone ran to avoid the sprinklers, how those who tried to mock him slipped and fell in the hurry of leaving.

It was funny at that point because those seniors didn’t look intimidating anymore to him. They had, momentarily—just a little—but now, maybe a good force was watching over him for once, like Suho said. Those who do something good get something good back in return. A rather twisted amateur version of Newton’s law, but Sieun had accepted it anyway. He remembered telling Juntae something similar back when he first saw him at Eunjang. Maybe this was the good he got for standing up for people who couldn’t for themselves, enduring but not showing it, all the times he had waited for people, waited for Suho.

It was different.

Good things didn’t really happen to Sieun. It was a fact that he had accepted. Even if something good happened, it was temporary.

“I thought I would knock, but you look busy?” Sieun suddenly heard a voice as he looked up and saw Juntae standing at his bedroom door. His door was already lightly open even before Juntae had come.

“You’re not sleeping? It’s, uh, what—11 p.m.?” Sieun asked, tapping on his phone.

“Neither are you,” Juntae said. “Can I come in?” he asked, and Sieun nodded, watching him as Juntae sat on his bed.

“That’s a lot of pain patches,” Juntae said, collecting the ones on the bed and putting them on one side.

“Don’t ask,” Sieun said, leaning back against the headboard, shaking his head.

“Do I ask you, or will you ask me?” Juntae said, looking at Sieun.

“Ask what?” Sieun said.

“Questions. You have too many, you can’t sleep. It is not the back pain keeping you awake, and you won’t take a sleeping pill because you want to think about all the questions you have,” Juntae said, and Sieun sighed in surrender.

“Fine, you win. How do you always figure it out?” Sieun sighed, changing his position a little, facing Juntae.

“It’s not very difficult with you. You have, like, max five expressions on your face. You are not as complicated as you think you are,” Juntae chuckled.

“That’s new. Everyone seems to have a different opinion, opposite of what you say,” Sieun said.

“Well then, either they don’t know you, or you don’t know yourself well enough to figure out who’s right,” Juntae said.

“You said Seongje had gone overseas,” Sieun said.

“Yes, but I don’t guarantee 100% accuracy in my intel either. It’s what everyone believes. A few days after the big fight, Seongje disappeared. All his stuff from the Union hideouts was also gone. Some said that Choi had met him once before that. Nobody knows what the meeting was for. He did not pick up anyone’s calls or respond to anyone’s messages. Nobody saw him at Baekjin’s funeral either. You know that. Everyone from the dismantled Union was there except Seongje. Even Choi and his goons were there,” Juntae said.

“I do know that. That he went under the radar. I just find it surprising that nobody could locate him. It’s been almost what, more than a year since the fight?” Sieun said.

“The fallout between him and Baekjin must have been really bad that he disappeared like that. He just vanished. When Ganghak was looking out for him, they even went and looked at his apartment. It was empty, nothing was there. And on top of that, it was on rent? According to the landlord, Seongje had vacated the premises on the same day as the fight,” Juntae said, and Sieun looked at him surprised.

“Okay, but what about his family? Did they not stay with Seongje, or did they stay somewhere else?” Sieun asked.

“Here is the thing. People don’t know much about Seongje when it comes to his personal details. Yes, I admit I do know a lot about the Union otherwise, but Seongje was a difficult nut to crack. I only heard a little about his family when I was in middle school at Daehyeon, and that too I came to know from Ji Hakho,” Juntae said.

“Jake? That’s what they called him, right? Wasn’t he the reason you got into this entire business of observing and finding out information?” Sieun asked, and Juntae nodded.

“Yes. When I was in middle school, there was still a clash between Manwol and the Union going on, which obviously led to the end of Manwol. Daehyeon was more peaceful when Hakho took over, even though he had offers to join Manwol. He didn’t, even though his older brother Gwangseok was a part of Manwol and had offered Hakho to Manwol as an exit clause replacement for himself,” Juntae said.

“But he did join the Union,” Sieun said.

“Yes, that was surprising. But again, Baekjin must have offered him something. When Manwol was falling and sides were shifting, almost close to the time where we were supposed to go to high school next, it was very messy actually,” Juntae said.

“Tell me about it. You haven’t even told me this before. Also, tell me about Seongje’s family,” Sieun said, getting up a little, interested.

“I have told you about the Union and Manwol. You dozed off last time I did,” Juntae said, squinting accusingly.

“I won’t. I am listening. Tell me again. I will remember this time,” Sieun affirmed, tapping Juntae’s hand.

“The transition from Manwol to Union was quite simple if an outsider looked at it, but it wasn’t actually that easy. Ju Seungjin, Manwol’s leader who also knew Baekjin since middle school, even though they went to different schools, was one of the founding members of the Union as well. Some say he was Baekjin’s right-hand man at one point. He had some conditions that he had kept in front of Baekjin in order to take his hand off Manwol,” Juntae said.

“That’s smart actually. Then Manwol could have still been against the Union if Baekjin disagreed, but Hwangmo was there first. That is what Baku told me, but I am pretty sure it was Seokhyeon before him?” Sieun said.

“That’s what you and Humin were talking about when you went for a walk. Also, I hope you didn’t mention Seokhyeon’s name? Me and Gotak even told the Eunjang kid who came today to omit his name while talking to Baku,” Juntae asked, and Sieun nodded.

“Yes. I felt like Baku had some things he needed to get off his chest. And no, I didn’t mention him. I know Baku resents the guy. He kept calling Hwangmo the enabler, but I know that his anger was towards Kwan. Baku hides a lot of things as well,” Sieun said.

“He does. Hwangmo and Seungjin came around the same time. Seokhyeon was slightly earlier. He met Baekjin again at Yeo Il in middle school. I honestly don't know how Baekjin managed to handle Seokhyeon, Hwangmo, Seungjin, and Humin all together. Hats off to him. Anyways, one of the conditions that Seungjin put was to have ranks amongst the Union schools, temporary ones that could change,” Juntae said as Sieun looked confused.

“To keep the competition between the schools that were a part of the Union, it brought more fight for the Shuttle Patch as well and more bread boys—errand boys—the tags for those who lost. Seungjin also knew that he was at Hyeongshin now, and Hyeongshin’s big dog at that time, Lee Sehan, was someone Seungjin already knew. Sehan was kind of crazy from whatever I have heard of him. He took special pride in beating people weaker than him. Together, he and Sehan, and a few more—Dongki, Jeongali, Ho Minjo, who was also second in line to Sehan—Hyeongshin wasn't initially happy about Minjo’s rank. And obviously, there was Lee Gongsam,” Juntae said quickly, saying the last name.

“Wait—I have heard of these names and I remember their faces. Dongki was the guy who beat up kids from Eunjang when he couldn’t figure out where I was. Jeongali was a bully who was also a part of Manwol? See, I remember things you tell me,” Sieun said as he continued. “Ho Minjo I remember since Baku fought him under that underground passage in Daebang after we beat some people he had sent at Noryangin…? Team three or whatever they called themselves? I remember them,” Sieun said, making that known again to Juntae as Juntae just smiled and Sieun spoke again. “What about this Lee Gongsam? Today, even when the kid from Eunjang was talking, Baku stopped him in the middle,” Sieun said.

“Coming to the point, I see,” Juntae chuckled.

“Why are you laughing?” Sieun asked.

“Nothing. It is nice to see you so interested in this. I had hoped for this but there were times you barely spoke,” Juntae rolled his eyes.

Suddenly, the both of them heard a loud thumping noise from upstairs that made them look at the ceiling.

THUMP.
THUMP.
THUMP.

“What’s that?” Sieun asked as another loud thump came from upstairs.

“It must be the people upstairs. I saw boxes on the ground floor when I came back this evening. I think they are shifting in,” Juntae said as the thump was followed by a screeching noise which stopped after a few seconds.

“At this time? Who does that? It’s a very odd hour,” Sieun said, still looking up.

“Must be unpacking,” Juntae said as the noise stopped and he looked back at Sieun.

“Fine—fine. I am sorry—I should have paid more attention to you when you used to tell me about these things. But I swear it wasn’t on purpose. I literally spent most of my time in cram school or fighting guys. I am paying attention now,” Sieun shrugged.

“You’re forgiven. I will tell you about Gongsam, but let me continue what I have to say first. Anyways, Baekjin consulted Seokhyeon about this, and they decided to agree with whatever Seungjin was saying so that they didn’t have to worry about Manwol. Seungjin also knew that Yeo Il would be ranked first, so he and Sehan settled on 2nd rank for Hyeongshin. So it was Yeo Il, Hyeongshin, Daehyeon, Ganghak, Yoosun—in that order,” Juntae said.

“The order in the Yeongdeungpo Union logo is different,” Sieun said.

“Yes, thanks to Keum Seongje. I am getting there. You are impatient,” Juntae said.

“I am interested,” Sieun corrected.

“Now in the initial arrangement—and this is before you considered talking to me, Gotak, and Baku—you practically spent almost the first year of high school pretending to be invisible. All the five schools had their big dogs. Hwangmo thought kissing Baekjin’s ass would increase Ganghak’s rank, and he was mistaken. Ganghak was at 4th until Seongje joined Ganghak,” Juntae said.

“Then things changed,” Sieun said, waiting for Juntae to continue.

“Yes. Ganghak, out of all the Union leading schools, was and is known to have a reputation of having studious children. Seongje was one of them as well initially, until he was ticked off by one of the Union lackeys and he beat the shit out of them. The news spread fast since Ganghak was already a part of the Union, and Seongje was beating anyone who came in his way at that time. People also came to know that Sehan and Seungjin had fought Seongje before as well, before Seongje joined Ganghak, and those two joined the Union because Seongje recognised them and mocked them,” Juntae said.

“So he was just beating up random people?” Sieun asked, even though that was literally the most Seongje thing Seongje could do.

“Yes. He came up with his 3-second rule—you know that. He mentioned that he had thrashed Seungjin and Sehan because of that as well, and the Union decided to test Seongje because, to be honest, he was pompous and was taking away all the attention. That annoyed people. He even called Hakho a weakling and a pushover,” Juntae said.

“What did they do to challenge him?” Sieun asked.

“Shuttle Patch—made him fight people one after the other. A few Eunjang saw him fight as well. Everyone did. He was crazy. He felt no pain and kept beating people one after the other until the news got to Baekjin, who decided to challenge Seongje himself. Baekjin was rank 1,” Juntae said.

“Hmmm. Baku told me Baekjin challenged Seongje because he had no plan on how to handle him,” Sieun said.

“Yes, that is true. Everyone was talking about Seongje—the Union, all the schools that were a part of the Union, Eunjang. Ganghak saw hope in Seongje. Some say he even ranked down Hwangmo to take over Ganghak before accepting the fight with Baekjin,” Juntae said.

“And Baekjin lost that fight,” Sieun continued.

“Badly. God, it was horrible. That’s the day Seongje got his pet name ‘Maddog.’ He thrashed Baekjin like he was going to kill him. Someone ended up calling the police by mistake because Seokhyeon was losing his mind. Like, most of us thought that was the end for Baekjin. It was a humiliating fight. And I think what made it worse for Baekjin was that Baku was watching,” Juntae said as Sieun looked at him, and Juntae looked back as they shook their heads.

“That must have been embarrassing. What was Baku’s reaction? I don’t like the idea of watching people fight for ridiculous reasons, but it must have been a sight to see Seongje hit Baekjin of all people? It sounds a little crazy” Sieun said he had fought with Baekjin himself, defeated him even but he respected the fact that Baekjin was a very good fighter.

“He tried his best to keep a poker face. Baku left the fight halfway through. I think that was even more humiliating for Baekjin. Of course, Baku being how he is and his complicated relationship did not leave the area. He was just pacing outside where he couldn’t hear the fight or a better way to say is that he left so that he didn't have to see Baekjin getting hurt,” Juntae said.

"Must have been difficult for him", Sieun said.

"It was. Gotak said Baku would never admit it, but watching Baekjin getting hurt like that was like hurting Park Humin not Baku", Juntae said as Sieun understood – for Bakejin and when it came to Baekjin it was always Park Humin not Baku, the strong front that Humin had built as Baku only had cracks when it was Baekjin who was involved. To the world it was Baku and to Baekjin it was still Park Humin.

“Then what?” Sieun asked.

“Seongje was the big dog of Ganghak. Hwangmo and a few others – like Seokhee and Jongwon were a part of his little patrol gang now,” Juntae said as Sieun nodded. He recognised them – he had seen all of them in the PC cafe where Ganghak always reserved a row. Juntae continued.

“Baekjin was angry and he challenged Seongje to a rematch, and a rematch happened. But it was ridiculous, Sieun – it was a one-sided match. It felt like Baekjin was beating a punching bag. I still don’t understand why Seongje did not fight back that day. There was definitely something wrong with him. Again, the fight stopped when Kwan thought Baekjin would kill Seongje so they ended it, and Baekjin won. But Baku wasn’t there to watch. Eventually, after a few days, Baekjin and Seongje met up and had some discussions nobody knows about, and Ganghak was suddenly at number 2. It was Yeo Il, Ganghak, Daehyeon, Hyeongshin, and Yoosun now. People had seen Seongje fight and the fear of the red blazer was very much there,” Juntae said.

“Gongsam?” Sieun asked again.

“Yes, I am coming to him. When Seongje’s uprise started, Gongsam started acting weird and people around him noticed, and he said that Seongje was a bully and didn’t deserve to lead Ganghak.

The Ganghak students stood firmly behind Seongje. It led to slight hostility between both the schools. Seongje and Gongsam once had a huge argument as well at the bowling alley in Baekjin’s office when Baekjin wasn’t around. After that, Seongje had aspirations to take over Hyeongshin – you know that. Most people said it was to get back at Gongsam. And for why Baku didn’t want to talk about him was because when you fought Seongje on the rooftop and you won, Gongsam had a very dramatic reaction because he wanted to be the one beating Seongje like that. He spread the word around that you won, and Baku thought that Baekjin might come and fight you himself or rile up Seongje and send him back to fight you,” Juntae said as Sieun understood, he knew Baku had always tried to be protective of everyone but himself.

“And for Seongje’s family – Hakho and Seongje never got along. In fact, Hakho even beat Seongje once. But all that is known is that Seongje had a father who wasn’t really present, but his mother was a very nice lady,” Juntae said.

“Was?” Sieun asked immediately.

“Yes, ‘was’. Gongsam apparently told everyone that Seongje’s mother took her own life,” Juntae said. “Although Gongsam denied saying so, many are sure it was him. Baekjin heavily reprimanded Gongsam for doing so.”

“Oh god,” Sieun said as they were silent for a moment.

“He hated it – Seongje. The pity that came when people figured out. It made him beat people more – become more violent. So if you see him, don’t pity him,” Juntae said softly.

“I won’t. I understand. But how did he get away? You said his family was politically connected?” Sieun asked.

“That is the mystery around him because people could not figure out where and how Seongje’s connections were placed,” Juntae said.

“Wow,” Sieun said as he leaned back against the bed, his muscles relaxing a bit. He had been hunched forward when he was listening to Juntae.

"What about Seongje's information network that the Eunjang boy spoke about the one that Hyeongshin has now tried to take over? Didn't everyone just use the shuttle patch site?", Sieun asked 

"The Shuttle Patch was for fights, gossip and food news. Seongje's information network was different it was to find out things about people in Yeongdeungpo and outside, he only went and met people he needed to know about if necessary otherwise he used the information network, it helped Union do an information for information trade and have leverage, Baekjin really appreciated the idea - it made things more organized", Juntae said. 

"Now that I think about it they were really serious about how they managed the Union, I dont think it could ever comeback with same efficiency now that Baekjin is no more", Sieun said nodding thoughtfully. 

“So, how was it meeting him again? Seongje?” Juntae asked, rolling over.

“Shocking. He is a temp for E Maths for a few days, and he still keeps his 3-second rule by the way because he did use that to fight me in the washroom,” Sieun sighed, waving the pain patch in front of Juntae.

“Who won?” Juntae asked.

“Neither, but I don’t think he fights anymore – I am not sure,” Sieun said.

“Why do you think so?” Juntae asked.

“When we used to see him before, he used to be covered in band-aids and injuries. He isn’t like that right now – but I am not sure how it works if he keeps that stupid rule of his,” Sieun said.

“Has he changed?” Juntae asked.

“Looks-wise? No, he still looks the same. Is he annoying? Yes. But academically? You were right – he is good. The entire hall wanted his attention. It was crazy,” Sieun said.

“Not you?” Juntae smirked as Sieun made a face.

“No, I tried to stay as far away as I could from him. It was rather unfortunate I saw him thrice in the same day", Sieun said defending himself.

“Sure, sure, whatever you say,” Juntae said in a sing-song voice as Sieun wanted to push him off the bed.

“I am serious,” Sieun said.

“How can you not be remotely interested in him? You have so many questions about him, you think about him, now you are in the same university as him, and he was your first kiss? Which isn’t that big a deal, by the way, unless you think of it as one,” Juntae said, looking up.

“Baku thinks I like Suho,” Sieun said, changing the topic.

“Do you?” Juntae asked.

“I don’t know,” Sieun said.

“And Seongje?” Juntae asked, coming back on topic as if he wasn’t going to let Sieun escape from it.

“No—what—why are we back at this? Also, did I tell you about the stupid hazing ritual I got away from today?” Sieun said as he recited the entire ordeal to Juntae who listened to the entire thing.

“So basically, according to you and your observations, the guys who were smoking in the room were not smoking when the fire alarms started?” Juntae asked, and Sieun nodded.

“I am not sure how the alarms started. The smoke did look like it came from the vent, I think,” Sieun said as Juntae got up from the bed.

“Interesting. It’s late, I am going to sleep. We’ll do this again—this discussion of questions and answers,” Juntae said as Sieun nodded, watching him go.

A second later, Juntae peeked back into his bedroom.

“It’s late, but I think you should return the call. Just a random piece of information, but a similar incident happened a few years ago while we were in high school,” Juntae said.

“What do you mean?” Sieun asked, rubbing his eyes. He was tired. He wanted to sleep.

“I don’t know, just a theory. An outer chance. It sounds totally ridiculous to think of—but it won’t be the first time Seongje’s triggered a fire alarm for someone, if you say that according to his message, he knows,” Juntae shrugged as he shut the door.

“For who?” Sieun immediately yelled at the shut door.

“After all I have told you, I think you know who," he heard Juntae yelling back.

Sieun wasn’t sleepy anymore.

━━━━━━━━━

“Stop moving so fast! He is going to fall down,” Baekjin hissed at Seongje, who rolled his eyes at him.

“Move faster then. We need to take him from one end of the room to the other, and you’re making such a big deal of it,” Seongje retorted.

“This is all very unsanitary—oh my—I should’ve worn a double layer of gloves,” Baekjin said, his tone laced with disgust.

“Can you both stop arguing? Bring him here quickly,” Dr. Gyeol, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor, called out as he fixed his gloves—carefully chosen, made out of a cut-resistant nitrile-latex combo, black because he’d gotten bored of the blue ones—his toolkit open for examination.

He smiled at Seongje and Baekjin as they laid a body in front of him on the floor. Baekjin kicked off the plush carpet.

“Thank you, finally,” Eun Gyeol mocked in his usual annoying voice that made Seongje want to slap him.

“Get to work,” Seongje said flatly, as he heard Baekjin cribbing behind him.

“Ew. Ew. Ew. Give me my bag, Beomseok—there must be a sanitizer there,” Baekjin said, discarding his gloves in a bin and tying the trash bag.

Yes, Beomseok was there as well. It was a rather odd night for them when Beomseok got a phone call—and all they could hear was a gunshot and a distorted voice.

It wasn’t hard for Seongje to track the location of the call, and it led them back to the basement of Beomseok’s old house—the one he lived in before he was sent to the Philippines.

Seongje stood a few steps away from the body, arms folded, trying to figure out what was going on. He had sent Secretary Park out of the country; the guy had booked his own ticket in front of him—he shouldn’t have been in the country. And yet, he was.

Probably dead.

Gyeol opened one eye with two gloved fingers, shining his penlight into the pupil.

“Pupils fixed and dilated. No corneal reflex. No cardiac activity,” he said, moving Seongje aside with his other hand as he was blocking the light. He touched the radial artery briefly and then pressed on the jaw and arms of the body.

“So?” Baekjin asked, standing behind Seongje, leaning against a desk.

“Rigor mortis is present in the mandible and upper limbs. Estimated time since death is two to four hours. Blood pooling consistent with livor mortis fixed along the back.”

“So he’s been dead for a while?” Seongje asked, his gaze unwavering.

“Yes. At least two hours, conservatively. Possibly three or more, judging from how the blood’s settled. Possibly around 11–11:30 PM could be the time,” Gyeol said, pointing to the wall clock. It was already early morning.

“How?” Baekjin asked.

“What do you mean how? He fucking got shot,” Seongje said, looking back at Baekjin, confused as if he was stating the obvious.

Dr. Gyeol tilted the man’s head gently, examining the center of the forehead.

“Single penetrating gunshot wound at the glabella, just above the nasal bridge. No exit wound—so likely a small caliber. .22 or .25 at most.”

“I assumed so. The smaller ones can cause a deep impact if shot correctly,” Baekjin nodded.

“Trajectory is anterior to posterior, slightly downward. Which means—”

Baekjin cut in, continuing the sentence: “He was kneeling?”

“Or being held down. The angle suggests submission or restraint,” Gyeol suggested.

“So you’re saying it’s a close-range shot?” Seongje asked, looking down closely.

“Yes. No stippling or powder burns—likely a contact shot. The gun muzzle was directly pressed to the skin,” the doctor said.

“That’s brutal,” Seongje and Baekjin said together as they shared a look, then looked back to see Beomseok sitting in the chair of the table Baekjin was leaning against.

Baekjin just spun the leather chair around so Beomseok couldn’t see and took out his earphones from his pocket, handing them to him.

“I heard you learnt how to play the piano. There’s a piece called Experience by Einaudi. I want to hear you play it—so learn it for me,” Baekjin said.

Beomseok nodded, putting the earphones in his ears as Baekjin turned back to see Gyeol using forceps to lightly part the dried blood at the edges of the wound.

“He has swelling… or there’s something not right here?” Seongje asked. He had been staring at the dead man’s head for a while.

Gyeol nodded while running gloved fingers at the back of the body’s head, pausing near the base of the skull.

“There is subcutaneous swelling over the occipital region. No visible laceration. The bruising pattern indicates blunt trauma after death—he was likely slammed or dropped onto a hard surface at least twice, bare minimum,” Gyeol said.

“So whoever did this fucking chucked him?” Seongje asked.

“Threw him,” Baekjin corrected.

“It’s the same fucking thing,” Seongje murmured, scowling.

“There are signs of postmortem blunt force. Not the cause of death, but violent. Possibly dropped in haste. There may be an internal fracture—basilar skull fracture—but I can’t confirm that without imaging,” Gyeol said, raising his hands.

“Yeah no, no hospitals, doc,” Seongje said.

“I know,” Gyeol replied.

He shifted the arms of the body slightly upwards, inspecting the fingers and forearms. The knuckles were swollen and scraped. Fingernails packed with grime and blood.

“Resistance,” Seongje said, looking at the hand.

“Looks like he fought back,” Baekjin said, now standing where Seongje was.

“I see three things here,” Eun Gyeol said, looking up at both of them. “Ecchymosis and abrasions over the knuckles and dorsal forearms.”

“Defensive wounds,” Beomseok said from the back. They looked at him. His chair was still turned around.

“I’m not looking,” he said in a quiet voice.

“That’s right. You’re smart. I see why you chose Yonsei,” Gyeol complimented.

“Linear excoriations on the palms and inner wrists,” Gyeol said next, as they waited for Beomseok to respond.

“Likely from restraint or struggling against the floor,” Beomseok said.

“Correct. And subungual hemorrhage present. What’s that for, Beomseok?”

“Most likely bleeding under the nails—in defense, he clawed at something or someone,” Beomseok said, putting one earphone back in his ear, still listening with the other.

“He’ll be a good doctor. I’ve seen the books he reads,” Gyeol smiled.

“Yet he has those scars,” Seongje grumbled.

Baekjin kicked him in the shin, causing Seongje to stumble back a little.

“They’re old scars. Stop reminding him of them. They’ll heal eventually,” Gyeol said.

“Fine. So there was a fight, and he resisted and was fought back with. No clean takedown,” Seongje said, pressing his leg as Baekjin looked at him smugly.

“Definitely. Signs of antemortem struggle. Whoever overpowered him had to use force.”

“What about the scratches?” Baekjin asked.

“Happened before he was shot. They’ve dried up. Seongje, help me turn him to the side.”

They rolled the body. The clothing along the back was abraded. The skin along the scapula and lower back was scraped raw.

“There are faint friction burns across the scapulae and lumbar region. Consistent with being dragged postmortem—likely over some sort of tile or rough wood.”

“We dragged him?” Seongje asked.

“I know. I saw. These marks are older. Whoever did this to him did it. The bruising suggests the body was pulled forcefully,” Eun Gyeol sighed, getting up as he looked down at the body, then at Baekjin and Seongje.

“Comments?” Baekjin asked.

“Probably ambushed. He resisted. He was restrained, fought back, and was shot execution-style—likely while on his knees. Afterward, he was either dropped or thrown to the ground, which caused secondary cranial bruising. Then, his body was dragged. More than once. Judging by the pattern of injuries and dried blood, I’d say it wasn’t done carefully,” Gyeol said, removing his gloves. He frowned, seeing that Baekjin had already tied the trash bag.

“Why? Why would someone do this? Seongje—draw me a picture of the events,” Baekjin said.

“I got rid of Beomseok’s father. It wasn’t brutal at all—yes, he tried smashing my head into the wall, that fucker—but I reacted fast. Technically, it was self-defense. I had gone to talk to him. I had no weapon; all I had was Newbie’s pen, to be honest. I had two, by the way—one I used on the assemblyman, and one from the first time I met Sieun I still have that one at home,” Seongje blabbered.

“Anyways,” he continued, “The pen – it was there in the jacket I was wearing, and I had a few options: jam the pen sideways into his neck and bust his jugular vein, put it through his eyeball, or stab it through his windpipe,” Seongje said seriously.

“And which one did you do? You never mentioned that,” Baekjin asked.

“Windpipe, of course. Jam it under the hollow of the throat—it fucks up the trachea—and drive it through. As much as I hate to admit this, Yeon Sieun was good with this pen-stabbing business. I only came to know after I tried that it was hard to get a swift and proper aim. But I did it well. That assemblyman spoke too much—his voice was annoying, much worse than Doc’s, to be honest.”

“I can hear you,” they heard Gyeol say from behind.

And Seongje continued, “Secretary Park here helped me set it up—we fed the story we wanted to the media, that someone he had a rivalry with killed him. Of course, he was in politics and people ate that story up. It was enough to get the police off the hook. They didn’t investigate as much as I expected them to. The bastard was already involved in corruption, so they probably did 1 + 1 figured he had enemies. And Beomseok gave the statement I gave the secretary to pass to him,” Seongje said, as Baekjin nodded.

“Like, this guy knew what you did. If Oh Hyun Tae had enemies, he must’ve known dirt on them as well. Could be anyone. Did you ask this secretary about it before?” Baekjin asked.

“I did. He was involved in money embezzlement, funding illegal things, gangs—I don’t know. The guy didn’t reveal much. He thought I would rat him out.”

“Do you think Beomseok knows?” Baekjin whispered, looking back at Beomseok, who was showing something to Eun Gyeol.

“He could. Should I ask?” Seongje asked, looking at Baekjin.

“Ask. But not here. Calmly, and in one of the rooms upstairs. If he doesn’t say anything, it’s okay—we’ll go home,” Baekjin said.

“What about the fucking body? Can we just leave it here? Do we? It might stink” Seongje smirked. 

“Don’t be stupid. You should be glad you decided to bring me here. Had I not come, you would’ve left him here for the police to find. There’s a crematorium about half an hour from here. Me and Gyeol will take it there—it looked shady when we were coming in from the other side. Some money to a low-level mortuary worker should clean up this mess well,” Baekjin said.

“I’ll stay with Beomseok here till then. I also think that whoever did this will come back here. We need to put this place up on the market. I’ll tell Beomseok to take whatever is important—it’s good we got two cars,” Seongje said, as Baekjin called Eun Gyeol to explain what they were going to do. He watched Seongje take Beomseok upstairs.

“We need to talk,” Eun Gyeol said, looking at Baekjin seriously once Seongje and Beomseok had gone upstairs.

“Let’s take this body first, we don’t have much time,” Baekjin said, as Gyeol handed him another pair of gloves. They lifted the body and took it downstairs toward the parking lot. Gyeol put a cloth on the backseat and then made Baekjin put the body in.

“This car is going on the market,” Baekjin grumbled as he sat in the driver’s seat, Eun Gyeol beside him, and they drove out.

“Talk now,” Baekjin said.

“I know who did it—actually, where they did this,” Gyeol said, his voice flat and cold, different from his usual tone.

“Who?” Baekjin asked, looking at him.

“Don’t act stupid. You know as well,” Eun Gyeol said.

“No—I don’t. What are you saying?” Baekjin asked, surprised.

“What do you know about Bamui Jiri?” Eun Gyeol asked, as Baekjin looked at him and scoffed.

“What has that got to do with this?” he said, evading the question.

“It has everything to do with this. I know because I’ve seen an empty card with their emblem under Baku’s picture that you keep on your side table,” Gyeol spat.

“Why are you snooping in my room?” Baekjin asked.

“One, that is my brother’s picture. Two, I’ve been taking care of you when you felt ill, so I’ve been around your room,” Gyeol said.

“I don’t know them that well as you think I do. That card is just there—I’ve never used it. That’s why it’s empty,” Baekjin said.

“You do know they only hand out those cards for one-word responses when they want to hire someone into Bamui Jiri? Did they try to recruit you?” Gyeol asked.

“I don’t see what the big deal is here. A group whose name literally translates to ‘Geography of the Night’… I don’t think it’s that serious. One of many gangs,” Baekjin said casually.

“Big deal? You fucking moron—big deal? It is a big deal. Bamui Jiri—or people call it Bamjiri—is not some regular pissy gang like the Union you managed. It’s the real deal. The dirty work for the mafias. They are the central group where all the dirt jobs are passed on to. They are not good people,” Gyeol said, frustrated, banging his hand on the headboard.

“And you know that because?” Baekjin inquired. Gyeol was quiet for a moment as he leaned back in his seat. He knew Baekjin was testing him.

“I was a doctor for them during my time at Yonsei, before I left the country. It was good money, but it got too much for me, so I asked for an exit,” Eun Gyeol said in a surrendered sigh.

“And they gave you an exit? Just like that? We didn’t give safe exits just like that when I ran my little ‘pissy gang,’ but you got one from a dirt job group? Yeah, sure,” Baekjin scoffed.

“I treated one of their higher-ranked men—saved his life. Nobody else had the skill. So they owed me a favour. Plus, I worked in the Gorae Bae, so it wasn’t a big deal,” Gyeol said, frowning.

“What’s Gorae Bae?” Baekjin asked.

“Fighting rink. They do illegal fights there—bets with crazy amounts of money are cashed in. A lot of influential people come to watch,” Gyeol said as he continued, “I treated the injuries there after my classes were over for the day.”

“And what about the secretary? You said you know what happened to him—I’m sorry, where this happened?” Baekjin asked.

“Bokhyeol. Meaning belly blood or under gut. It’s an apartment complex—that’s not the complex’s real name, but that’s what it’s called by those who know what it is. I showed it to Beomseok as well when we went to pick up his books for Yonsei. Told him never to go there. They use it for illegal work. If you get there, then getting into Bamui Jiri isn’t that difficult. They did this to him over there. I’m sure. I’ve seen how they beat and torture people there,” Gyeol said.

“Isn’t that complex on the radar? Hasn’t it been raided?” Baekjin asked.

“That’s the interesting part. It has buffer floors. Basically, it’s in an area where university students look for lodges. So, there are three buildings with nine floors and three flats on each floor. One has normal students staying on every odd floor and illegal activities on even floors. One has students staying on even floors and illegal activities on odd floors. And the third building is quieter. It’s for quieter jobs, so they use one flat per floor since the flats are bigger. It’s a trap since the flats are priced much lower compared to those around them—and it’s a good-looking complex,” Gyeol said, as he saw Baekjin registering this but not looking surprised.

“You don’t look bothered,” Eun Gyeol asked.

“It’s interesting what they are doing. I’ve seen people from organized crime groups when I ran the Union. Bamui Jiri approached me to join. They wanted to integrate the Union for small jobs. I heard they were recruiting university-based groups as well. I had refused. I know what they are, but I didn’t know their structure,” Baekjin said as they neared the cemetery.

“When?” Gyeol asked, curious.

“Second year of high school. Union was thriving, and I had expanded a certain area of control outside Yeongdeungpo as well,” Baekjin said.

“Is it because the Union was connected to a gang itself—the one who ran things in Mapo? What was it called—Cheongang?” Gyeol asked as Baekjin nodded.

“Yes, that is one of the reasons. They wanted to cut a secret deal behind Cheongang with me and overthrow them and have us collaborate over Mapo—plus, they saw the shuttle patch fights and saw potential,” Baekjin said, stopping the car after parking it. He pulled out a torch from the glovebox.

“In you? I heard you were ranked 1st or something—that is why they gave you a card expecting an answer,” Gyeol said. Baekjin looked back at him blandly and shook his head.

“What I tell you now will stay in this car and you will never repeat it again,” Baekjin said.

“Okay, what is it?” Eun Gyeol said, serious.

“The offer to integrate the Union was for me. They wanted me to fight and join—obviously, I would have been part of them had I said yes. But that card invitation wasn’t for me,” Baekjin said.

“For who was it then? I understand that had you integrated the Union with Bamui Jiri, you would have automatically become a part. But Bamjiri rarely invites people to personally join. They recruit people—they don’t invite them with those cards very often,” Gyeol said.

“It was for Keum Seongje,” Baekjin said slowly.

“Tell me you are fucking joking,” Gyeol said, surprised.

“No. They saw him beat me in our first fight. They absolutely loved the way Seongje fought. They wanted to train him—as their own. They said the way he fought and the way they train would be a deadly combo, he was "prodigy" material according to them because of his pain resistance. I didn’t think it was right, so—I just had a really bad hunch, so I challenged Seongje to a rematch and made a guy who pissed off Seongje, called Lee Gongsam, go around and blabber again before the fight that Seongje’s mother took her life. Gongsam had done it before. I knew that would hurt him emotionally. I practically treated him like a rag doll in the fight. Cheongang’s Choi and Bamjiri were watching—they watched him lose. It was good enough to show them that Seongje was all bark and no bite, so they left and didn’t inquire about him again,” Baekjin sighed, putting his hand over his face as he leaned against the steering wheel.

Eun Gyeol was shocked at the confession as Baekjin spoke again.

“Seongje always pretends he doesn't care about people, but that is also because he has always been alone. When Bamui Jiri came, I panicked. I could have joined them and fought—I had the experience—but Seongje wasn’t so carefree as he is now back then. Initially, when he joined the Union, yes he fought, but he was more of a stick-to-books kid and extremely quiet and calculative. I thought it wasn’t right, so I did this. I didn’t want to use his pain point, but I had no other option. I also thought that if he joined an actual gang, he would turn over the Union. And I think I needed him around because he was a good fighter. There were a lot of backstabbers in the Union toward the end—including Seongje—but I forgave him because of what I did to him. He doesn’t know about all of this. He decided to side with Baku’s gang when the Union was getting dismissed,” Baekjin said, as Eun Gyeol tapped his shoulder gently.

“Seongje doesn’t fight anymore now, does he? The way he used to before?” Gyeol asked.

“No. He gets into brawls once in a while, which is no big deal—a few minutes of fighting someone is no harm. But no, he doesn’t fight the way he used to when he was in the Union. I think he is slowly going back to the way he was back in middle school, away from the mess,” Baekjin said.

“Why didn’t you integrate the Union with Bamui Jiri? Cheongang was in touch with other gangs as well—I remember you told me that,” Gyeol asked.

“I was scared. They were big people. Yes, I managed everything, but it was overwhelming at times,” Baekjin said in a low voice. The old him would never admit that he was scared—to see proper adults with bloodied shirts, bundles of notes, and lucrative deals barge into his office—he was just 17.

“You did well. What you did is correct when one looks at it from your point. Bamjiri enjoys watching people fight to death for money—it is one of their main businesses. You saved Seongje,” Gyeol said.

“And he saved me. So I guess we are equal,” Baekjin said. He looked slightly relieved to get this off his chest.

“Let’s get this body out of here before it stinks up my car,” Baekjin said, tapping the steering wheel as he chuckled.

“Na Baekjin,” Eun Gyeol said, as Baekjin looked at him as he got out of the car.

“What?” Baekjin asked, looking in the car as Gyeol looked at him with much sincerity, realizing Baekjin wasn’t a bad guy—he already knew that.

“It’s been a year. You have suffered so much—I’ve watched you. I think it’s self-punishment. Get out of it,” Gyeol said.

“What do you mean?” Baekjin asked.

“Go find my brother. Go find Baku. I know you are afraid and humiliated from what happened—it’s okay. You can’t bring time back or change it. I haven’t met Baku in ages, but he can never forget you—dead or alive. I know that. And you know that as well,” Eun Gyeol said, smiling.

━━━━━━━━━

Sieun did call Seongje up the next morning—he couldn’t get himself to do it at night. Sieun had barely slept after what Juntae had said. It made him go back to the Shuttle Pack site that he barely used or liked, just to see a few things. The site was abandoned now—deserted. Not the way it used to be, always active and buzzing.

Sieun tried pushing the thought of the site being left like that away, but even if he wouldn’t admit it, it did—for some reason he couldn’t figure out—make him sad.

Seongje didn’t pick up his calls. Sieun called twice. Seongje’s phone was switched off. Sieun was still contemplating whether he should try messaging him.

“No response?” Juntae asked, putting his laptop into his bag and looking at Sieun.

“None. I don’t care,” Sieun said, chewing on the last bit of toast as he got up.

“Let’s go together. Baku and Gotak might go later on—they only have two classes each today,” Juntae said. Sieun nodded, picking up his bag and checking his pocket for his pen. It was there.

Juntae followed him out, locking the door as Sieun walked to the other side of the corridor and knocked on Baku and Gotak’s door.

“We’re leaving,” Sieun said against the door.

He heard Gotak yell, “Okay.” Just as he was about to move from the door, it opened, and he found himself leaning against Baku—who was almost like a cushion, if Sieun thought about it.

“You both are punctual as always. I’m almost jealous,” Baku grinned, looking at Juntae, who was standing near the lift waiting for Sieun.

“Go safely,” Baku said loudly enough for Juntae to hear. Then he leaned in slightly and added, just loud enough for Sieun alone, “I’ll come pick you up from university today, so wait there.”

Sieun looked at Baku. Baku didn’t look like he was joking.

“I can come back on my own,” Sieun said, standing upright.

“I’ll come anyway. Off you go—Juntae’s holding the lift,” Baku said, turning Sieun around and waving at Juntae.

“Come on, this lift will start beeping if I hold it any longer,” Juntae said.

Sieun nodded and got in.

Just as the lift barely went one floor down, Juntae shrieked and moved towards one side of the lift, shoving Sieun against the wall with him.

“What—what happened to you? What is it?” Sieun asked, startled, trying to look over Juntae to see what had caused the reaction.

Blood.

There was blood in the lift.

Drops on the floor, and what looked like a blood-smeared handprint on the lift wall.

Dark red almost rusty colored and foul

“Gosh, I didn’t see that when I was holding the lift,” Juntae said, as both of them stood on one side, staring at the blood on the other.

“Is this some sort of prank?” Sieun asked.

“No. That is real blood—can’t you smell it? The metallic scent—it’s slight, but it’s still there,” Juntae replied, stepping forward a little.

Sieun instinctively held his arm so he didn’t trip.

“How old?” Sieun asked—of course Juntae was the one doing medicine.

“Few hours. Six maybe, give or take? It’s already flaking and it’s darker. Not very old, but not very recent either,” Juntae said, stepping back.

“We’re going to report this to the guard, aren’t we?” Sieun asked.

Juntae nodded as the lift reached the ground floor.

As they got out, they saw the guard sitting unbothered and comfortably in the air-conditioned reception area, reading a newspaper. Very unbothered. Very casual.

“Excuse me? We just came down from the lift on the right—there’s blood over there,” Sieun said, tapping the desk.

“I know, the cleaner is coming. Some kid in the tower had a nosebleed. These kids study too much these days,” the guard said, signaling to a cleaner who was standing outside to come in.

“Okay. Thank you. I think – ,” Sieun nodded as he continued to speak

Juntae pulled him away before he could say anything else politely nodding to the guard who got back to his newspaper.

“What? I was talking,” Sieun said as they walked out of the complex gate towards the subway. Juntae was still tugging at his arm

“The guard is lying,” Juntae said blandly, looking at Sieun.

“Why? What makes you say so?” Sieun asked.

“Give me a minute to think, and I’ll tell you,” Juntae said.

They walked in silence.

“That was too much blood for a nosebleed—unless the kid who had one passed out and bled for a few minutes. The droplets were thin but flung—not dripped. If it was a nosebleed, as he says, a kid standing still wouldn’t bleed in an arc or have splatter droplets around. And there was a handprint in the lift too. The kid could have wiped his nose and pressed his hand against the wall—but again, there was too much blood for it to be just that,” Juntae said, nodding at the end as if he had already lined up the points in his head in the minute he had asked for to respond.

They walked in silence again as Sieun thought about what Juntae had just said.

“Interesting… Do you think someone fought? Remember the sounds we heard from upstairs yesterday night?” Sieun asked.

“I do. Those were definitely boxes. This is something else—a fight as you say? Maybe the guard is hiding it to avoid panic?” Juntae suggested.

“Could be. We’ll discuss this later,” Sieun said.

“Okay. You stay safe. Don’t get mixed up with those seniors, okay?” Juntae said, turning the line near the busy subway area.

“Okay, I’ll see you,” Sieun nodded, waving and moving toward his line.

He looked at his phone—still no call from Seongje, and no message from Suho either. Just messages in the first-year engineering students’ group chat, which Sieun didn’t really bother to read.

[....]

Sieun closed his pen cap as he stopped writing mid-lecture. It was Physics—then he had lab time for a semiconductors course he would start next year but wanted to look into anyway. After that, time to work on his assignments and an engineering math class.

There was something wrong, and he was sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

Usually, Sieun wouldn’t give a damn about what people said about him, but somehow he did today. He wasn’t imagining things—he had seen it himself: how some people looked at him in the lecture hall and whispered amongst themselves. Sieun wasn’t paranoid, but he definitely felt like he was the topic of those secretly using their phones under the table, glancing at him once in a while.

He looked at the girl sitting next to him. He remembered her from yesterday—the same girl he’d heard in the corridor saying she would miss her Physics class to sit in the one Seongje was teaching. She looked frustrated, making weird shapes on a page and then scratching them out.

Sieun hadn’t seen Seongje around yet. Maybe this girl knew? He had no reason to ask—he would have to see Seongje again anyway—but he decided against rationality.

“Excuse me?” Sieun whispered as he tapped her shoulder. Her head was already half down on the table; she didn’t look very interested in what was being taught.

“What? Oh, it’s you,” the girl said, turning her head to look at Sieun, still drawing.

“Are you okay?” Sieun asked. Suddenly, the girl didn’t look okay.

“No, I am not okay. You know all my friends are looking out for seniors to date? And we had a deal—first, we’d look for seniors only in our fields. But no—those bitches from humanities that we had in our group crossed the line. They’re coming and trying to suck up to the guys from our building. I honestly feel like they deserve a good beating. Those snakes took KS Sunbae with them to the café in their building. I saw it with my own eyes. I even sat in his lecture yesterday so I could see him,” the girl said dramatically but in a low tone.

Sieun nodded. It sounded like a big deal to her.

Then it clicked.

KS Sunbae. That’s what they call Seongje.

“Wait—you’re saying that Seo—I mean KS Sunbae—is in the Humanities building?” Sieun asked. He had never imagined the day he’d call Seongje that.

“Yes, and he was flirting with the girls in Building 140 as well. How can he betray our department like that?” she said, closing her book and putting her head down.

Sieun looked at her and then at the board.

The girl spoke again.

“By the way, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but you’re fucked. You shouldn’t have come today,” she said, peeking under her arm at Sieun.

“Why?” Sieun asked.

“After your little standing-up show in the stairwell yesterday, there’s no way the seniors will leave you alone. You’re lucky the fire alarms went off—otherwise, it would’ve been messy. It still is. You see all these kids texting behind you? The third-years are asking for your location. Tips. They’ll hound you around the university,” the girl said. Sieun listened. He had taken this into account, but he thought the seniors would confront him directly—not do stuff like this.

“I understand,” he replied.

“My best advice? Go home. And if you can’t, then stay hidden. Or go to Nado Sunbae—you’ll be safe there,” she said.

“Why would I be safe there? Or with Nado?” Sieun asked. He didn’t need anyone to protect him. He was just curious.

“I don’t know. He’s just a really smart guy. That’s what my brother—who’s actually a senior to him—said. He knows beyond his grade, so everyone wants his help. Some even queue up to meet him. So, if you go and hide or stay there, those third-years can’t hound you. Also, take the front door while leaving the lecture. They might think you’ll escape from the back door and be standing there,” she added. It was helpful information. He could make use of it, just in case.

“Where can I find him?” Sieun asked.

“Either the student lounge in this building—there’s a couch behind the coffee machine that nobody uses because he sits there, it’s tucked inside—or in one of the study cubes in the evening. Or the rooftop benches,” she said, finally keeping her head down.

Sieun muttered a low thank you.

He looked at the time. The lecture would end in ten minutes. He had made some notes, so he took out his phone and looked down at it. There was a message from Suho. Suho was with Gotak, and Gotak didn’t go to university. They had gone to a gym instead.

Suho ━

+1 image attached
Took Hyuntak with me, he wanted to work out.

Sieun ━

When did you join a gym?

Suho ━

It’s been 3 months.
I was about to tell you, I swear. I’m telling you now.

Sieun ━

3 MONTHS?? You know the doctor told you that you can’t put strain on yourself!

Suho ━

I know. I know. But I asked him before joining the gym.
He said I was fine, and that some daily exercise aside from work might do me good since I stopped physical therapy.

Sieun ━

I don’t know…

Suho ━

Don’t worry. I’m not alone. Hyuntak is here too.

Sieun ━

Gotak won’t come every day, will he?

Suho ━

I AM FINE. I WILL BE FINE. IT’S JUST GYM.

Sieun ━

No boxing?

Suho ━

Just the punching bag.

Sieun ━

Suho. No.

Suho ━

Don’t worry. You worry too much. Focus on yourself. I’m fine.

 

Suho went offline. Sieun scoffed and messaged Gotak to make sure Suho didn’t get hurt while he was there.

He looked at the time—he had a minute before he had to get out. A minute to strategize. Sieun wasn’t afraid of anybody, but that didn’t mean he would act stupid.

The lecture ended. Sieun immediately sprang out of his seat, collecting his stuff. He looked at the girl. She nodded. He moved toward the front door. If the people behind him were indeed tipping off the third-years, they’d watch him.

He got outside and looked at his timetable. He still had time before lab. Maybe he could see who this Nado really was. He took the stairs instead of the lift, his pace quick as he climbed up a floor. One more to go for the lounge.

He stopped.

He could still feel it—people looking at him, even though he couldn’t see them.

They would follow him wherever he went. It also made him think—why should he trust that girl in the first place? It could be a trap.

Sieun tightened his hold on the railing, collecting his thoughts.

“Should I go and confront them? No, I shouldn’t. I’ll let the seniors come to me.”
“How many of them were there yesterday? 10–12, excluding the girls. There could be more if they call others?”
“I can take about four in one go, but the others won’t just stand by.”

For the first time in a while, Sieun felt lost.

He had a lot of thoughts in his mind—run, hide, confront, report. But he had no proof. Ignore? But he didn’t know what to do.

The noise around the staircase got louder. His head kept telling him people were looking at him. 

“They are looking.” – “They’re not looking.”
“They’re talking about you.” – “They’re not talking about you.”
“Run.” – “Don’t run.”
“It’s safe.” – “It’s not safe.”
“They don’t know you.” – “They know you by now.”

“You don’t know anyone Sieun.”, he muttered to himself.

Two voices in his head, going back and forth—an argument he couldn’t control.

He stood on the side of the staircase, blocking the way, as he saw a girl moving down with a board, talking about a fire drill. Sieun leaned against the wall in the corner, squinting to see the board she was holding.

It was loud around him.

Noisy. Too Noisy.

He couldn’t see everything on the board—just a few words, highlighted in blinding red.

“Recognise. Friend. Run. Safe.”

“Recognise. Friend. Run. Safe.”

“Recognise. Friend. Run. Safe.”

“Recognise. Friend. Run. Safe.”

The words looped in his head like a scratched record: Recognise. Friend. Run. Safe.

They weren’t just thoughts anymore. They were commands, pulsing behind his eyes with every breath, every twitch of muscle. His body moved before he could process it—turning, descending, stepping faster. He wasn’t going to the lounge anymore, that suggestion had evaporated somewhere.

He didn’t know where he was going.

But something inside him did.

His heart was pounding like it wanted out, each beat too loud in his ears. His hand grazed the railing, not to guide him, but to remind himself he was still here. Still grounded. The inner noise was deafening—static, doubt, voices overlapping in his head as he navigated his way out of the lower Engineering building. He opened his phone, checking the campus shuttle numbers.

“5513 is the shuttle for the Engineering building,” he muttered, sighing in relief as he saw it approaching on the looped ring road.

He climbed on quickly.

The shuttle wasn’t crowded—it wasn’t midday yet. Sieun looked around, then quickly looked down. He still felt like people were looking at him.

“Recognise. Friend. Run. Safe,” he repeated softly, eyes closed.

He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t worried.

He was just lost.

And when he didn’t have a plan, his brain followed instinct.

The shuttle stopped in a few minutes. As Sieun looked up at the building—Shinyang Humanities Hall—he immediately got off, almost tumbling down the bus stairs. He moved quickly toward the building, then turned to head toward the fourth one.

“Recognise. Friend. Run. Safe,” Sieun whispered again, clutching the pen in his pocket. He would use it today if he had to.

The line that had looped in his head had now switched its order.

RUN.

“I don’t want to fight Suho. I really don’t want to,” he muttered as he walked inside - fast, eyes scanning for the floor directory. He found it in under a minute.

It took him a few seconds to locate where he needed to go. He headed for the stairs again, feet moving fast.

“Please be here. Please be here,” he whispered to himself. There was no point calling the person he wanted to find. He just had to hope.

Recognise. Friend. Run. Safe.

Recognise. Friend. Run. Safe.

Sieun reached the first floor and spotted the café. He walked through the hallway, approaching the glass doors. His eyes scanned through the transparent enclosures.

RECOGNISE.

He stopped at the entrance and fumbled with his card, tapping it hastily to unlock the door. As he stepped inside, he looked around. The air was cold—AC on full blast—but his hands still felt sweaty, his skin clammy with unease. The feeling of being watched clung to him like static.

A ripple of laughter rang out. Sieun turned sharply.

Were they laughing at him?

Then he saw it.

FRIEND.

At a corner booth—meant for four but somehow hosting more.
Seongje lounged lazily, one leg crossed, arm draped across the backrest. A group of girls surrounded him like petals curling around a thorn.

One had her elbow against his, practically whispering into his neck. Another perched on the edge of the seat, her knee brushing his every time she shifted. A third leaned in with her chin resting on her hand, gaze locked on his face. One had dragged a chair too close, her thigh almost touching his as she laughed a little too loudly. Another sat half-turned toward him, her hand draped over the back of his seat.

Sieun caught part of something Seongje said: “…so you’re telling me if something happens hypothetically, these are the only third-years that will get involved?”

The girls nodded and laughed.

Too close to Seongje. Too obvious.

Sieun stepped forward, right into the booth’s space, and looked at Seongje.

“Why do you call if you can’t receive it back?” His voice cracked with frustration—too much emotion, not what he intended.

Seongje looked up.The girls turned to look too, but Sieun didn’t care about them.

Seongje’s casual, lazy smile faded. His expression shifted—alert, then a flicker of worry, maybe suspicion. He stood quickly, gently shushing a girl still giggling.

“Newbie,” Sieun heard Seongje say.

SAFE.

Sieun exhaled, only then realizing he’d been holding his breath.

Recognise. Friend. Run. Safe.

All of them checked out. It had worked.

His shoulders sagged with the exhale, and the fog in his mind lifted just a little. Like someone had finally flipped the switch back on.

“Are you okay? Did you run?” Seongje asked, stepping toward him.

Sieun’s eyes flicked past him to a phone plugged into a charger. He recognized the blue devil-face cover. Seongje’s. Discharged phone. Classic. Now he had nothing to say.

“I Navigated Every Exhausting Detour—Humanities Eventually Looked Possible,” Sieun said quickly.

Seongje raised an eyebrow and tilted his head.

I NEED HELP

Please understand. I don’t want to say it.

“What? What’s he saying? Who is this?” a girl asked, tugging at Seongje’s sleeve.

“Keep quiet,” Seongje said sharply, looking back at her and then at Sieun.

“I Asked Myself Honestly—Everything Really Exhausted You? Newbie?” Seongje said suddenly, a smirk tugging at his lips.

I AM HERE, NEWBIE

Sieun closed his eyes. Relief.

Seongje understood. He gathered his books and unplugged his phone, earning groans and half-joking complaints from the girls.

“Until next time, ladies,” he said, dragging Sieun by the arm toward another booth tucked behind the row of tapping keyboards, far from the others.

“Sit down,” he ordered. His tone was sharp again as he tossed his bag on the table and sat.

People were still around, still talking, but it didn’t matter. The weight was lifting. That feeling of being watched—it was dissolving.

“What’s up with you?” Seongje asked, eyeing him closely.

“I feel like people are looking at me,” Sieun admitted.

“So? People have eyes. They’ll look. They look at me too. Did you see those girls I was with? I’m sure their boyfriends would be mad if they knew they were interested in me,” Seongje said with a smug grin.

“Not in that way. You’re ridiculous,” Sieun huffed.

“And yet you came to me—for help—and said it in code?” Seongje raised an eyebrow.

Safe. Safe. Safe.

It was still ringing in Sieun’s head.

“You know what the third-years did?” he asked.

Seongje nodded. “Yeah. Fucking idiots. What task did you get, by the way?”

“You triggered the alarms,” Sieun said. He hoped Juntae’s hunch had been right.

“Smart boy,” Seongje nodded. “Yes, I did. I was bored. It was fun.”

“You were there? But where?” Sieun blinked.

“In the vent. Don’t ask. And don’t get sappy—I didn’t do it for you. I just don’t like the third-years. Especially that bunch.”, Seongje rolled his eyes.

“They’ve been looking for me,” Sieun said, finally.

“Like, around campus?”

“They’ve told first-years near me to keep watch. To inform them of my location. I haven’t seen them yet, but…”

“Over a fucking dare? Ridiculous,” Seongje muttered. “So why are you here? They’ll find you here too.”

“You know why,” Sieun said quietly.

“No, I don’t. Use your words, princess. Ah—wait, I won’t call you that right now,” Seongje teased.

Sieun sighed. He knew how Seongje was. He was going to make him say it. He wasn’t going to outright ask for help again, so he twisted his words.

“Tell me what to do,” Sieun said. It still sounded worse than asking.

“Now we’re talking,” Seongje said with a victorious grin, stretching slightly. He looked tired.

Maybe it was the flirting. Do people get exhausted from flirting? Sieun wondered.

“So, you’ve got semiconductors and then class with me?” Seongje asked, checking his phone. Sieun nodded – and then frowned.

“How do you have my timetable?”

“Magic,” Seongje replied, and Sieun sighed. No point arguing.

“Here’s the deal, Yeon Sieun. The dare will happen.”

“I came for an alternative. What is wrong with you?” Sieun resisted immediately.

“Shut up. I said the dare will happen. I didn’t say you would do it.”

“Then?”

“You’ll go to lab. They won’t bother you there. Too many faculty. After that, come straight to my class.”

“What about them?”

“Take the 5513 after lab. It’ll be packed with fourth-years heading north. You’ll blend in. Walk straight into the lecture hall. I doubt they’ll stop you mid-campus.”

Sieun paused, thinking, mapping it out.

“If you’re thinking they’ll corner you after class, they’ll have to deal with me,” Seongje said flatly as if he had read Sieun's mind.

“I don’t need you to fight for me. I can handle it myself. I came to you for route advice—you’ve been here longer. I’ll deal with them,” Sieun replied seriously.

“I know. Which is why I’ll tell them you’re doing the dare.”

“What is this?” Sieun asked, frustration bubbling. He couldn’t read Seongje.

“Just do what I fucking said. Don’t argue. Also, after class, go to the GameDev club.”

“Why?”

“You’ll organize my desk. Don’t touch anything, just the papers.” Seongje folded his arms so he wasnt joking Sieun assumed.

“I’m not doing any of that. But sure, keep dreaming,” Sieun said, rolling his eyes.

They were back to normal. Sieun was annoyed. Seongje had zero patience with him at the moment.

“Whatever suits you, sweetheart,” Seongje said.

“Stop calling me that, please” Sieun muttered, standing up.

“My wish,” Seongje said with a grin.

“Fine.” Sieun slammed the table and walked off.

His phone beeped.

A message from Seongje:

Don’t clog your head. It makes you look stupid. Do as I say.

Run. Friend. Recognise. Safe.

His head churned it out again, in a new order:

Run to what your friend has said—and recognise what is safe.

"What the fuck is wrong with you Yeon Sieun? Get a grip. He is not your friend", Sieun muttered to himself shaking his head as he walked out of the building at a fairly normal pace. There was a difference he didn't feel like people were watching him – maybe they were but Sieun couldn't see it, Sieun did not feel lost anymore on the contrary he felt revived. The voices of other around him were not loud now. He was normal again, his brain was sharp and reactive again.

━━━━━━━━━

Seongje was sleep-deprived again, especially after the out-of-the-box events from a few hours ago. He had tried getting stuff out of Beomseok, but he did not get much, except Beomseok saying if he checked his father’s files, they could figure something out.

He still went to university, not to attend classes, but to teach the one he had been assigned to. He had no interest in attending his own classes today, so he decided to do some research work since he was bored.

Baekjin was probably around somewhere, rotting in some study enclosure. He wasn’t sure if Sieun and Baekjin would cross paths, but knowing how much of a time and schedule freak both of them were, it was highly unlikely.

Seongje knew the amateur senior bullies would be furious over what happened to them and would most likely blame Sieun for it. It was a pattern, one he understood too well.

The Humanities building visit had been really fruitful. He got direct intel from the girlfriends of some third years who were known for fighting, all under the radar because nobody wanted to alert the university authorities. Understandable.

His initial plan was to record some quick conversations and bundle up the bastards by reporting them. That was his initial plan.

Plans changed, and for Seongje, it changed the moment he saw Yeon Sieun.

If someone had told him that Yeon Sieun would come to him looking distressed, he would have laughed at them. It was a cute fantasy, one that turned into reality that very morning, as Sieun had come to see him. He looked different.

It messed with Seongje’s head, and he didn’t know why. It wasn’t Sieun’s condition. It was Sieun’s eyes. They weren’t alive anymore. They were empty, eerily similar to the way they looked when Sieun was at Eunjang.

And Seongje didn’t like that, because it made Sieun look normal. And Yeon Sieun wasn’t normal by any standards.

Normal wasn’t fun to Seongje.

“God, you are fucking slow,” Seongje scowled, looking at an architecture senior who just dismissed his comment.

“No, I am not. You are impatient. Why do you need the layout anyway? Nobody goes into that godforsaken tunnel. It’s behind the tower, and they plan to renovate it anyway,” the guy said.

“You talk too much, and yes, you are slow. These are the two reasons I didn’t fuck you again. You can’t even ride with pace,” Seongje scoffed.

“Is that you bragging about your size? I’m still up for offers, you know? I think I’ve improved, Seongje,” the boy said, handing over a digital layout of the Humanities back tunnel on his tab.

“No thanks. I can find you guys who would be interested though,” Seongje said, looking at the layout.

“Did you lock your dick up or something, or is the libido running low?” the guy chuckled, whispering the last part as Seongje caught his jaw, looking right at him.

“No. You don’t interest me anymore,” Seongje said, removing his hands from the guy’s jaw roughly — the guy seemingly enjoying it.

“Okay, fine. Fine, I quit. You have your layout. Do whatever the fuck you want. I don’t know anything about giving this to you, and you never asked me. Deal?” the guy said.

Seongje nodded, shooing him off.

Seongje zoomed in on different areas of the map. The tunnel was closed on one end but had a side outlet that connected to the Humanities block, which allowed more people into the tunnel—especially if they came from behind. That was what the seniors had planned as well: to infiltrate more people while they made Sieun retrieve something in the dark.

“I’ll handle them on my own,” he remembered Sieun saying.

“The fuck you will handle them on your own. All of them are good at fighting,” Seongje muttered, closing his tab as he got up to go to the class he had to teach.

He hoped that Sieun had followed his instructions.

Sieun had. The lecture hall was as packed as the previous day, and Sieun sat there in the same place—last seat, front row.

“We will continue from where we left off yesterday,” Seongje said as he turned towards the board, but then turned back and looked at the hall.

“They’re reporting my whereabouts to the seniors. I feel like everyone’s watching me,” Sieun had said.

“I’m going to need all of you to keep your phones out in the front. Anyone I see using theirs will be made to stand in front.”

“Come on, sunbae,” he heard a few reluctant groans, but the kids listened anyway.

“We’re going to look at types of functions. Engineers don’t just use pretty curves. Most of us model real shit—circuits, beams, loads—with these bastards,” Seongje said. The faculty would kick him out if they heard what he was saying, but he knew some of them would be jealous of the crowd he could pull in one class.

Several laughed at Seongje’s comments as he taught. He turned around to look at Sieun. He wasn’t laughing, he wasn’t smiling, but he looked okay.

“What’s the difference between Domain and Range?” a voice came up.

Seongje smiled at the board. Finally, Sieun had decided to speak up. He put his marker down as he stood in front of the board, looking at him.

“Well, Domain—that’s what you’re allowed to feed the damn function. Range—that’s what it gives you back. Think of it like your diet. You eat garbage, you’re gonna output garbage. Same logic,” Seongje smirked as more people laughed. Sieun frowned.

“The academic definition, please,” Sieun said, as a few students booed and Seongje put his hands up to silence them.

Yeon Sieun was a real party pooper. What got him to be like this, fuck.

“Academic definitions? Ohhh, we are getting serious, eh? Sit down. I’m getting to it,” Seongje laughed as he turned back to the board. Sieun didn’t look very satisfied. It was funny seeing something like this.

Just as he was about to write what Sieun wanted to understand, the door of the lecture hall opened. Seongje turned around, and so did the other kids. It had already been half an hour through the lecture—if someone had come now, it was pretty late.

“Is Yeon Sieun here?” a guy asked, adjusting his glasses to look around.

"Ah these fucking bastards are here finally, where have they been hiding the entire day?"

Seongje recognized him. He recognized all the guys standing behind him as well, as they piled into a corner of the lecture hall. All of them had been at the stairwell yesterday.

He saw how the people in the lecture looked at Sieun and back at the seniors. A soft wave of whispers broke out as some kids immediately reached for their phones.

Seongje slammed his hand on the table as they looked back right at him.

“I thought I had said no phones,” Seongje said, his voice stern as he saw hands backing off, eyes now looking between him, the seniors, and Sieun.

Sieun didn’t look at the seniors. Sieun was looking at him, dead right in the eye.

"He wants me to do something? Fine. I will"

Seongje had quickly noticed how Sieun had clamped his hands on the table, fists clenched. His pen—the one he usually used to attack—was on the table.

"Is he scared? God they are just standing there - or is he angry?"

“Yes, he is here. Why?” Seongje asked, looking at the seniors who had managed to spot Sieun. He was sitting in the first row, after all.

“Nothing. We need to have a little chat,” another guy said—the one Sieun had kicked off the box, making him fall flat on his ass. It was a funny scene, as Seongje recalled.

"Little chat my ass"

“No, you can’t,” Seongje said, folding his arms and looking at the guy, who let out a hollow laugh, putting his hands in his pockets and taking a step towards Seongje.

“Look, this isn’t your problem—” the guy began.

'It is my fucking problem you ridiculous bastard"

Seongje cut him off, taking a step forward himself.

“No, but this—” Seongje pointed at the lecture hall. “—is my room for the next half an hour. And in my room, I don’t let kids who think age equals authority hijack the schedule because they’re bored of their own.”

There were a few low “oooohhhhs” from the back of the classroom, but nobody dared to take out their phone and record. Seongje had already reiterated twice that the phones had to be on the table.

Seongje looked at the seniors, who were looking among each other. The one standing in front of him looked back as well—moral support, probably.

"What a bunch of idiots they all are, fucking morons"

Seongje tilted his head and looked at them in a scrutinizing way. He looked calm on the outside, but inside he could feel blood rushing to his head and hands. A small spike of adrenaline crept up.

“You looking at this? He is from your department and he is arguing with me,” the senior in front of him said to another one. Seongje recognized the guy—the one who acted like the big dog. He had a creepy, devilish smile. The same one who had narrated the dare to Sieun.

This fucker’s their big dog, huh? Got all of ’em on a goddamn leash like lapdogs. Shit he’s gonna be a treat to deal with.

“Keum Seongje, you’re a second-year student,” the guy who strode around like he was the final boss said as he stopped leaning against the wall. Seongje knew the guy had an influential mother. Seongje couldn’t care less.

“Yes, I know you know my name and what year I am in. So?” Seongje said, tapping his marker on the desk sharply. “I’m not standing here as a second-year. You see, the department made the brilliant mistake of handing me a whiteboard and a class full of first-years. So, until that mistake gets corrected, I’m the one with the marker. And that makes me God in this room.”

“And you?” Seongje continued, rotating the marker, circling the group in the air, “are just third-year students who have barged in and are wasting my time,” he said, almost making it sound like an insult.

“They really think they can walk in here and bark orders? Fucking rats, all of them, scurrying around like they own the place. Pathetic.”

The entire room was silent. Seongje looked at Sieun from the corner of his eye. He looked slightly surprised as well.

Seongje wasn’t surprised. He knew he was an audacious guy. It was nothing new. Nothing scared him—especially not the people in front of him. It made him laugh.

“Okay, we understand. We’ll not waste your time. We just need Yeon Sieun for five minutes. If the lecture time remains, I’m sure he would come back. You will, won’t you?” another guy spoke out. His tone was calm. His tone was definitely not like this yesterday, when Sieun had stuffed the pamphlet in his mouth in retaliation for him throwing it.

“Of course, there’s always that one polite, diplomatic bastard"

He was too close to Sieun. He was standing on the steps attached to the first-row seats, looking at Sieun.

Seongje saw Sieun slowly inching his fingers towards the pen. Sieun wasn’t looking at him now.

“Don’t make that mistake,” Seongje thought in his head.

“Yeon Sieun, stand up,” Seongje said as he turned back to the board, opening his marker to write something.

“See? I told you guys. Speak calmly and it works,” Seongje heard one of the guys in the senior group whisper to another.

“Tell these three that. They’re too fucking aggressive,” the guy in the glasses said, pointing toward the main guy, the one who had been pushed off the box, and another standing to the side, as they shrugged him off.

"Their mouths never shut do they ? It makes me want to rip their fucking tongues out and pin them to the board so they finally learn when to stay quiet.

Seongje turned back to see that Sieun was not standing up yet.

“I told you to stand up, so you will stand up,” Seongje said, walking toward Sieun’s seat. Sieun got up and looked at Seongje.

Seongje looked back at him. Sieun’s eyes were not moving. They were very, very still. Seongje saw in them what he had seen the day he had decided to visit coma boy, while Sieun was sitting outside—fear.

“Did Sieun really think that I was going to throw him off to these seniors?” Seongje thought. If that was the case, Sieun thought very lowly of him.

“Domain and Range. I have written their definitions. Go and mark what’s wrong in the definition and solve the problem below it,” Seongje said, handing Sieun the marker. Sieun’s eyes moved. The fear was gone in a flick, like it never existed.

He saw Sieun nod, taking the marker as he walked toward the whiteboard. He still had his pen with him.

"Atleast Sieun was reciprocative that was good"

“Excuse me?” the guy who was standing on the steps asked.

“Let’s have a chat. Outside,” Seongje said, putting his hands in his pockets, looking at the main guy, who smirked at him.

“No,” one of the guys said.

Seongje looked at him almost with a look of pity.

“I really didn’t ask you. I asked him,” Seongje said, as the main guy patted the one who had just been replied to. He followed Seongje outside the lecture hall, the other third-years lining up after him, following him out all of them looking at Sieun once before getting out.

The hall broke out in whispers immediately.

“Did KS sunbae just order them out?”

“Are they going to fight?”

“‘Let’s have a chat outside.’ That’s basically saying ‘I’m about to verbally castrate you.’”

“Anyone who thinks they’re going to fight is crazy. They’ll get suspended.”

“Don’t underestimate the upperclassmen. They move in fucking packs.”

“KS has balls of steel, man…”

“He looks so hot when he’s pissed…”

“If they fight, do we get the class off?”

“Should we record it?”

“Stop touching your phones. Sunbae said no.”

“Do you think other second-years will get involved if they fight?”

Sieun just stared at the definition quietly. He picked up the duster to rub it, putting his pen in his pocket as he read it once again. The last line made no sense if a normal person read it, but the students were not looking at the board. They were more busy gossiping. Sieun had seen how Seongje had put capital words in some of the lines.

Simply put, the domain of a function is the set of all input values it accepts. To find it, avoid divisions by zero or square roots of negative numbers. Any valid x-value goes into the domain. You then determine the range—what outputs come from those inputs. Check the graph. Analysis helps. Look for minimums and maximums. Make sure it’s defined throughout. Never skip testing edge cases. Every function has limits. Work smart. Be chill. It’s all logic. Even tricky ones follow rules.

“STAY CALM NEWBIE”

[...]

Outside the lecture hall, Seongje adjusted his glasses and leaned against the wall as the seniors stood around him.

“So? What’s the deal?” Seongje asked.

They’re lucky we’re in a corridor. They look like the kind of bastards who’d make a satisfying thud against the wall.

“Just hand over the kid, Keum. We have nothing against you,” the senior who got smacked by the post-it said.

“Not a damn chance you’re getting him.”

“Really? I still feel you’re disappointed with me. I mean, after what happened last year when I was a fresher and you guys were in second year,” Seongje said, smiling.

“Bygones are bygones. We have a truce,” the guy with the glasses said.

"No they are not, not when I remember everything"

“I don’t think so. You said you would include the second years, but you fucking carried out shit on your own,” Seongje scoffed.

“Oh, that’s why you’re disappointed? We understand. You guys can join us now. Just hand over the kid,” the guy who had squared up close to Seongje inside said.

“It’s no fun until you tell me why. Or at least tell me where to send him,” Seongje asked, chuckling.

“So you’re sending him?” the main guy asked, surprised.

“Of course not. I’ll send something better. A real surprise for you bastards.”

Fuck yes. What did you guys think? I was shielding the first-year kid? Fuck no. I couldn’t care less. Just don’t annoy me while I’m teaching,” Seongje said, slapping the main guy’s shoulder as the third years looked at each other, relieved, and chuckled as well.

“So gullible. So damn easy to fool. Fucking amateurs, through and through.”

“See? You were getting angry at him unnecessarily. He’s a junior in my department. Our department sticks together,” the main guy smiled as he put an arm around Seongje, rather proud.

“Of course. So, what’s the plan?” Seongje asked, his voice interested.

“Yes. So send that rude asshole to the Humanities building in a while it already looks like its going to pour - the darker it is the better it will be. We’ll handle it from there,” the senior with the mouth stuffed with paper said. Seongje didn’t really bother knowing their names; he remembered them by what Sieun did to them.

“Fucking predictable. Not even a streak of originality. Boring as hell.”

“Interesting, man. Shit. Don’t tell me you’re trying the tunnel,” Seongje said dramatically as some of them nodded, delighted, and high-fived each other. Seongje gave them a high-five too.

“Yes, so you’ll send him?” the main guy asked.

“Not a chance in hell. Try again.”

“Of course as you wish. Do one thing, record it. These fresher brats should know what it means to go against the seniors,” Seongje suggested, and the third years were delighted.

“God, you are perfect. You should join us. Do you think people will want to watch?” the boy asked, excited at the prospect.

“These fuckers just need one last round of sweet talk. They’re sniffing for profit too, greedy bastards.”

“Of course. Sell it higher. It’ll be good cash and entertainment. Enough of the broadcasting hazing and pranks on Kakao. Expand,” Seongje said, and the seniors agreed, shaking his hand. The main guy agreed.

“Deal,” he said, shaking Seongje’s hand.

“Got you all exactly where I wanted. Too fucking easy"

“Deal,” Seongje said, greeting him with a sly smile before going into the classroom.

[...]

Inside the classroom, the others went quiet when Seongje entered.

“What? You guys thought we would fight? They are my seniors. This isn’t high school. Be serious, guys,” Seongje said as he faced several anticlimactic sighs. He looked at the board; Sieun was still standing there as he had solved the problem Seongje had written.

“You look fine,” Seongje said, standing next to Sieun, looking at his answer.

“You told me to stay calm. I have no reason to listen to you, but there are other people here as well. And cameras too,” Sieun said.

“You are stubborn. Go where I told you after this,” Seongje said.

“GameDev? No way. I’ll go to the library and then home. What were those seniors saying?” Sieun asked, looking up.

“It’s none of your business, you stupid fuck. Go back and sit down,” Seongje said, opening his book.

“I did your question,” Sieun said in defense, pointing at the board.

“The answer is fucking wrong, smartass,” Seongje said as he pointed back at Sieun’s seat, asking him to go sit. Sieun did a double take and looked back at the board.

The answer was indeed wrong. Shit.

━━━━━━━━━

Sieun had always thought about what it felt like to be normal.

He knew he was far away from that. He was not a normal person, he did not have a normal life, nor normal circumstances. He did not have normal people around him either, even if they were comforting and nice people. The thread of misfortunes was wrung around his neck, like it had been instructed to suffocate him at chronic intervals.

He did not have normal days in middle school.
He did not have normal days at high school.
He was not having a normal day at university either.

All because people couldn’t curb their urges to exploit other people, exploit him, come after him.

Sieun wanted the day to end, but a small part of him wanted to stay looped in the day for a while as well, because he had experienced a range of emotions that was messing up his system as they came up and went down by the hour. But it made him feel alive — just a little.

Having so many mixed emotions in a day… Is this how normal people, who didn’t live in a monotonous cycle and limit their face to five expressions, lived? Or was he still abnormal?

As much as he wanted to figure out the emotions he felt during the day, his inner self was also itching, pleading to get out of this day. He had puked twice; it almost felt like he had puked his brains out as well — maybe he had.

Throughout the day, he felt as if someone had been turning his brain on and off at random intervals. He was able to focus and then suddenly lost all ground. Almost like he was watching his life from someone else’s perspective and then was randomly allowed to jump back in — and then thrown out again.

Sieun had experienced being annoyed, surprised, betrayed, angry, confused, worried, lost, suspicious, and scared — all in the span of a few hours.

He had stood up to several bullies, people who tried to harm him and those around him. But that wasn’t happening this time, and for four reasons:

First, he didn’t want to fight again. He really wanted to be normal, have a normal university experience, and not get into fights with people. He knew that occasional brawls could happen, and that’s fine, but not fights — proper fights.

Second, he wanted to stand up for himself, and he was very much capable of doing so. But he was not getting the outlet or time to do so. Everything around him was so confusing. It felt like everyone was intruding into his life and doing things as they wanted that day. Sieun felt again and again that he was losing control over his day — maybe it was because he was sleep-deprived.

Third, he knew that if he fought and he got caught, he would be suspended. He did not want to disappoint his mother again. He did not want to give her a chance to take him away or get the idea to do so, as she had tried in high school. He did not want to lose his friends again — that was the fear.

Fourth, he did not know what the fuck Keum Seongje was up to. Yes, he had gone to the guy for help because he was lost, but Seongje didn’t really tell him anything that would lower his anxiety — which was very apt for a guy who acted like an incubus feeding on other people’s distress.

Sieun had no intentions of listening to Seongje and going to GameDev after maths class. He had thought that he would go to the library, but his mind didn’t allow him to do that.

“Run. Friend. Recognise. Safe,” his brain churned out yet another version.

“Run to the place your friend recognised because that is safe.”

Sieun hated the string of words by now. It made him wish that he had not read the poster, because in his partial bouts of being vulnerable and lost during the day, his mind had been fixed on recognising Seongje as a friend and a safe entity.

Sieun tapped his card on the club door as he went in. A few guys looked up at him. The club looked like an assortment of guys and girls from every year.

“Keum Seongje told me to come here… for some desk work?” Sieun said, himself unsure.

“Yes, KS sits there. It’s a fixed seat,” a guy in the first row pointed towards the back of the room, and Sieun nodded, going there quietly.

Sieun looked at Seongje’s sitting space. It was a table in the corner, close to the window where one could see the view. It looked like it was about to rain again. It got dark faster when it rained early in the evening. The seat was in a section slightly away from where the regular crowd would sit.

Seongje’s laptop was charging on an inverted stand, and the table had several coding books neatly aligned to the side — clearly read voraciously. It was obvious from the tags sticking out from the pages. He had a bunch of papers on his desk. The desktop display was off. It was neat.

Sieun wasn’t sure what exactly he was supposed to clean.

There was a sticky note stuck under the screen panel as well:

“There is nothing to sort, so don’t touch my things. Sit here for a while. Nobody will come here to annoy you. The Wi-Fi is free.”

There was also a second note with the academic definition of Domain and Range that Sieun had asked for.

Sieun folded the post-its and kept them in his pocket. He put his bag aside and placed his head down on the table as he sat down. The place wasn’t uncomfortable at all.

There were a lot of clicking sounds — Sieun was accustomed to that. He liked it. Nobody was yelling or making noise. Nobody was watching him. Everyone was busy with their own work.

He pulled out his phone from his pocket and connected it to the Wi-Fi.

4:00 PM, the screen read. He had a message from Baku.

Baku ━

My classes are done. I just need to collect a few things Juntae asked me to. Should I come? Are you done with yours?

Sieun looked at the message, tired. Maybe if Baku came and he could go home, the day would be over.

Sieun ━

Sure.

Baku ━

It will take 30–40 minutes, give or take, if I push off in some time. There’s a rush because of the change in weather.

Sieun replied with a thumbs-up and kept his phone away on the table, putting his head back down as he closed his eyes.

Safe. Safe. Safe, his mind said as he dozed off.

Five minutes passed.

Then ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five — and eventually thirty minutes passed by.

Sieun was sleeping and was rather rudely woken up by a sharp knock on the table where he had his head. He looked up and squinted to see a guy standing there with his arms folded, looking at him.

“Where is Keum Seongje?” the guy asked. Sieun looked at him. The guy had a cutting mat, a sketchbook, and a measuring tape in his hand — probably an Architecture student.

“I don’t know,” Sieun said, getting up from his hunched position.

“You are sitting on his seat. He does not let people sit here,” the guy said, and Sieun remembered that the one who had pointed towards the space had called it a fixed seat.

The guy spoke again. “Wait — oh my god, wait. You are the reason Seongje isn’t coming to me, aren’t you?” the guy said with a chuckle.

“Excuse me?” Sieun asked. He was awake but still had no idea what the guy was saying.

“Yeon Sieun, or whatever. That’s you, right? The one who got into an argument with the third-years? My sister told me — she was in the same hall as you. Physics, was it?” the guy said.

“My brother is in fourth year. He told me about Nado. Even the seniors don’t mess with him because he is really smart,” Sieun remembered the girl who sat next to him in the morning telling him. So he was her brother.

But what did he mean when he said that Seongje didn’t come to him? Did he know his sister liked Seongje? Did he like him too?

“I am Yeon Sieun,” Sieun said.

“I’m sure you are. Let’s be honest, okay? What do you have on Seongje?” the guy asked, leaning against the table and looking closely at him.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Sieun said.

“Acting innocent? Of course. Do you think I’m stupid? Do you know how much time it took me to find the layout of that stupid Humanities block tunnel? And I only did it because Seongje asked me to,” the guy scoffed at Sieun.

“There is a tunnel behind the Humanities block on the backside. It’s a cool place. We will leave a bag there — you just have to retrieve it and bring it to us. That’s your dare,” Sieun suddenly remembered the main senior guy saying at the stairwell.

“The dare will happen,” Seongje had said.

“Why did he ask you for the layout?” Sieun asked immediately.

“I don’t know. You should know because — wait a minute,” the guy stopped talking as his phone rang, and he picked it up.

“What… what are you saying? Speak slowly, you idiot. Guys? Why do they need guys?......No. No, absolutely not..... No, you listen to me. No fucking way..... The Architecture Department will not get involved in this. What solidarity? Why should we? ......The seniors from our department were not there....... He is one person? You dare not go against me.....you bastard...I am older than you… or you are older than me? Okay… okay,” the guy said as he cut the call and looked at Sieun.

“Well, well,” the senior said with a crooked smile.

“What?” Sieun asked, his mind alert again. The switch had been flipped on. He didn’t think it would go off now.

“There seems to be—no, not seems—I am very sure there is something going on in the Humanities back tunnel as we speak. That call I got just now? It was backup,” the senior said as he got off the table, chuckling, collecting his stuff, and walking away.

The dare will happen.
The dare will happen, but I didn’t say that you would do it.
The dare will happen, but I’ll just tell the seniors that you will do it.
The dare will happen.

Had Seongje gone himself? Is that why he told Sieun to sit here?

Sieun had already told Seongje several times during the day that he did not need his help in anything more than safe routes.

He knew he sounded ridiculous every time he said that, especially when someone genuinely wanted to help him.

He knew this entire situation was ridiculous—he wasn’t acting like himself, and he wasn’t allowing anyone else to do something either.

But you couldn’t allow Seongje to do something. Seongje operated on his own free will.

Sieun stood up immediately but sat down quickly with a yelp as he banged his knee against the table in a quick reaction.

“What is this—” he groaned, putting his hand under the table, trying to find what he had just hit.

He pulled out the circular object, which made a snapping sound as he took it out and looked at it.

Sieun quickly ducked his head under the table to check, then looked back at the object again.

Boxing tape.

Sieun knew what it was. He had seen Suho use it during his MMA days. He had seen Gotak using it at the gym as well.

The rip on the tape was fresh, not old or twisted. It had been pulled recently.

“There is something going on in the Humanities tunnel as we speak. It was a call for backup,” the guy had said.

Sieun left the tape on the table as he picked up his bag in a hurry and walked out of the club, grabbing his phone.

Seongje had not gone to negotiate.
Seongje had not gone to complete the dare.
Seongje had gone to fight them.

Alone.

For him.

And they were calling backup.

And Sieun was late.

Sieun ran down the stairs. He really didn’t care if he shoved anyone by mistake.

Every part of him was pulsing — not with adrenaline, but with dread. Something was cracking inside his chest, something desperate and urgent. He didn’t know if it was fear or fury or guilt — or all of them tangled into one.

He hated this — the idea that people thought they could do things for him. 

He hated feeling powerless. He hated that somewhere, somehow, someone always stepped in — uninvited, unwanted — trying to rescue him like he was some helpless thing just because they cared for him. He wasn’t. He was not helpless. He never had been. He had survived too many fights.

Suho had the same issue. He tried fighting battles that were Sieun’s to fight.

And it had cost Suho so much — too much. Everytime Suho fought.
It wasn’t bravery, not to Sieun. It was theft.
Taking away his right to stand, to speak, to fight.
He clenched his jaw, fists tight, legs heavier with every step, but he didn’t stop.

Sieun knew Seongje enjoyed violence, and that was his choice. But he couldn’t do it in Sieun’s name.

He hurried towards the entrance gate, looking around the lower building to see if there was a shuttle coming. He walked quickly to the pick-up point and checked the schedule timings, scrolling rapidly.

He almost stumbled. His eyes stung from the wind or maybe the emotion threatening to spill. Every second felt too long, too loud. The weight of what might already be happening clawed at the back of his throat.

He walked past someone. A familiar voice — a voice talking about Seongje.

“He’s there? Keum Seongje in the engineering building? Oh, okay, I must have gone to the wrong one. Just visiting,” Sieun heard.

He whipped his head around to see a guy with long hair tied up, a rather broad frame, and wearing a dark grey patched overall. Sieun recognized the guy, the voice — from middle school, and from a few days ago when a bunch of kids in fancy cars had pulled up to their complex.

“Jeon Seok Dae,” Sieun said, turning around to look at him.

“What the fuck is he doing here?”

“Yeon Sieun? Byuksan? Surprising to see you here — well, not that surprising. You were a smart kid,” Seok Dae said, amused.

“Why are you looking for Keum Seongje?” Sieun asked immediately.

“Do you know him? Where can I find him? God, this guy is impossible to find. I’m on a visitor ID, and I’ve looked all over for him. Is he a celebrity or what?” Seok Dae asked.

“I know him. I don’t know where he is,” Sieun lied. “Is there something you need?” he asked.

“Just business,” Seok Dae shrugged, not giving much information.

How and why would Seok Dae know Seongje? Someone from his middle school? This didn’t sound right to him at all. But if Seok Dae wasn’t going to tell him, he wasn’t going to either.

“You’ll find him somewhere in that building,” Sieun said, giving him the wrong directions — which was very unlike him.

Sieun turned around and sighed. He had missed the shuttle while talking to Seok Dae.

They called for backup.

How many people would Seongje fight?

Sieun walked quickly. It would take him twenty minutes on foot — he had no other option.

He walked and walked and walked. There were 219 buildings on the campus. It was like an endless maze that could close in on him.

The noise from outside was blocked in his ears. It wasn’t loud on the outside, but on the inside — his anxiety, his paranoia, his stress, his anger — rose tenfold.

He walked, and he bumped into someone. He looked up.

Baku.
Yes, Baku was supposed to pick him up. The clothes Baku was wearing were unusual. Maybe he had changed. It was getting dark, so Sieun didn’t really focus. When had Baku even come inside? He said it would take him half an hour.

“I know you’ve come to pick me up, but I have something really urgent to attend to. The engineering building is five minutes from here. There’s a waiting area over there — please wait,” Sieun said, pointing behind him, tapping Baku’s shoulder in a hurry.

Recognise. Friend. Save. Run.

His brain churned out another order. He felt nauseated not that he had anything left to puke in him. He didn’t even hear what Baku was saying.

Recognise where the friend is, and to save him — run.

Run, Yeon Sieun.

And Sieun — he ran. He ran once again to a fight that was his.

For someone who wasn’t his.

Seongje wasn’t his friend.
Seongje wasn’t Suho.
Seongje wasn’t his enemy.
Seongje was in the past.
Seongje was in the present.

Seongje was nothing.

In engineering math, Domain is the set of all inputs — the mess, the variables, the stuff you deal with. Range is the output. The result. Today, for some reason, Seongje decided he’d handle both. Took something Sieun should’ve dealt with and stepped in like it was his problem. Like that would actually fucking help.
It didn’t. It just made things worse.
Who did he think he was, trying to protect him like that? That’s not how it works. You don’t get to hijack someone else’s equation and imbalance it like that.

Sieun was the Domain and the Range — always by himself.
But he wasn’t today, was he?

Yeon Sieun ran.

━━━━━━━━━

“He actually thought I was Baku. It makes sense because he was in a hurry, and Humin does look like me,” Eun Gyeol said, putting his visitor ID aside as Baekjin looked over at him, closing his book as he tapped his stopwatch to stop the timer once he was done with his equations.

“He runs fast,” Baekjin said as they sat on the rooftop study cubicle. Baekjin had seen Sieun running.

“Adrenaline run. It will fade out in a few minutes. Why is he running like that, though?” Gyeol asked.

“Margin of error,” Baekjin said.

“What?” Gyeol asked.

“Do you know why I lost the fight to Eunjang despite having the Union there?” Baekjin asked, as Gyeol shook his head and Baekjin continued.

“I learnt something from that fight. The concept of margin of error. I spent the entire time fighting Baku, and we fought well and equally. I was winning at one point. I had injured him. And then Sieun showed up, so I had a one-on-one fight with him, and that’s where I actually lost. I thought I had injured Baku and that he would just stay on the ground. I hadn’t estimated that Baku would stay down till Sieun wore himself out and drained my energy along with it. They made me believe I was winning. Baku was in pain, I know, but he lashed out at me just when I thought I had won. That was Yeon Sieun’s margin of error,” Baekjin said.

“Interesting. But that doesn’t answer my question,” Gyeol replied.

“When hope, fear, and guilt—either of these three—mix with adrenaline, it’s a combination that works one hundred percent. But it’s even more dangerous in a fight when they’re combined. It causes a loophole. Seongje is fighting a bunch of seniors at the backside of the humanities building. There’s a tunnel over there. It’s usually damp, wet, and dark. People don’t really go there,” Baekjin said.

“He’s fighting alone? I saw a bunch of guys run in that direction,” Eun Gyeol said, looking down.

“Seongje can’t be stopped when he gets an adrenaline spike. He’s crazy. Deranged, almost. But this time, he’s fighting with adrenaline and hope,” Baekjin said thoughtfully.

“So you’re saying Yeon Sieun is the margin of error?” Eun Gyeol asked.

“Yes. Seongje can take all of them down on his own. He’s a roughened-up street fighter to the core. But he went there with the hope that Yeon Sieun would figure out what’s happening and come. It’s almost like he knew Sieun would eventually figure it out,” Baekjin said.

“He wants Sieun to fight?” Gyeol asked, as Baekjin shook his head.

“No. Sieun is a margin of error. Seongje will take down the seniors on his own. The seniors and the backup they’re calling are going there with the mindset that they’re fighting only one guy. So they might take turns or all go together. They might expect someone to defend Seongje, but that won’t happen. And they will definitely not expect Sieun to show up himself. That will catch them off guard. Seongje is good at flattening people once they’re off guard. He has a lot of pent-up energy since he hasn’t fought properly in a while. There’s no possibility that he would lose. I calculated it,” Baekjin said, showing Eun Gyeol his calculations.

“Seongje told you this? And what would he do if Sieun didn’t go?” Gyeol asked.

“No, he didn’t tell me. I can figure things out. I still had to look into it to see if there was a need to intervene. Apparently, there is not. That’s the beauty of going to a fight with a margin of error. You go into a fight assuming that you will lose and that the other side will win. And that triggers you to strategize. It gives rise to instinct,” Baekjin said.

“So he has a backup plan?”

“Yes, most likely. Seongje is the one who trapped the seniors there by luring them. Not the other way around.”

“I thought you said Seongje doesn’t strategize while fighting anymore,” Gyeol said.

“That’s what worries me a little. He has started to think again. All the work I put into him might go to waste,” Baekjin sighed.

“What work?” Gyeol asked.

“You remember a few years ago, when you were at Yonsei, you wrote an article on Strategic Manipulation and Rewiring of the Brain using Baits?” Baekjin asked, as Gyeol nodded. “I used that on Seongje.”

“What? You tuned Seongje?” Eun Gyeol asked in disbelief, and Baekjin nodded.

“I had to. Like I told you, when Seongje initially joined the Union, he was a force to reckon with. Still is. He had ten things that make a perfect fighter. Pain resistance, strategy, strength, speed, reflex, endurance, technique, versatility, adaptability, and situational awareness. All of it bundled up. It was too much. And then Bamui Jiri got interested in him. I beat him, but I knew they might get alerted if he kept fighting like that. I read your article then and worked on it,” Baekjin said.

“How?” Gyeol asked.

“Seongje treated violence as a hobby. It is amusing to him. He doesn’t do it under compulsion. He needed reasons to fight, which is why he has that three-second rule of his. To rewire his fighting style, I understood I had to remove a few things out of the ten characteristics. If I had to categorize Seongje as someone who fights without notion, I had to remove strategy, versatility, and adaptability. And I did that by putting him on patrolling duty, constantly pushing him into fights that would require constant adrenaline rushes. Fights that would make him use only strength, speed, reflex, and endurance. They were long and tiring fights that didn’t require strategy-making and no situational awareness either. Bare minimum, because they took place at set locations,” Baekjin said, as Gyeol looked shocked.

“What was the bait?” he asked.

“Power. Money. Ranks. Seongje loved it. I eventually made him my second-in-command because he was good, and I wanted to keep a watch on him. I heavily promoted his three-second rule so that he would pick fights with people at random and slowly lose his ability to differentiate between who to fight and who not to. It was easy, since Seongje had very high pain endurance. The originality and versatility started fading away because the nature of the fights was the same. Fueling anger in Seongje wasn’t difficult. He snapped easily when he saw anyone trying to disrespect him. He has pride. So he never noticed how things became repetitive. And if I felt he did, I gave him treats. New projects. A new school to take over,” Baekjin said, leaning back in his chair.

“You’re a sick, twisted bastard,” Eun Gyeol chuckled.

“I know,” Baekjin said.

“Why are you worried now?” Gyeol asked.

“Because he has started thinking again. He figured out the margin of error. I can’t control him anymore, since I don’t run the Union. We’ve moved past it,” Baekjin said.

“And you think Bamui Jiri might find him again? Find you again?” Gyeol asked.

“Yes. I am sure there are recruits in the university somewhere,” Baekjin said.

“There are very high chances of that. Will you do something?” Eun Gyeol asked.

“I don’t know. The margin of error is expanding, but time is closing in,” Baekjin said.

“Will you go back to being Na Baekjin from Donald Na?” Gyeol asked.

“I might just have to do both. That’s my margin of error. a disadvantage and advantage both - its a buffer”.

━━━━━━━━━

Violence was a language Seongje could never forget.

Seongje had curbed the itch to fight for so long, almost a year, that it had started to feel like a second skin: tight, uncomfortable, always threatening to split. He had buried the instinct so deep it began to rot inside him, fermenting into something sour. Every time someone provoked him, every time his fists twitched with the impulse to strike, he had to swallow it down like broken glass, and it hurt: sharp, burning, and bitter. He did not consider small brawls and minute-to-minute hand-throwing as fights.

The idea of fighting again, really fighting, thrilled Seongje in a way that was almost obscene. There was a holiness to bruises. A kind of prayer in the way fists met flesh. And he missed it. The satisfaction of going back to it, even if temporary, pulsed through him, sharp and heady, almost orgasmic in its purity.

He had wrapped the tape tightly around his knuckles, a little too tight to give him a better grip, as he walked towards the lower section of the Humanities building. The tunnel was at the backside. Nobody would go there except those he had arranged for there to be.

It was exciting how they even agreed. It was exciting how hopeful the seniors looked at the idea of harassing someone. Seongje smiled, thinking as he walked towards the curve of the tunnel.

The tunnel felt like a throat —narrow, wet, and choked with the stench of rust and sweat. It wasn’t just a passage. It was a filthy, godforsaken artery carved into the underbelly of the campus thanks to the fact that part of the university was on a hill, literally.

The tunnel floor was uneven, warped in patches from decades of water seeping in through the cracks, and always damp. Not wet enough to be dangerous, just enough to feel wrong.

Graffiti layered over older graffiti like battle scars, with angry tags, crossed-out names, crude dicks drawn over someone’s protest slogan. The tunnel echoed everything. The voices all bounced off the walls in weird angles, like the sound itself didn’t want to follow the rules.

“Hi,” Seongje said as he walked nonchalantly with his hands in his pockets, grinning at the seniors. Some smoking near the tunnel entrance, some were standing close inside, some leaned against the walls, one had a camera to record in his hand.

“Who is he? Why is he here?” a guy asked. Seongje had not seen him before.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Keum Seongje. Motherfucker,” Seongje said, looking right at him. He had already counted how many people were there in the tunnel at present.

“Oh, you showed up? Then where the fuck’s the brat?” The guy with the glasses came from inside the tunnel.

Seongje stepped forward, cracking his neck with a slow tilt like he had all the time in the world.

“Yeah, well. I looked at him when I made him stand up, and looked at you lot… and figured it’d be a waste of his fucking time.”

He gave them a flat stare, unreadable and dangerous.

“So I came instead. Hope you’re not too disappointed.”

For a second, no one moved. The words hung in the air like the stink of blood right before it hits the floor.

Then one of the seniors — big mouth, short fuse — laughed, loud and ugly.

“The fuck did you say?”

Another stepped forward, veins in his neck taut, face twisted. “You got balls talking like that, but I don’t see that fresher. Was he just a dumb mutt pretending he bites?”

“I said,” he repeated slowly, like he was talking to something dense and beneath him,

“Sieun’s not wasting time on third-rate seniors jerking off their pride in some piss-soaked tunnel where even the rats have more self-respect than you lot.”

He stepped forward, the concrete scraping under his shoes.

“But me?” His voice dropped, low and cruel. “I’ve been itching for a warm-up.”

And that was it. The room didn’t need more words. The disrespect landed like a slap.

The moment Seongje finished speaking, the first senior rushed at him. All bark, no thought, just swinging like a wild haymaker, directly lunging at him.

The punch came fast, wild, aimed straight for Seongje’s cheek. But Seongje had already stepped in, not back. His head tilted just enough to avoid the knuckle, and he drove his elbow into the guy’s ribs with a sickening crack.

“Should’ve shut that sewer mouth of yours, you fucking half-wit,” Seongje muttered, grabbing the guy’s collar and slamming his head into the tunnel wall.

Seongje smiled as he turned around to look at the main guy who was leaning against the wall watching. Seongje wanted to beat all his minions first and then go for him last. Drag it out. Dessert always tasted better when it screamed.

Before the body even hit the ground, the rest surged forward like hyenas surrounding him in two groups.

Seongje didn’t flinch. He grinned.

These wimps still want to split into two? Okay.

The next guy roared, “You motherfucking punk —!”

Fist incoming. Wild. Seongje caught it mid-air, twisted the wrist, yanked him forward, and kneed him in the stomach. As the guy folded, he grabbed the back of his head and hammered it into his own knee.

He spun, but a third guy slammed into his side like a truck, knocking him into the grimy tunnel wall. His spine cracked against the tiles. Someone kicked him in the ribs while he was pinned.

“FUCKER! WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?”

Seongje gasped innocently and dramatically, “Your fucking dad,” and headbutted the guy on his left, hard. Bone met bone.

Pain shot through his own skull. Fuck, that one hurt.

Seongje didn’t really care because the pain dissolved within seconds as adrenaline clawed his insides, tearing through the skin of patience he had put up.

“God, I have missed this.”

Seongje looked at the guy to his right and grinned like he had seen a treat. The guy tugged him by his collar. Seongje allowed it as he slammed Seongje down on the concrete.

The guy on top tried to pummel him — landed two punches to his face.

Blood. Sweet. Seongje spat red and rammed his forehead up, got the bastard’s chin.

He flipped him over, mounted, and drove his fist into the guy’s jaw once, twice, three times, till his eyes rolled back. “You like labels, yeah, and poking people’s foreheads?” Seongje sneered. He yanked out a marker from his own pocket, scribbled “Bitch” on the guy’s forehead, and smacked him across the face again before he got up looking expectantly at the others.

“Hit him, you dumb fucks! What are you waiting for? There’s fucking fifteen of you!” someone shouted, voice cracking behind Seongje like they were ashamed to be on the same side as the seniors.

Seongje slammed backwards into the wall, crushing the guy behind him. Elbows shot out. He spun, yanked the guy’s head forward, facing him towards the others, and bit his fucking ear.

“FUCK! YOU CRAZY BASTARD!”

Blood spilled. The guy howled, rolling on the floor. Seongje just rolled his eyes, it was just a nibble – it's not his fault he had sharp teeth.

Yeah, scream more. Music to my goddamn ears.

“I don’t like you. You are not tasty,” Seongje said, kicking the guy’s ankles.

A shoulder rammed him from the side, sending him slamming back into the wall, further inside the tunnel now. His skull rang. His body ached for more. The tunnel spun for a second, his knees skidding on the wet area of the tunnel, but his hands moved before he even thought. He twisted and jammed his thumb into the attacker’s eye socket. Not deep enough to blind, but deep enough to send him shrieking backwards.

Seongje caught the guy next to him by the throat, reeling him backwards. Another one he recognised. The guy fought him back, punching him square in the head. It barely moved Seongje’s head.

“You call this a beating? This is foreplay,” Seongje spat, laughing. “You’re so fucking dead, you piece of shit!” the guy gritted through his teeth as he tilted his head. Three more guys stepped behind Seongje.

“Fucking pussies, I’ll deal with you in just a minute sweetheart,” Seongje spat in the guy’s face. Literally.

“You’re dead, fuckhead.”

“You know who you’re fucking with?”

“Yeah,” Seongje snarled, “a bunch of soft-ass dicks who jump people fifteen-on-one.”

Seongje just laughed and rushed the middle guy, feinted left, and then spun and kicked the guy on the right full in the kneecap. The crunch was audible. The boy went down screaming.

The left one grabbed Seongje from behind in a choke.

“Fucking squirm now, you little shit!”

Veins bulged in Seongje’s temple. He stomped hard on the guy’s foot, then threw his head back — smash — right into the nose again.

The grip loosened. Seongje turned and punched him in the throat.

The last one of the three cracked Seongje hard across the face, finally getting a clean punch in.

Blood came out from Seongje’s nose.

He grinned through it, licking the blood from his lip. “There we go.”

He punched, once, square to the jaw. The guy crumpled like a sack of rice

Seongje took out a ramen place pamphlet from his pocket, looking at the guy against the wall who tried to back up as Seongje displayed it proudly in front of him, wiping the blood off his nose and crumpling it in his hand.

“You threw the paper ball right? You did it to me as well in the library last year, I know, you fucking dickwipe” Seongje moved towards him. “Since you like paper so much, chew on that,” he said, grabbing the guy’s jaw and shoving the paper down his throat and pushing him towards the other side.

“Still cocky, fucker?” Seongje said, looking back at the main guy who still stood there not participating in the fight.

More hands grabbed him, dragging him back by his hoodie, fists coming in from every angle. A shoe spike struck his spine. A hand yanked his hair. Seongje dealt with each and every one of them.

Every punch Seongje did had a rhythm.

One to the throat, knock the breath out.
One to the nose, disorienting.
One to the temple, drop.

From behind, another screamed, “This fucker’s insane! CALL BACKUP!”

More footsteps.

More shouting.

Phones dialing.

“HE’S FUCKING KILLING US — BRING EVERYONE — EVERYONE!”

Panic in their voices now.

“Hyung, he’s fucking destroying us! Why are you just standing there?!”

“CALL THE OTHERS!”

“What do you mean they don’t want to fight this psycho?!”

Another guy rushed him with a flying kick, a textbook shit. Seongje sidestepped and clotheslined him in mid-air.

“Nice jump, ballerina.”

More voices. They kept increasing. This was getting better.

He couldn’t hear them through the ringing in his ears and the pounding of blood in his head. His body was on fire: aching, stinging, breaking — and he loved it.

Seongje could barely breathe but he liked it. His shoulder throbbed but he felt his reflexes returning to him. His lip was split clean open but it wasn't that bad. His fists still moved. His feet still planted. He was still standing. Finally, a real fucking warm-up.

Seongje looked at the main guy as he stood up, slapping another guy coming his way but immediately helped him up. “Oh, you’re the camera guy? Sorry. Sorry, you might want to record this. You can go stand there.”

“What’s wrong, you bastard? Waiting for me to finish warming up on your dickless backup dancers first? Or you’re scared I’ll rearrange that pretty face your mom still kisses goodnight? I have noticed that you have been standing there with your thumb up your ass this whole time. Come down here and I’ll help you pull it out,” Seongje said, making grabby hug hands affectionately as he threw his head back and laughed.

“You don’t know who my mother is, you fucking lowlife,” the kid snapped.

“I do, in fact. On the board, right? So? You’re going to get me kicked out? I would like to see you try,” Seongje smirked, challengingly stepping forward.

“Heard you don’t even have a mother, Keum? Heard she killed herself. Awww,” the guy said, not backing down.

“It’s funny you see that. Are you interested in seeing her? I could send you to meet her now,” Seongje said blandly.

Seongje’s margin of error snapped partially.

━━━━━━━━━

Sieun was sure he hadn’t reached in time.
It was partially his fault too. He had missed the shuttle and run all the way — nearly twenty buildings. He wasn’t even tired. Not at all, surprisingly.

He leaned against one of the light poles, catching his breath before walking to the curve of the humanities tunnel. He didn’t see anyone around the turn, no one looking out from the nearest humanities building.

Was it over? Was it already over?

Sieun ran again toward the tunnel opening and stopped in front of it.

His eyes took a second to adjust to the murky dark. The air was thick with rust, blood, and the stinging scent of sweat-soaked concrete. Then his gaze swept across the carnage.

It wasn’t over.
But it was a mess.

Bodies. Everywhere.

Some slumped against the walls, unconscious or groaning. One was curled into himself, hand clamped over what looked like a shattered kneecap. Another had vomited on the floor, blood streaming from his nose. Someone was crying quietly, hiccuping on the verge of a breakdown. One of them was barely conscious. Another had “Bitch” scribbled across his forehead in red ink.

When Sieun stepped into the tunnel, he saw him — Seongje.

The main guy, the one he recognized, was straddling Seongje’s chest. His fists hammered down in a frenzied rhythm, left, right, left, right. Seongje managed to stop most of them. He didn’t even look like he was trying to push the guy off. The other guy, on the contrary, was screaming something, spit flying from his mouth, rage radiating from his whole body.

And Seongje?

Seongje was laughing.

The guy landed a hard blow to Seongje’s mouth, jerking his head sideways.

Sieun saw it. Seongje’s eyes — very much intact — were not dazed. They were moving. Alert.

And they were looking at him.

“You think you won, fucking weakling?” Seongje asked, spitting blood to the side as he looked at the guy, who just shook his head.

“You’re fucking done, Keum. Just fold already. More bastards are crawling in, and you’re hanging by a thread like some worn-out piece of shit, you clueless son of a bitch,” the guy said, getting up and kicking Seongje.

“You… You…”

Sieun watched Seongje laugh as he glanced at the guy and then back at the tunnel ceiling.

“You are in my margin of error. It’s cracked,” Seongje said, turning slightly on the concrete, still laughing.

Sieun heard it.

He registered the sentence.
He had heard it before.
He was the one who said this before.
He knew what it meant.

How did Seongje know? Maybe someone in the Union had told him.

Sieun wasn’t going to fight.

Sieun was going to do what he did best.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t shout.

He moved. Fast.

It barely took a second. His pen was already in hand. He launched forward, shoulder low, slamming the guy off of Seongje’s chest with a full-bodied shove. The man stumbled back with a startled grunt, just long enough for Sieun to grab his wrist and twist.

And then with surgical precision bundled with the frustrations of the entire day. Sieun stabbed the pen into the guy’s hand.

Right through the flesh between the thumb and forefinger.

The guy’s scream echoed through the tunnel.

“AAHH—! What the hell?!”

The pen stuck halfway in. Blood welled around the metal. It wasn’t his usual pen. It was one of the pens Seongje had given him. Sieun didn’t flinch.

Sieun almost smiled, he didnt know why but the rush of being able to hold his ground again because of the pen flushed right in him.

He yanked the guy down by his collar, shoving him against the wall, breathing hard. His other hand clenched around the guy’s shirt, dragging him close.

Their faces were inches apart.

“You gonna kiss him or what? Didn’t know you were into this kind of thing, Newbie,” Seongje croaked behind him.

Sieun closed his eyes, shook his head, and pulled the pen out of the guy’s hand making him yelp. He tossed it toward Seongje.

He threw it at Seongje.

Sieun looked back at the guy in front of him.

His voice was quiet, but there was nothing soft in it.

“Apologize.”

“In your fucking dreams. You think this is over? Nuh-uh,” the guy said.

Sieun slammed his fist into the wall beside the guy’s head, just missing.

His tone sharpened like a blade as he yelled,

“APOLOGIZE!”

Sieun’s eyes were dead-locked on him.

The guy nodded and mumbled a low sorry. He knew there was no other way out.

Sieun pushed him aside and looked back at Seongje, who was still on the ground.

Seongje was hurt. That was obvious.

Sieun’s mind went blank again. He didn’t know what to do. He leaned his head against the tunnel wall.

“Are we going to get expelled?” Sieun asked in a low voice, the question directed at Seongje.

“No way. I made some arrangements. Where the fuck is he? Camera!” Seongje called out, as a guy stepped out from deeper inside the tunnel.

“Here,” the guy said in a meek voice. Sieun noticed he was unharmed compared to the others.

“Hand it over,” Seongje said, pointing at the camera.“Or this guy will kill you,” he added, pointing at Sieun.

Sieun took the camera and frowned at Seongje.

There was something seriously wrong with him.

“If we go down, everyone in this place goes down,” Seongje said, coughing as he pointed at the camera.

Sieun looked at it — the footage. The entire fight. He stopped the recording.

It was over. The fight was over.

Seongje slowly pushed himself up, his hands gripping the tunnel floor for support.

Sieun moved forward to help, but Seongje got up before he could.

“Stingy prick. Couldn’t even give me a hand to get up,” Seongje chuckled. He took out his glasses from an inner pocket, padded in cloth, and put them on. His eyes adjusted slowly.

"I did try you got up before I could"

“I’m going. Are you coming? I’m bored and it’s late,” he said, turning to look at the main guy.

“You guys fought amongst yourselves. If this version changes, you’re fucked,” Seongje said as he walked out of the tunnel slowly.

“Keum!” the guy called out. Sieun followed Seongje.

“What now, fucker?” Seongje spat.

“See you at Gorae Bae. You too, pretty boy,” he said, turning to Sieun with a crooked smile.

“What did he say?” Seongje asked, not hearing properly.

“I don’t know. Just walk,” Sieun replied, not able to hear it either.

“You look like shit,” Sieun said as they walked slowly.

“I think I look sexy. That was fun,” Seongje smirked.

“I told you not to do this,” Sieun sighed.

“I didn’t do it for you. I didn’t like them myself,” Seongje said.

“Why?” Sieun asked.

“None of your business,” Seongje muttered.

Sieun’s phone rang.

It was Baku. Multiple missed calls from him too.

“I told him to wait in the waiting area,” Sieun muttered as he picked up the call.

“Where are you?” Baku asked.

“I told you I had some urgent work. Are you still in the waiting area?” Sieun asked.

“When did you tell me? What waiting area? I called to say I was late because of the rush, but I’m here now,” Baku said.

“What do you mean? I just saw you a while back,” Sieun said.

“Are you okay?” Baku asked, concerned.

“Yes, I must’ve seen someone else. I’m coming,” Sieun said as he ended the call.

“I’m sure I saw Baku,” Sieun said, looking at Seongje, who handed him his bag.

“You forgot this,” Seongje said as Sieun took it.

“Thank you,” Sieun replied.

“For what?” Seongje asked.

“Recognise. Friend. Save. Run,” Sieun said as Seongje looked at him, confused.

“What the fuck are you on about?”

“It’s the margin of error,” Sieun said, his voice soft.

Recognise — Seongje recognized what was wrong.

Friend — he acted like one.

Save — he fought. He liked fighting, but he still fought.

Run — he didn’t let Sieun run away. In his own uncanny way, he made sure Sieun acted too.

Of course, Sieun didn’t explain. The meaning was his to keep.

“Can you go on your own?” Sieun asked, his voice back to normal — bland.

“Would you help me if I couldn’t?” Seongje asked.

“No,” Sieun said.

But of course he would.

Even if Seongje was annoying.

Sieun just shook his head and turned to walk away when a warm hand shot out, grabbing his wrist – firm, fast, grounding.

“What are you doing?” he asked, confused, but Seongje didn’t answer right away.

“Stay still,” Seongje muttered, voice low, almost distracted.

He let go, exhaled, then rolled his shoulders with a quiet, pained groan. His movements were stiff, the kind that spoke of sore muscles, bruises just settling into place. Then, without warning, Seongje reached for the hem of his hoodie and began tugging it upward.

Sieun blinked.

What is this? What’s he doing? Why is he taking it off? Do i have to stand here?

But his thoughts scattered when the hoodie began riding up.

The shirt beneath caught and lifted with the motion, revealing skin, then the first the curve of Seongje’s lower abdomen, then higher.

Sieun’s eyes tracked the motion before he could stop himself. Sieun had always been an observer even in times he shouldn’t

The brief flash of skin turned into a slow, accidental reveal: a torso carved by use, not vanity. Lean, defined muscles traced across his stomach was not exaggerated bulk, but the kind of natural strength built from real fights, real movement. Toned abs, clearly visible, caught the faint light. His waist tapered inward, but his chest and shoulders flared out with just enough broadness to make Sieun feel — irrationally — cornered. There was a smattering of faint scars near his ribs. The bruises were newer, angry blotches of red and purple just beginning to bloom near his ribs and shoulder. But even that didn’t dull the visual. If anything, it made him look better, Sieun knew those would heal in a few days.

Sieun’s gaze dropped before he could catch himself staring — then snapped away altogether, mortified.

But Seongje struggled.

He winced as the sleeves bunched above his shoulders, arms caught awkwardly in the hoodie.

“Fucking—ow—”

Without thinking, Sieun stepped in.

“Stop moving,” he muttered, voice quieter now, hand brushing against Seongje’s side as he reached up and pulled the fabric free.

The touch was brief, clinical.

But still his fingertips dragged over warm skin and the hard shape of muscle underneath.

The hoodie came off. The moment didn’t.

Sieun handed it off wordlessly, but his eyes kept darting anywhere but back to Seongje’s face.

And in his chest, something unfamiliar twisted. Not just embarrassment. Not just the rush of noticing someone’s body. It was awareness that was sharp and unwelcome.

“Here,” Seongje said, handing Sieun the hoodie.

Sieun looked at him. “What?”

“Wipe the blood off your hands, idiot. Park Humin will lose his mind if he sees it,” Seongje said, pointing at the side of Sieun’s hand where the blood had smeared from using the pen.

“Oh. Okay,” Sieun said, caught off guard. He hadn’t even noticed.

He used the sleeve to wipe it off. The hoodie was already dirty, and he knew this would stain it more — not that it mattered. It looked expensive.

He glanced at Seongje, then back at his own hands. Seongje was still staring at him.

Feeling the heat of it, Sieun quickly shoved the hoodie back into his arms and walked away, his head was throbbing he needed a painkiller for it. He gently massaged his head as he walked, he had not eaten the entire day. He also felt a little dizzy.

He headed toward the main gate with quick steps, on his way to meet Baku. Once or twice, he looked back. Just to check.

Seongje was far behind, walking slowly.

Sieun stopped when he reached the gate.

Baku was there.

But standing in front of him was someone else — another Baku?

Sieun blinked. The formal clothes gave it away. It was the man he’d bumped into earlier.

The crazy day just kept going on and on and on for Sieun, he couldn't even see anything anymore he just dropped to the floor his vision black.

"Suho, I almost fought again, I did it for Seongje – I liked it, the rush", Sieun mumbled to himself before blacking out.

Seongje wasn’t his friend.
Seongje wasn’t Suho.
Seongje wasn’t his enemy.
Seongje was in the past.
Seongje was in the present.

Seongje was nothing.

But he was Keum Seongje's margin of error ?

━━━━━━━━━

💌 - the idea of being someone's "margin of error" is being the buffer zone of being a tragedy and miracle in their lives.

━━━━━━━━━

━━━━━━━━━

Sieun heard voices.
He did not recognise both of them.

“We should be waiting here to question him when he wakes up. Did you find him in the records?”
“I did. Crazy little punk — he was infamous in his old neighborhood. Took out a few kids, broke a knee with a dumbbell, stabbed some kid’s neck with a pen. One even died — not directly by his hands, but the kid still ended up dead.”
“No legalities?”
“The dead kid was involved in some fucked-up shit himself. They expelled this one instead, case closed.”
“So, he’s fighting at university now? Kids these days will do anything but study.”
“No, that was another one — a full-head lunatic.”
“Why?”
“He took on a fight, fifteen versus one, and beat the absolute dogshit out of all of them. Got injured himself, stopped for a bit, then the investigative officer said he went back and beat the crap out of them again for round two.”
“That’s fucking insane.”
“We’re not questioning this one. Whoever complained is already crawling back to take it off record.”
“You look like you wouldn’t have questioned the bastard even if there was one.”
“I’d have preferred not to. You see that doctor standing outside? I’ve seen that son of a bitch before, in a sting op two years ago he was younger then, but it’s better not to cross him.”
“Why?”
“The people he knows — and was with — are dangerous as hell. High reach.”
“Gangs?”
“Worse. These guys have the cops by the balls, several bent over by bribes”
“…Fuck.”

Sieun’s head hurt, a deep pounding that made him turn onto his side and slip back into sleep.
He didn’t know how many minutes had passed before he surfaced again.

Sieun heard voices again.
One he recognised, one he didn’t. The one he recognized was Baku's as he turned his head to look towards the side, where the voices came from.

“So, my dad asked you to pay for my university?” Baku said.
“No—he didn’t ask me. I chose to,” the other voice replied.
Baku let out a slow sigh. “I’ll pay you back the entire amount in full.”
“No need. It’s your money, Humin,” the guy said.
“No. It is not.
“It is. Why do you insist on disregarding me as your brother?”
“Why do you insist on proving that you are?” Baku shot back.
“Because I am,” the guy said, his voice carrying a strange mix of insistence and confusion. 

Brother? Sieun’s mind caught on the word. Suddenly, it made sense. They looked freakishly alike when he had seen them at the university gate—not twins, but their facial features were undeniably similar. The difference was in their builds: Baku was broader, while the other guy was leaner, maybe an inch shorter. His posture and the sharpness in his gaze made him seem older—more settled, more mature.

“Just for show,” Baku said bitterly. “All I’ve ever had, thanks to you, is comparison. Eun Gyeol is this, Eun Gyeol is that—”
“Comparison? Me? Because of me?” The guy scoffed. “Don’t even joke. You think everything’s been easy for me?”
“What hasn’t been easy for you? Eun Gyeol, top of the class. Eun Gyeol, top of the school. Eun Gyeol, everyone’s favourite. Eun Gyeol, who is always right. Eun Gyeol—Eun Gyeol—Eun Gyeol. Fuck off.” Baku’s voice rose sharply.
“You are fucking ridiculous,” the guy said, voice sharpened to a knife’s edge. “I see you after so many years and this is what you have to say to me?”
“Why have you come back? And please—don’t act like you didn’t know what’s going on,” Baku said.
“Oh? And why do you say so?” the guy replied, turning fully toward him.

Sieun stirred again, his hand stiff as he turned away, letting the voices of the too-personal conversation fade as he drifted back to sleep.

Sieun heard voices again when he got up for the third time, this time properly.
His eyes opened properly—dim lights swam into view, accompanied by the steady beep of a nearby machine.
He recognised every voice around him, and right beside him was a scent he knew instantly.

Suho 

“Suho, you’re here?” Sieun asked, trying to push himself up, clinging to Suho’s arm for support.

“Wait—wait, what are you doing? Are you up? Hold on, let me help you sit,” Suho said quickly, his voice a mix of concern and urgency. Sieun felt himself being eased upright against the pillow. Around him, he caught the shuffle of movement—Baku rising from his chair, Gotak glancing up from his phone, and Juntae stepping closer.

He looked around, the scene slowly settling into focus. It was familiar—too familiar—and something about it twisted his stomach in an uncomfortable way.

“Hospital?” Sieun asked quietly.

“You passed out. I’d come to pick you up. I saw you out of the corner of my eye, and then you just… fell,” Baku said, resting a gentle hand on Sieun’s shoulder.

Sieun leaned back against the pillow, rubbing his temples. The ache in his head was still there, but it wasn’t as sharp as it had been the last two times he’d woken up.

The door clicked open, and Sieun saw the man he’d noticed earlier with Baku step inside. He was dressed in a crisp white doctor’s coat over formal attire, his gaze sweeping over the group before settling on Sieun.

“Give him some space—don’t crowd him like that,” the man said.

“Park Eun Gyeol,” Baku introduced, a hint of reluctance in his tone. “My older cousin.”

“Hello, Sieun,” Eun Gyeol greeted, his voice calm and professional. “May I conduct a small check-up? Nothing big—just the basics.”

If he was related to Baku, then he was safe. Sieun gave a small nod.

“Stay still for a moment. You were out cold for a while, you did get up twice but in a haze—any dizziness now?”
“It’s… throbbing, the temple area but not much.”
“Throbbing pain? Scale of one to ten.”
“Around four.”
“Blurred vision? Sensitivity to light?”
“Vision’s fine… just feels like there might be some brain fog.”
“There’s a painkiller in the drip—it has worked so that is good. Did you vomit by any chance, or feel nauseous?”
“Yes. Twice.”
You’ve got a mild dehydration headache, and your blood sugar tanked.”
“Is it okay now?”
“Blood pressure’s at 108 over 72, pulse 78—so you’re stable. No obvious cranial trauma. Pupils are equal and reactive… grip my hands.”
“Why?”
“Neurological check.”

Sieun complied, his fingers tightening around Eun Gyeol’s hands. The man gave a small nod. “Good. Neurological response is normal—no slurred speech, no motor weakness. You’ve responded well to the IV. I’ll remove it now and switch you to oral rehydration.”

“Luckily, your head landed on grass when you fainted—but I still need to check for swelling or cuts and run an assessment. No need for an audience; please wait outside and come back in a few minutes,” Eun Gyeol said.

“No, we’ll stay here,” Baku said.

“I don’t recall asking for your permission, Humin. I’m the doctor here—you do as I say.” Eun Gyeol’s voice was sharp, and Gotak and Suho immediately sprang up to usher Juntae and Baku out. Baku resisted, but was moved out anyway.

“We’re outside,” Baku called, sticking his head back in through the doorway as if he meant to tell

“Give me your hand,” Eun Gyeol said quickly as his friends left.

“What—why?” Sieun asked, startled.

“There’s blood under your fingernails. Right hand,” Eun Gyeol replied, already reaching for his bag. “I won’t ask where it’s from, but it’s not from a skin tear or biting your nails.”

Sieun glanced down in surprise. He hadn’t even noticed it.

It was the blood from earlier, residual, left over from stabbing the guy in the hand just hours ago.

“Baku might not notice such things,” Eun Gyeol continued as he pulled out an antiseptic wipe and a small orange cuticle stick, “but I do. I’m a doctor.”

He worked with precise, unhurried movements, scraping away the dark traces from under Sieun’s nails.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve been more careful,” Sieun said quietly. “Baku’s never mentioned you before. Neither has Gotak.”

Eun Gyeol gave the faintest smile. “I know. It’s his habit to pretend I don’t exist… but I know about you, Yeon Sieun.”

Sieun blinked. “How?”

“Baekjin told me,” Eun Gyeol replied, his tone casual but his focus fixed on Sieun’s hands.

Sieun froze, the name hanging in the air. “…Baekjin?”

“Yes, Baekjin.… Baku’s—” he tilted his head, “—enemy, friend, best friend, boyfriend? Their relationship was… complicated.”

“What was your relationship with him?” Sieun asked, cautious.

“Acquaintance,” Eun Gyeol said simply. “He was also my patient—he used to visit me.”

“When he was injured?”

“Yes. But not physically—mentally.”

“Is that why Baku is—?” Sieun hesitated.

“—displeased to see me?” Eun Gyeol finished, his voice even. “Yes. He hated that Baekjin came to me. But what was I supposed to do? Baku refused to speak to him, and Baekjin—being the same age—needed an outlet. I just happened to be there.”

Eun Gyeol placed Sieun’s hand back on the blanket with a quiet, “All done.”

“Did he come to you because… you and Baku look alike?” Sieun asked.

“No. I’ve treated both of them, Humin and Baekjin since middle school whenever I had the chance to. It’s instinct. But I couldn’t fix everything,” Eun Gyeol said, leaning back slightly.

Sieun suddenly remembered Baekjin on the day of the fight—broken, betrayed, humiliated, exhausted beyond words. And now, sitting in front of him, was the man who had once treated that same boy’s injuries when he was a child. It left a strange, uneasy feeling in Sieun’s chest.

“Sorry,” Sieun murmured.

“For what?” Eun Gyeol’s voice sharpened—not in volume, but in precision. “For hitting Baekjin? For fighting him two-on-one? For using an iron spike knuckle on him?” He looked at Sieun’s hands again, now clean. “These hands—you hit him with these very hands. You had his blood on them.”

“I understand your anger,” Sieun said.

Sieun understood the anger, it was justified that doctors don't differentiate between their patients. Sieun did not regret taking the Union down and fighting Baekjin for it because in that time they were right, but the method could have even better.

“You don’t,” Eun Gyeol replied flatly. “Because you and Baku didn’t fight fair. I’ve heard from people who were there. It’s… surprising, really. The audacity—Baku preaching non-violence and fair fights all these years, then turning around and doing that.” He crossed his arms, disbelief flickering in his expression.

“He was hurt. Baekjin hurt people close to him,” Sieun said.

“I understand how he feels and why he had to take that decision,” Eun Gyeol admitted. “But does that justify it? Isn’t it hypocritical? His rules on violence—he used it to protect Go Hyuntak, and then used the same violence to hurt Baekjin. Would he have done the same if it was the other way around?.”

“They—Baekjin and his people they hurt Gotak. His knee,” Sieun said as he realized that Eun Gyeol wasn't very pleased to seem him but was trying to be professional.

“I know. I treated it. Hyuntak’s mom came to me. Baku doesn’t know.”

Sieun nodded slowly, he hadn’t known either.

“You have the right to be disappointed in me,” Sieun said after a pause. “If I could go back, I wouldn’t have used the iron brace.”

And that was the truth. He had regretted it almost immediately after the fight when everyone was partying at the diner. Sieun was no stranger to using tools in fights, but this… this had gone too far. He knew it. He also knew he was angry and had no choice.

“Turn your head to the side,” Eun Gyeol said, fingers palpating along Sieun’s scalp while shining a penlight. “No tenderness, no swelling, no signs of contusion.”

Sieun watched him jot something on his clipboard before rising from his chair and stepping toward the door. “Come in, it’s done,” he called, and a few seconds later his friends filed back in, Baku casting a suspicious glance at his cousin.

“Did he say anything to you?” Baku asked, cautious.

"No, just checked the side of my head", Sieun lied.

"Is he okay now hyung?", Gotak asked 

"Since when do you call him that?", Baku snapped.

"Shut up", Gotak and Eun Gyeol said together 

“Yes, he’s fine. He just needs rest, proper meals, and to stay hydrated—otherwise his blood sugar could drop again. It can happen to anyone,” the doctor said as he settled into the chair beside Sieun once more.

“Sieun, why were the police here?” Juntae asked quietly. All of them looked at Sieun, but he turned his gaze to the doctor, recalling fragments of the conversation he’d overheard when he first woke up.

“That’s what I want to know. Weird guys—they came, looked at you, and left,” Suho said.

"If I tell them, then I will have to tell them about Seongje and all of they won't take the news the same way that Juntae did when I told him."

“There was a fight at his university—third years against juniors. I happened to be there collecting paperwork from the medical faculty and saw it. He was involved, so it’s standard procedure they question him after speaking to the others,” Eun Gyeol said, his tone even and unreadable.

"That is true but not entirely"

“You fought?” Suho asked immediately, eyes fixed on Sieun, waiting for an answer.

“Well… not exactly the way you’re thinking,” Sieun said. “I used my pen—no fists. Just scratched someone’s arm.”

"Lies, Lies , Lies", he had stabbed someone in the hand and he couldn't believe he was lying to Suho of all people.

Baku crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall with a grim look. “Huh. I caught bits of their chatter outside. They were talking about Keum Seongje.”

Sieun shot a quick glance at Juntae. Juntae’s subtle shake of his head said it all like a silent we’re busted between them.

"Who is that?", Suho asked.

“That crazy guy who kept hitting everyone after three seconds. Remember? I told you,” Gotak said.

Suho rubbed his chin, piecing it together. “Right, right. So why was he even there?”

Baku’s tone was sharp, a little wary. “He’s a senior. If it was seniors squaring off against juniors, he must have been fighting against you?"

Gotak blinked, eyebrows shooting up. “Seongje goes to SNU? Seriously?” He glanced at Juntae, disbelief written all over his face.

Juntae shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe that whole story about him going overseas was just a load of crap.”

“No, he wasn’t against anyone,” Sieun said firmly. “He’s a second year, not a third"

He kept his voice steady, careful to tell the truth while burying the messy parts deep down. Deep down, he knew his friends would never buy the idea that Seongje actually fought for someone else.

“Why didn’t the officers wait to question you?” Baku asked, but his gaze was clearly fixed on Eun Gyeol rather than Sieun.

“Because I told them to leave. They won’t trouble you,” Eun Gyeol said, glancing at Sieun, then back at Baku.

“Why would they listen to you?” Baku shot back, skeptical.

“Because people listen to me. You, of all people, should know that. And it’s standard procedure that they can’t be here without a formal complaint,” Gyeol replied, his tone sharp and unyielding.

"Did Seongje get into legal trouble? This won't be the first time. Why did he have to go back and hit them again for the second time? Is he crazy? Ofcourse he is.'

Sieun remembered how the police had showed up when Seongje and his friends had practically somewhat abducted Gotak and Juntae and bound them to the rooftop when Sieun had to go fight Seongje to get them out. Seongje had deserved the hassle at that time, even though that wasn't Sieun's intention.
But this was different, even though Sieun had not told Seongje to fight for him, he did.

Do you enjoy art?” Eun Gyeol asked suddenly, glancing at the group.

“What?” Baku said, raising an eyebrow.

“Come on, let’s go check out some artwork,” Gyeol said brightly, clapping his hands.

“In a hospital?” Juntae asked, incredulous.

“Exactly,” Gyeol replied with a grin. “Sieun needs a bit of movement anyway, or his legs will stiffen up.” He stood up, motioning for them to follow.

“Come on, come on,” he urged the group.

The five exchanged glances, then slowly got up, though Baku lingered, reluctant. Juntae stepped forward to take Sieun’s hand, while Suho fell in behind, Baku and Gotak trailing after.

Eun Gyeol guided them down the hospital corridor, his hand pressing the lift button in the lobby. They waited silently for a few moments.

“What are you doing?” Baku asked, frowning.

“Be patient,” Gyeol replied, stepping into the lift with the group following close behind. The lift dinged and opened two floors below.

“Come, take a look at this,” Eun Gyeol said, gesturing toward a large ward filled with rows of hospital beds, each occupied.

Sieun froze.
He recognised the people, the faces occupying those beds. It was the third years, several of them. They had been beaten straight to the hospital, it looked almost humiliating.

“Looks like Keum Seongje is dabbling in his kind of art again,” Eun Gyeol said, his eyes flicking to Gotak and Baku.

“You know him?” Juntae asked, curiosly.

“As much as I should, yes,” Eun Gyeol replied, “But Baekjin has told me enough about him.”

“Of course he has,” Baku muttered, the edge in his voice betraying his annoyance.

“Seongje’s art isn’t gentle,” Eun Gyeol continued, his voice low. “His canvas is alive, his colors red, and his medium…fighting. Every punch, every elbow, every body slammed against walls or floor is calculated, precise, a stroke in a brutal masterpiece. Blood spatters where he wants it, pain shapes the composition, screams become the texture. Watching him fight is like standing in a gallery of violence, seeing beauty in destruction, and knowing the artist thrives in the carnage.”

“This Seongje did all this to the seniors?” Suho asked, his voice tight. Gyeol nodded slowly.

“Yes,” he said, his tone cold and deliberate. “I didn’t need to show this to you, but I figured you should see it—before either of you gets any wild ideas and decides to throw yourself into a fight… unfairly, again.” His words cut through the air like a blade, landing hard even on Suho, who immediately grasped the weight behind them.

"Of course he would say this, It is precaution, he lost one of his patient's because of the fight"

“You really need to stop rubbing it in,” Baku snapped.

“I’m not,” Eun Gyeol said, voice cool but firm. “Just clarifying—what happened today, Seongje wasn’t wrong. I have zero interest in adding another patient to my list, so hands off, Humin. Sieun can fill you in if you’re that curious. And Sieun, rest. You’re registered for overnight observation. People will be checking in, but this is just precautionary. I don’t need Baku losing his mind.”

"I'll tell them what I think is right, specially if Baku wants to know, it's okay if this is want the doctor wants to do because of his anger on me using the iron brace. I accept"

“We’ll stay,” Suho said quickly.

“No need. Go back home and come tomorrow,” the doctor said, fishing something out of his pocket—keys, car keys—and handing them to Gotak.

“Take it. You guys should have one for mobility. Papers are inside the car,” Eun Gyeol added.

“We don’t need this,” Baku said.

“Again, I don’t remember asking for your permission. Plus, I promised Gotak years ago that I would buy him one on his 18th birthday. Consider this a gift—it’s practically new,” Eun Gyeol said with a small smile as he walked away.

“Whoa… they look like shit, fuck,” Gotak muttered, staring at the people through the glass.

“He fought them alone,” Suho said, still watching through the glass.

“How can you be so sure?” Juntae asked.

“The doctor said so, and if you look at the line of punch bruises and injuries, some patterns match. Same style. I used to analyze injury patterns back in the day to recognize pain points,” Suho explained. Sieun smiled faintly; of course, Suho was reminiscing about his MMA training days.

“Fine, he did this. I don’t have much to say - for now, but you will stay away from him. Keum Seongje is bad news,” Baku said.

“We agree,” Suho and Gotak chimed in together.

"Sieun stay away from the this guy he sounds like trouble", Suho repeated separately 

Okay, you guys should go back. It’s late, and I’m fine,” Sieun said.

“Don’t go to university tomorrow,” Gotak warned.

“I will. I’m fine, but I’ll go late,” Sieun replied.

"I have to go and talk to Seongje"

“See? He doesn’t listen to anyone,” Suho scoffed, shaking Sieun’s shoulders.

“I have to study,” Sieun said, rolling his eyes as the group started walking back to his assigned room.

“Do you have your pen?” Suho asked. Sieun glanced down at his hospital nightshirt and shook his head, a small wave of anxiety rising in his chest.

“Don’t worry. It’s on the side table,” Suho said with a smile, heading ahead with Gotak and Baku.

“Do what you want and talk to whoever you want. Don’t listen to them—they can put those restrictions on themselves,” Juntae said, squeezing Sieun’s hand.

“Thank you. The doctor was right—Seongje was on the right side. He fought for me. I know it’s surprising, but it’s true,” Sieun nodded, he was slightly thankful but he couldn't trust Seongje's intentions entirely.

“Seongje fights like crazy,” Juntae said.

“I’ve seen him fight before, I have fought him before as well but this was… slightly different. I’m not sure how, but it makes sense why they call him Mad Dog,” Sieun replied. 

You look disturbed,” Juntae said.

“I am. I don’t know, Juntae—I’m not used to being saved. I don’t want to be saved. And every time someone has tried, it’s been… not right. Suho did the same thing back in middle school. He broke the hands of the guys who stamped on my wrist, and you see what happened to Suho, right?” Sieun said.

“I understand. I also know you can’t trust Seongje, it’s obvious. We’ve been on opposite sides. Maybe he just fought because he wanted to. Maybe there was no intention of saving you in this,” Juntae said.

“He told me he didn’t like the seniors,” Sieun said quietly, eyes fixed on the floor.

“See? Motive,” Juntae replied.

“I’m tired. The whole day has been crazy. I just want to sleep. My mind’s been going back and forth all day, it’s been weird,” Sieun said.

Juntae gently tapped his arm. “Sometimes, feeling everything at once is necessary. It shows you who you really are. And… in your case, you need it more than you think.”

Sieun waved to his friends, assuring them he was fine's he watched them go and shut the hospital room door behind him as he went and lied down burying himself under the blanket as he closed his eyes, his body threatening to reiterate and live the spiral of emotions again as his fist caught hold of the sheets.

Worry struck first, sharp and relentless, as his body tensed with the memory of his own recklessness. He had run without thinking, sprinting across the campus, almost twenty buildings past, lungs burning and legs aching, driven purely by the gnawing need to find Seongje in the tunnel. Every step had been impulsive, heart hammering, as if the fear of not reaching him in time could physically crush him. His hands itched to act, to do something, anything to protect to figure out what was going on in that tunnel

Concern followed close behind, a heavier, more methodical tension curling in his gut. His first instinct had been to check if Seongje was okay, if he was functioning, alive and steady, before noticing anything else in the tunnel. The images of bruised bodies and groaning seniors pressed on the ground, but his mind fixated solely on the one he had to see – Seongje, sprawled amid the carnage, moving and laughing despite the chaos, a flicker of disbelief and awe tightening his stomach.

Guilt throbbed next, low and insistent, radiating from his chest to his shoulders. Every bruise, every spit of blood, every toppled senior screamed back at him. This—every collision, every strike, every whimpering groan—had happened because of him, his presence, his decisions. It was an almost physical ache, pulling at his muscles and making his jaw clench as if clenching harder could absorb some of the blame. Only if he had been normal and fell in line and done the dare.

Satisfaction burned unexpectedly, a dark, molten heat pooling in his core. He had watched the third-year seniors, cocky and cruel, finally taught a lesson, and the raw, unfiltered justice of it made his chest swell in a way that startled him. His fingers tingled, a flush of adrenaline running through his veins, as if the very act of witnessing their comeuppance was a reward in itself, a secret thrill that no one else would understand because he had been allowed to be a part of it as well, he had stabbed someone with his pen as well.

Fear lingered like a shadow, slipping in and out of his consciousness, cold and insistent. It ebbed every now and then, allowing fleeting moments of calm, yet resurfaced unpredictably—fear of the unknown, fear for Seongje, fear for the fragile balance they all walked on, a reminder that danger would never go, it was only momentarily postponed.

Relief followed, softer but no less profound, radiating through his chest and fingers. His friends, especially Baku, understood. They had seen the truth, the reality of Seongje’s actions of today and they won't fight him, and the worry that had gripped him since the tunnel had eased slightly. It was a warmth that allowed his shoulders to drop, a tiny exhale passing through him as he sank deeper into the bed, muscles loosening almost imperceptibly. He couldn't thank Seongje because he did not want him to fight in the first place, but the least he could do was be releieved that if not him the doctor had taken the initiative to prevent a brawl. 

The emotions kept changing one after the other as he changed sides on the bed every now and then.

Curiosity pricked at the edges of his mind, sharp and insistent. Questions lingered: how did Seok Dae know Seongje? Why had he been wandering the campus, seeking him out? The thoughts danced in his head, electric and uncomfortable, tugging at his attention despite the exhaustion that weighed down every limb.

Sadness pooled heavy and slow in his chest, cold and relentless. He had faced the doctor who had once treated Baekjin. Sieun was someone who had struck Baekjin the most after Baku. Seeing Baku’s face fall, the hurt and indignation as Eun Gyeol mentioned the unfair fight in the corridor, pressed against his own chest, making his heart ache and his eyes sting. Regret, empathy, helplessness—they all twisted inside him, leaving a lingering hollow in his stomach.

And then there was the mix of heat, shamelessness, and awkwardness, flushing through him like fire in his veins when he remembered Seongje’s bare torso. The subtle movement of muscle, the taut lines of abs, the absurdly casual way Seongje had struggled with his hoodie—everything had burned into his mind. His chest had tightened, a mix of attraction, shame, and a little thought of him staring more than he should have making him twist slightly in the sheets, as if his own body had been caught in the memory’s grasp.

The lingering warmth of adrenaline mingled with something far more intimate, leaving him flushed, self-conscious, and oddly alert.

Sieun opened his eyes, sitting up on the bed as his hand reached for the glass of water. He gulped it down and picked up his phone, scrolling through messages from his friends. The most recent was from Juntae.

Juntae ━

There’s been a problem.

We’re heading back home in the car and will drop Suho off as well.

The issue is… Baku and Eun Gyeol had a huge fight in the parking lot. Like, really huge.

Baku refused to get in the car and stormed off. Gotak and Suho are sure he’s going home, nowhere else.

Sieun tapped a reply without hesitation.

Sieun ━

What happened? Why did they fight?

Juntae ━

Don’t know exactly. We were in the car—they were shouting at each other on the other side of the parking lot.

The doctor handed something like a file to Baku, and he just walked away. Looked like he was in shock.

Sieun ━

Please take care of him.

Juntae ━

We will. I want to check on him, but Gotak says no. Suho insists Baku needs some time alone.

You should sleep. Don’t worry.

Sieun ━

Okay.

Sieun stared at his phone, uninterested in the other messages and texts. There was nothing from Seongje—no call, no text. He didn’t know why he had expected anything, or even held a flicker of hope when he couldn't trust the guy's intentions. A small, bitter pang of disappointment twisted in his chest.

The emotions coiled and unraveled, tightening and loosening in a rhythm he couldn’t escape. He lay back down, letting the bed swallow him.

“You don’t get to make me feel like this, Keum Seongje. Nobody has,” Sieun murmured, the words barely more than a whisper, almost swallowed by the dark room. Almost as if Seongje could hear it.

For a long moment, he just lay there, listening to his own heartbeat, each thump echoing the chaos of the day, wondering how someone so infuriating, so reckless, so impossible, could leave him feeling this unmoored and alive all at once.

━━━━━━━━━

ALMOST 1 YEAR OR MORE AGO –

Seongje was not an emotional person. He believed dwelling on smaller feelings was a distraction, which might explain why he never truly understood people. He only lived in moments that amused or satisfied him situations that sparked his interest. That was why he could never comprehend why the Union searched for him when he took a break, why did their faces scrawl with anxiety hearing that Seongje was not on their side? Why had Baekjin, of all people, pushed them to revolve around Park Humin as if the boy’s life were a pivot, a measure of their own worth? Love? Hate? Obsession? He could never tell, never grasp the reasoning behind it. He thought it was stupid.

The Eunjang kids across the river looked like soldiers in a war they hadn’t chosen, faces taut, shoulders squared, pride and hope shining faintly through their disciplined movements. They carried themselves as if the outcome mattered more than life itself, each step a declaration of confidence. Yet, beneath that rigid facade, Seongje could sense fear coiled tightly, ready to strike if anyone faltered. The raw, unspoken intensity of their youth cut sharper than any blow he could land, and the haunted look in the union members’ eyes as he watched from afar, betrayal, loss, confusion?

Then there were Sieun’s eyes. Dead, distant, but fleetingly alive when he came to collect proof the anticipation hiding beneath that usual calm. When Seongje had jokingly asked for a kiss—hesitation. When Seongje has kissed him—acceptance. Those moments had unsettled him more than he cared to admit. It made him think about how far people could go, and how he couldn't because he never really understood the concept of it all.

And most of all, Baekjin. The look in his eyes after the fight—soulless, humiliated, empty. Worse than Sieun’s own gaze, because Baekjin was struggling to hold himself upright, refusing to surrender entirely, his eyes still had the fight in him but his body was giving up almost as he allowed it to. Seongje had never seen tears in Baekjin before, not once, until that day. That final glance of surrender toward Baku filled him with disgust, it was pathetic; it made Seongje want to puke. Fuck, that wasn’t Baekjin he knew.

Seongje could have fought. Could have wiped the floor with those fuckers, had his fun, reminded everyone why they feared him. Even after betraying the union, he could have done it for old times’ sake. But he didn’t. Not because he lacked strength. Not because of overconfidence. Fuck no. The fight had been lost before it even began.

He understood Baekjin’s intentions. Despite his bravado, he wanted Baku to win. That was why Seongje had stalled Sieun as long as he could so that he could give Baekjin a few more precious moments with Baku. It was almost as if he wanted Baekjin to endure just a little more punishment, to feel the weight of being beaten so he might understand the cost of giving up.

The injustice of it, the raw vulnerability of watching someone you once considered untouchable crumble under pressure, struck Seongje. Baekjin was not his friend or his partner, he knew Baekjin never considered him as an equal, but the least they were was acquaintances after it all.

He watched the Eunjang kids retreat after their victory, Baku casting one last, lingering glance at Baekjin, sprawled on the muddy ground, barely conscious. Sieun stayed quiet, his iron brace still streaked with Baekjin’s blood. It was always telling how Sieun managed to turn anything into a weapon, Seongje mused—he wondered how the boy would fight stripped of tools, raw and bare.

Seongje almost scoffed, taking a last drag from his nearly finished cigarette. The Union members trudged away, heads down like beaten dogs—fucking losers. Worse, most didn’t even glance at Baekjin, passing him like discarded trash, as though all the benefits they’d reaped under him had been meaningless. Life, Seongje thought grimly, had a way of showing who stayed when you had nothing to give. That was why emotions and attachments were worthless in his world.

He noticed Seokhyeon pleading for help; the guy looked on the verge of losing his mind as Hwangmo, Jihun, and Sehan tried to drag him off, while Hakho glanced over Baekjin one last time, shaking his head in silent resignation. The rest—Seongmok and Dongha—had already disappeared, vanishing as fast as they could.

Crushing the stub of his cigarette against a nearby pole, Seongje shoved his hands into his pockets and walked over to Baekjin, who lay half-conscious, body battered and muddy.

“Looks like it’s just the two of us here, like old times,” Seongje said, squatting down beside Baekjin.

“I knew you would come to watch,” Baekjin replied, turning his head slightly to the side.

“Are you happy, you fucking idiot?” Seongje asked, scowling.

“The weather is nice,” Baekjin said slowly, almost as if he were teasing.

“You’re ridiculous,” Seongje muttered, his annoyance barely hiding a hint of care.

“Did everyone leave?” Baekjin asked.

“Do you see anyone here?” Seongje replied, his jaw tightening as Baekjin closed his eyes.

“Let me rest for a minute. I won’t pass out,” Baekjin said.

“Really? You look fucked up—disgusting,” Seongje said, taking in Baekjin’s battered, bloodied body, his shoulders slumped and swollen, his bruises raw.

“Can you do something for me?” Baekjin asked, his voice weak.

Seongje hesitated. People rarely asked him for help, so he wasn’t sure how to respond.

“What?” he said, folding his arms.

“Make sure Eunjang gets free access to all the places the Union controlled, especially the gaming arcade—Baku likes it there,” Baekjin said.

Seongje rolled his eyes. “Had?”

“Had. It’s finished,” Baekjin admitted, his voice heavy with surrender. “Can you do me another favor?”

“Can you not say it all in one go? You’re fucking annoying,” Seongje snapped.

“Seongje,” Baekjin groaned, forcing his bloody hand toward him. Seongje leaned slightly closer.

“Choi…he’ll find out about the fight, the loss…he’ll be furious, and he’ll send his people after Baku,” Baekjin said.

“So?” Seongje barked, frustration flaring.

“Seongje… I know I haven’t treated you well, and I have nothing to offer here, not really… but please, save Humin. Choi will hurt him, I know the Eunjang kids are there and Humin can fight, very well in fact but I need you to go there anyway” Baekjin said, his voice raw and pleading. It was the most sincere Seongje had ever heard him.

"Would you have beat me had I fucked up with the police that day? When I fought the Eunjang's on the rooftop?", Seongje asked.

"Yes, I would have. So? Would you have resisted?', Baekjin asked 

"I am not your fucking lapdog, you asshole", Seongje said immediately.

"I know, maybe I shouldn't have said that", Baekjin sighed.

After a moment of silence, Seongje muttered, “Let’s get you up. The mud is sticking to my shoes.”

“I can get up myself. I’m not that weak—and I don’t need pity. But can you do what I asked? I would have done it myself… I can still try,” Baekjin heaved, letting Seongje help just a little.

“Fine. What do I have to do?” Seongje asked.

“There’s a dinner, a little far from the river… they’ll go there, I’m sure. It’s a bit expensive, but Baku likes it. You’ll find him there. Choi might send his people as well,” Baekjin croaked, pointing weakly toward his jacket.

“You want your phone? Wait—has anyone told you that you’re heavy? All those math equations must’ve made your head bigger,” Seongje said, taking out Baekjin’s phone and handing it to him.

“I’ll call Baku… I don’t know if he’ll pick up,” Baekjin said, motioning for Seongje to let go.

“What? You want me to leave you here? In this muck? It’s about to rain,” Seongje said, alarmed.

“I want to rest… just for a little while. It's been a while since I rested. You go,” Baekjin sighed, closing his eyes.

Seongje rose, staring at Baekjin lying there like a ghost. He would come back for him after finishing what Baekjin had asked. Lighting another secret cigarette, he walked away, his hands in his pockets.

The walk to the diner wasn’t far from where the fight had ended, and Baekjin had been right. The first floor was packed with the raucous, ecstatic Eunjang boys, their laughter and shouts spilling into the street.

“How boring,” Seongje muttered, settling onto a bench two shops down. No one here to worry about, no Choi’s men in sight—just noise.

He scrolled through his phone, noting the surge of activity on the Shuttle Patch forum. Pictures of the Eunjang kids flooded the feed. Comments from other schools in the Union, updates about the fight, thanks for Baku and Sieun. One post even had the Shuttle Patch ranking crossed out in red. Messages poured in, curious, speculative, some asking if Eunjang now had full access to the Union areas or if rules still applied and some Union kids asking those at Eunjang to watch their backs.

Seongje leaned back, exhaling sharply, remembering Baekjin’s instructions. He dialed a number.

The line clicked on. “Make an announcement on the site. All Union areas are officially open to Eunjang High and its boys,” he said.

“Can we do that?” the kid at Ganghak asked hesitantly.

“It’s an order from Baekjin himself. You don’t need his approval. Just post it under my name,” Seongje replied, cutting the call, his eyes on the noisy crowd.

His phone tinged almost a minute later as he looked at the notification.

NOTICE – 
All restrictions on Eunjang High have been lifted effective immediately. Students may now access all previously restricted areas freely.
Approved - Keum Seongje

Seongje flinched as an almost thundering cheer erupted from the top floor of the diner a few second later. With a single finger pressed against his ear, he tried to block out the noise as he got up and looked around at the stores near the diner, he had nothing else to do he might as well explore.

Seongje spotted a stationery and gift shop around the corner and hummed as he stepped inside, nodding at the lady behind the counter while his eyes scanned the shelves.

“How much for that?” he asked, pointing to a sleek black pen set displayed in a case.

“₩20,000 per piece,” she replied. Normally, Seongje would’ve bargained, but today he wasn’t in the mood.

"He looked like a dog kicked across the floor or something when I threw his stupid pen"

“I’ll take the entire box—ten of them,” he said. The lady blinked in surprise but nodded. “Also, I need some paper to write a note—I’ll test the pens,” he added, quickly scribbling and folding something before tucking it into the bag she gave him as he paid.

From the corner of his eye, a flash caught his attention. He smiled as he saw the source – van lights.

Recognizing the vehicles, Seongje stepped out, moving toward them. Finally, some action. He had watched everyone fight and now he was the only one left. Keeping the bag neatly on the bench where he had been sitting, he trailed behind as ten figures grouped up ahead.

“Yeon Sieun—that’s the guy. Teach him a lesson,” one of them barked.

Seongje smirked under his hood. Oh? Change of plans? This was going to be more fun. If Seongje had to fight for Baku, he’d have fought normally but now the target had shifted. Fighting in Sieun’s style, using everything around him, would be exhausting… and exhilarating, but he had to make sure that Choi didn't wrack his brains.
This was new challenge, a new kind of fun.

[....]

Fighting with objects or anything at hand was tedious. Seongje hated it—but he was done complaining. He paused just long enough to snap a photo of the ten men for his own amusement before retracing his steps toward where he had left Baekjin.

A few minutes into the walk, the haze from his cigarette blurred his vision, and a message from Sieun popped up. How did he even get Seongje’s number? He couldn’t remember giving it to him. The text, absurdly nitpicking his littering habits, made him stop mid-step. With a smirk, he began typing a long reply while resuming his walk.

“Fuck you, your pens, and Eunjang,” he muttered under his breath.

As Seongje had anticipated, Baekjin wasn’t there. The ground was empty, silent, almost mocking. He tried calling, but the phone was switched off. Baekjin, of all people, rarely left his phone unattended but Seongje understood. Shaking his head, he slipped back toward one of his hideouts, silently hoping it hadn’t been discovered by some curious, reckless kids looking for adventure, Eunjang or not he was going to beat them.

There were no kids to disrupt his night or his sleep, yet sleep eluded him. The tossing and turning only fueled his frustration. So he didn’t try. He played games, hit the boxing bag, ran through random exercises, even read a book, but none of it worked. These distractions only passed the time until morning, never quieting the restless knot in his mind.

He called Baekjin again. The phone remained off. Seongje wasn’t worried—not in the usual sense but a sharp edge of curiosity gnawed at him.

Pulling the hood of his windbreaker over his head, he stepped outside, scanning the night as he calculated the likely places Baekjin could be, Yeo’Il’s library, the PC café, the bowling alley, the Union’s basement hideout… Several options, all plausible. He immediately ruled out Baku’s chicken place; that was far too obvious.

Seongje could have called the others to ask, but he didn’t. He didn’t want to answer their questions, didn’t want anyone poking into his path. This was something he needed to handle on his own

Seongje methodically checked each place where Baekjin might have gone. The streets were empty, the soft hum of early morning traffic barely reaching his ears as he passed Yeo’Il’s library. The library’s shutters were down, no familiar figure in sight. Next, the PC café—lights off, screens dark, the faint scent of stale snacks lingering in the air. His eyes scanned the alleyways as he passed the Union’s basement hideout, but the door was locked, silent, empty.

Seongje reached the bowling alley, the early morning stillness giving him the advantage—no students, no Choi’s men, nothing but the faint echo of his own footsteps. The door to the room was stubborn, and with a sharp kick it groaned open. It was an absolute mess inside.

Baekjin's metal table and chair were displaced, not in their usual place, papers were scattered, scratched through with ink blots, a jacket lay crumpled in a corner, and everything else seemed half-thrown, half-forgotten - bundles of notes crushed, books thrown away in corners. Seongje frowned, stepping carefully around the disorder. Baekjin wasn’t here. He was surprised at the sheer extent of the disarray. Baekjin was a really neat person.

As he moved back towards the door he heard a soft groan as he turned his head back to the voice source to see Baekjin lying down on the floor.

"Are you sleeping? You fucker - do you know how many times I have called you?", Seongje said with his hands in his pockets 

A few seconds passed - he got no response as he tsked

"I'll fuck you up if you are pretending to sleep to ignore me", he said again as he looked down under the makeshift bed where Baekjin lay on the floor.

Baekjin looked pale, sick and almost half dead, it took Seongje a few moments of looking to realize that something was wrong - anger dissipating completely.

The scene he saw infront of him, wasn't normal - it was cruel. it was life playing a joke on him again.

Baekjin - on the floor - pills all around him.

"This is not real, it is not", he muttered to himself

Seongje almost fell back on his own foot as he grabbed the leg of the makeshift bed, sliding down to the floor. His eyes locked onto the scattered pills, panic rising in his chest like a living thing. His hands scrambled, grabbing handfuls of the colorful yet dull tablets, but they slipped through his fingers like water. Heart hammering, he searched desperately for the boxes, finally finding them near Baekjin’s limp hand. He yanked them up, eyes scanning the labels in disbelief: Zolpidem… Diphenhydramine… Doxylamine… His voice faltered, breaking as he read the names aloud.

“No… No… No… what the fuck, what the fuck,” he muttered, his hands trembling violently - he didn't know that could happen, it never happened to him even during fights, he moved back slightly dropping the boxes to the floor with a thud that sounded almost like a scream. His chest tightened, heart pounding so fiercely it felt like it would burst through his ribcage.

“Baekjin!” Seongje shook him frantically as he came back closer, but Baekjin didn’t move. Tension surged, icy and sharp, crawling into his bones as he pulled Baekjin out from under the makeshift bed. His eyes caught a pill dangerously close to Baekjin’s mouth; with a snarl, Seongje yanked it away and flung it across the room, anger igniting every nerve in his body only after it had shortly dissipated a few minutes ago.

“You… you can’t do this! This—this—you needed them for sleep, right?” Seongje’s voice cracked, breaking into a mix of desperation and fury. His hands shook uncontrollably as he rifled through the boxes again, counting, muttering incoherently. “How many have you taken? How many are there?” He could barely process, his mind spinning in chaotic loops, unable to understand, unable to grasp the horror of the moment.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” he screamed, throwing the boxes against the wall. They clanged and bounced off the floor, the sound a sharp, brutal punctuation to his panic. He shook Baekjin again, his hands trembling violently, chest heaving. He knew exactly what the pills were—potent sedatives, meant for insomnia and allergies—and the deadly danger of combining them in this quantity hit him like a physical blow.

Baekjin was trying to kill himself.

“But… Baekjin wouldn’t do that, right? Baekjin’s not crazy… I’m crazier than him,” Seongje muttered to himself, voice breaking. He shook him violently, but Baekjin didn’t stir. Desperation exploded into frustration, and Seongje slammed his open palm across Baekjin’s face. “Wake the fuck up! Don’t you dare do this!”

Seongje’s breath came in ragged, sharp bursts, his entire body trembling with fear, anger, and grief. Memories of his mother’s suicide clawed through him, raw and jagged, merging with the terror of almost losing Baekjin here and now.

His hands gripped Baekjin’s shoulders as he screamed, voice hoarse and cracking, “I will not let you leave like this you fucker! Not like her… Not like her!” The weight of panic, guilt, and helplessness pressed on him, nearly crushing him, yet every fiber of his being screamed to save Baekjin, to drag him back from the edge before it was too late. which made him hit Baekjin, an unwanted reflex.

"Please don't die like this"...."If you have to, then don't die infront of me...I..I..can't see this again", "Go die somewhere else you bastard...", "Please don't die", Seongje said to himself hoping Baekjin was listening.

Baekjin’s eyelids fluttered, glossy and unfocused, as he stirred. Seongje's hard smack had worked. He let out a weak, hoarse laugh, a sound so hollow that it made Seongje flinch. “It’s… it’s over,” he whispered, voice trembling, collapsing immediately onto the cold, hard floor again.

Seongje’s hands shot out instinctively, catching him as he shook Baekjin unwantedly hitting him again, hard in the gut. “You little bastard, what the hell did you do?!”, Seongje yelled. Baekjin’s laugh came again, softer this time, like someone trying to convince themselves. “He… he’ll never come… Not for me,” he muttered.

"What is over? Who will not come? Park Humin ?! “Stay the fuck with me, you hear me? Stay the fuck with me!”

"No", Baekjin said slowly as he coughed a little.

Seongje grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him again. “No! Don’t you dare! You’re not thinking straight!

Baekjin let out another strangled laugh, his body shook slightly because of it “It’s… it’s… over, Seongje… Everything… Everything is over,” he gasped, collapsing again, His glossy eyes darted around, unseeing, and then they fixed on Seongje with a hint of manic clarity. “Baku… will never… come…he told me...that he is sorry... and I should be to during the fight...but he...he won't see me.”

"All this...All this for that fucking idiot? Humin? Goddammit, wake the fuck up! You want Baku? I'll drag the bastard by his hair and his stupid friends as well here if I have to", Seongje said in a hurry.

"You...Seongje...will not do anything...I will kill you if your hurt him...nobody should hurt Humin', Baekjin said low.

Seongje’s restraint broke entirely. He grabbed Baekjin, pulling him flush against his chest, knees pressing into the floor as he shook him with everything he had. “Shut the fuck up! You don’t get to decide that! You’re not done, not like this! I’m not losing you here, you hear me, Baekjin? I cannot see another person die...infront of me...like this...please!”

Baekjin’s weak rejection mingled with groans, his body folding into itself, trying to resist Seongje’s request but he was weak. “Then go… Seongje… Everything… I’m… done…I want to rest”

Seongje’s fists pounded the floor beside them, his voice rising, raw and uncontrolled. “No! You’re not done! You’re not giving up on yourself! I will drag you out of this, you hear me? Even if I have to drag you kicking and screaming, even if I have to beat the life back into you, I will! You’re not going anywhere!”

Baekjin’s head lolled against Seongje’s chest, eyes half-closed, and he let out another soft, breathless laugh, almost as if surrendering once again for the second time in the last few hours, but Seongje refused to let him. He held him tighter, shaking, sobbing, screaming into the quiet, desolate room, letting all the fear, anger, and grief pour out. Every second felt like an eternity, but he refused to let Baekjin slip away—not here, not now. He tried yelling everything he wanted to say to keep him awake, everything he would have said to his mother to keep her awake.

“Fuck this shit,” Seongje muttered, letting go of Baekjin’s limp body. His hands trembled as he spotted Baekjin’s phone nearby. He grabbed it, fingers fumbling as he dialed a number only he knew—he couldn’t handle this alone.

“Hello, Baekjin?” came a cautious voice on the other end.

“It’s not Baekjin,” Seongje barked, his voice sharp, desperate. “It’s Seongje. Baekjin… he tried to kill himself. Overdose. I don’t know how many pills he’s taken. He’s badly injured from a fight, too.”

“Fuck. What pills?”

“Sleeping, sedatives, anti-allergy, a whole bloody cocktail Eun Gyeol, it is a mess.” Seongje said, his eyes darting to Baekjin’s closed eyelids. Panic clawed at him.

“Shit. Wait there. Try to keep him awake. I’ll send a car. No ambulance—you understand? He needs a stomach wash immediately. Just… wait there,” the voice said before cutting the call.

“Keep awake, you idiot. I’ll save you and then I’ll fucking kill you myself when you get up,” Seongje whispered, his voice shaking as he clutched Baekjin’s limp hand.

The next few hours blurred together. They weren’t like the agonizing minutes he had spent watching Baekjin fade, but still, Seongje sat frozen in place outside the operation theatre. The private hospital was far from the city, tucked away in an unmarked building. Eun Gyeol had made sure of that, choosing a place Choi’s men couldn’t trace.

“You should get some rest,” Eun Gyeol said, stepping out of the OT, pulling off his mask and discarding his gloves.

Seongje was on his feet in an instant. “Baekjin? He’s okay?” he asked, the words tumbling out in a rush.

“It was difficult, but it’s Baekjin both of us know he’s stubborn as hell, and a fighter too. He’s stabilizing now. It was a close call since we didn’t take him somewhere nearby,” Eun Gyeol sighed, his voice still tight.

"What about his injuries?"

“He’s got hairline fractures in both shoulders and a couple of ribs. The shoulder joints are badly swollen. He was lucky to miss a serious head injury, but there are signs of slight internal bleeding we are controlling that, he’s covered in bruises all over, some are deep. We had to put several stitches in—arms, side, and leg.”

“Fuck,” Seongje sighed, sitting down — but there was a trace of relief in his voice.

“So… can I say that you’re Baekjin’s friend?” Eun Gyeol asked.

“I’m not his friend,” Seongje retorted.

“You sure are. You were very concerned,” Eun Gyeol said.

“This is so fucking crazy. He’s like this because of Baku, and he’s being treated by someone who just happens to be Baku’s older brother with the same damn face, almost,” Seongje huffed, leaning his head back.

“So, what now?” Eun Gyeol asked.

“We wait for him to wake up… and then we kill him,” Seongje said.

The doctor looked at him in surprise.

“Not literally — figuratively. He’s in no condition to go back to all that mess. I’ll talk to him when he wakes up. I have a plan,” Seongje clarified.

“You’re going to tell people Baekjin died? To make sure no one comes after him?” Eun Gyeol asked.

“Yes. The same reason can be used – suicide, it's not entirely untrue even,” Seongje said flatly.

“Will he agree to it?” Eun Gyeol asked, concern lacing his voice.

“He has no other option. I’m not sure how much he’s told you about the Union, but the guy who runs the upper jobs — Choi — is going to hand Baekjin over to the police the next time he sees him. I just have a feeling.”

“Do we keep it as a funeral? Make it more realistic?” Gyeol suggested.

“Not a bad idea. I have access to the Union’s information network — I’ll anonymously float it there that he’s dead,” Seongje said.

“What about you? Aren’t you next in line to take over this little gang Baekjin ran?”

Seongje nodded in agreement. “I am. I’ll deal with it myself,” he said grimly.

"Okay"

"Also, everything that happened today with me and with Baekjin, it should never get out"

"You're worried people are going to know you cried?"

"I didn't cry"

Baekjin eventually got up, but he stopped talking. Most days, he just slept, stared out the window, or listened to music. Seongje and Eun Gyeol stayed by his side in turns, but Baekjin didn’t speak at all.

Seongje still talked to him, knowing he wouldn’t get a reply.

“Me and Gyeol went and cleaned up your room in the bowling alley and got rid of the pills. We also got all your stuff”
No reply

“Choi called me today. Wants me to take over the Union. I refused. Not fun.”
No reply

“Those Eunjang brats have taken over our hideouts. It’s a mess of the first order. The other schools still argue with them, but they stand their ground. Prideful punks.”
No reply

“I’m tired of Seokhyeon pestering me. He’s hell-bent on thinking I know where you are. Do I? Yeah. Will I tell him? No.”
No reply

“I’m leaving Ganghak. I’ll complete what is left of the year privately.”
No reply

“I heard some Yeo Il kids saying there’ll never be another student like you.”
No reply

“Hwangmo’s positioning himself as the new big dog of Ganghak. Opportunistic fucker.”
No reply

Seongje and Eun Gyeol eventually informed Baekjin of their plan. It wasn’t a lousy one—and faking someone’s death was never easy but they had one advantage: Baekjin lived under two identities, which only 3 people knew about – Seongje, Eun Gyeol and Baku.
Na Baekjin and Donald Na. All they had to do was kill Baekjin.

They laid it all out for him on a large plan board, every detail scribbled down. Baekjin still didn’t speak, but his eyes followed the lines and pins while Seongje and Gyeol argued over the order of things.

Over the next few days, Seongje started spending less time in the room he had to work on the funeral arrangements, leak the news into the right channels, and keep it believable. Eun Gyeol checked in regularly, but he was busy too, preparing to relocate from the States back to Korea for a while. “Missed the place,” he’d said casually, “and I’ve got some research work to do.”

A few days later, Seongje marched into Baekjin’s room with his laptop under his arm. “You—Na Baekjin—are officially dead. Congratulations.”

Baekjin looked at him but gave no reaction. Eun Gyeol handed Seongje a folder.

“Death certificate. You’re lucky I’ve got connections, it’s not easy getting a realistic one.”

“There’s absolute fucking chaos everywhere in Yeongdeungpo,” Seongje muttered, eyes on his laptop screen. “Oh my god.”

“Are you sure nobody’s going to figure it out?” Gyeol asked.

“Not a chance. I used an anonymous channel, plus the fake hospital report. Took the orphanage caretakers into the loop too, Ms. Seong was surprisingly understanding. Funeral arrangements are done. Tomorrow evening.”

“You need to work on your tears,” Gyeol said.

“Not really. I’ll be watching from afar. Me and Baekjin had a… disagreement before the Han River fight remember I told you? I’m keeping that story. Choi will be there, too.”

Baekjin still didn't talk.

The funeral went by smoothly, at least on the surface. Seongje kept to the back, leaning against the wall, watching everything unfold. Seokhyeon made a half-hearted attempt to recruit him along with Dongha and Seongmok—to “rebuild” the Union. Seongje laughed it off, snapped a silly picture with the two, and walked away. He still had to unclench his fist. The way those two rats grinned, cracking small jokes between whispers, you’d think they were in a bar, not standing in the middle of a wake.

From the shadows, he shifted his attention to Baku. The guy looked wrecked—no mask, no attempt to hide it. He stood in front of Baekjin’s framed photo, tears spilling fast, his chest heaving like each breath hurt. Eventually, he collapsed into the seat nearest the picture and stayed there, unmoving except for the trembling of his hands.

Anyone else might have felt sorry for him. But Seongje wasn’t “anyone else.” Not after watching Baekjin bleed out and choke on pills. He had no space left in him for pity.

What caught him off guard, though, was the grief etched into the faces of Baku’s friends. Gotak’s jaw was tight, his eyes dull and slighly red, considering what Baekjin had done to his knee. Juntae, someone Seongje barely knew, looked fragile, eyes glossed over as if struggling to blink away tears. And Yeon Sieun… he sat beside Baku, shoulders squared, face unreadable yet heavy with something quiet and unshakable. His silence was the kind that said more than words could.

When the service ended, Baku and Seokhyeon had to be physically coaxed away. Baku more than anyone, clinging to the last moments like the air around the place was the only thing keeping Baekjin alive.

“You’re not going to your brother?” Seongje asked, exhaling a line of smoke into the cool air, watching Baku stall.

“Not right now,” Eun Gyeol replied, eyes somewhere far away. “Not when I can still see Baekjin on the OT table every time I close my eyes.” His voice was even, but his steps were quick as he walked off, leaving Seongje standing alone in the mingling scent of incense and burnt tobacco.

The days blurred after that. Baekjin didn’t speak—didn’t even try. He either slept, stared out the window, or buried himself in whatever music he could find.

In the meantime, Seongje got busy. He gathered the Union’s bank accounts into his own hands as he had been carefully keeping a few hidden away and made the move from Yeongdeungpo to central part of the city. Eun Gyeol already had a place there. Baekjin didn’t argue; he simply pointed at the house he wanted, and that was the end of the conversation.

One random day Baekjin finally spoke.

“The competitive university exam,” Baekjin said, still facing the window, a book balanced in his lap. “I want to give it. You should as well. Register us.”

Seongje had almost forgotten what he sounded like. He looked up from his seat, startled, before answering.

“Okay. Any university in mind?”

“You tell me first.”

“SNU.”

“SNU,” Baekjin repeated at the exact same moment, and they exchanged a short, silent nod.

Life had shifted into something quieter, smaller—but steadier. Seongje had adapted, even if the change felt unnatural. Yeongdeungpo, with all its noise and blood and chaos, seemed locked away in the back of his mind now.

Until Yeon Sieun came back into his life bringing back the crackling urge to feel alive again. The unconventional way, the old way.

[....]

Seongje heard voices
He recognised all of them, all three of them – Baekjin, Eun Gyeol and Beomseok.

“Is the bastard dead already?”
“Shut the fuck up, Baekjin.”
“When the hell is he gonna get up?”
“Anytime soon.”
“Tell him he’s broken a bone or some shit when he wakes up.”
“Why?”
“I wanna see his damn face.”
" I think Seongje hyung would get mad.”
“When the fuck is he not mad?”

Seongje blinked up at the ceiling, squinting his eyes before closing them again. His mind ran through memories of the past. He could still hear the three others in the room chattering.

He knew he was in the hospital. Baekjin had found him outside the Humanities tunnel after he’d decided to go and beat the people inside again. He didn’t need to go to the hospital, but Baekjin was a stubborn mule.

“Where are my glasses? Give me my glasses,” Seongje said, his voice slightly hoarse, eyes still closed.

“He’s up? Good, good,” Eun Gyeol said. Seongje heard shuffling in the room and opened his palm for his glasses.

“Take the IV off now, Gyeol,” Baekjin said.

Seongje opened his eyes, slipped on the glasses, and looked at Baekjin—then at Eun Gyeol, then at his own arm.

“He’s awake now,” Baekjin announced.

“When did you put this in?” Seongje asked, pointing at the cannula.

“After you had the painkillers and slept off,” Eun Gyeol replied.

“Take it off,” Baekjin said again, smirking.

“Can you fucking shut up, you piece of shit? And you—” Seongje turned to Eun Gyeol, “Let’s talk about this, okay?” He pointed at the drip.

“What’s there to talk about? I administered it, and I’ll remove it,” Eun Gyeol said.

“Are you scared of needles?” Beomseok asked suddenly.

“I’m not,” Seongje said immediately.

“He is,” Baekjin cut in.

“Can you shut up? What is your issue—can’t you see I’m talking here, you bastard?” Seongje hissed.

“Keum Seongje, who beat the living rats out of so many guys who are piled up like flies, is scared of needles. Wow,” Eun Gyeol mocked.

“What a big baby,” Baekjin added in a strange tone.

“Stop saying that. And what the fuck is that tone? You’re fucking disgusting.”

“They give candy to people to distract them in such situations,” Beomseok said, chuckling.

“Are you laughing? You little shit come here, I’ll send you where I sent those guys too,” Seongje said, tilting his head to glare at Beomseok.

“Seongje, I have to take it out. It won’t hurt it's just like an ant bite,” Eun Gyeol said, stepping forward.

“Don’t bother. It took him hours to get a tetanus shot when he was stabbed in the foot,” Baekjin sighed.

“Just stop, okay? And don’t talk to me about distractions, you’re so fucking bland you wouldn’t even have any candy, hypothetically,” Seongje said to Baekjin. Then, turning to Beomseok again: “Also, I’m not scared of needles, okay? They don’t hurt going in, but it’s different when they’re pulled out.”

“You have a high pain tolerance,” Beomseok said as Baekjin and Eun Gyeol stepped closer to Seongje.

“I’m going to kill both of you,” Seongje said seriously.

“Beomseok, tell me what you were reading about just now,” Baekjin asked.

“Pain cancels pain,” Beomseok answered immediately.

“Don’t block,” Baekjin said suddenly.

“Block what?” Seongje frowned just as Baekjin nodded at the doctor.

In less than a second, Seongje felt a sharp sting across his face. Before he could react, his head jerked sideways on the pillow with a loud smack. It didn’t hurt, he didn’t even flinch but the sheer pressure had moved his head.

There were a few seconds of silence in the room.

“You bastards are crazy… you’ll drive me nuts as well,” Seongje heard Eun Gyeol mutter.

“Did you just slap him?” Beomseok asked.

Seongje ignored him. He sat up, pointing at Baekjin in disbelief. “How? When—?”

“I did a scan a week ago. Baekjin’s shoulder has healed fully—like, a hundred percent,” Eun Gyeol said. “We’d been carefully monitoring since 80% healing, but we thought we’d tell you once it was complete.”

Baekjin’s shoulders had been brutally crippled—bones crushed, muscles torn, ligaments snapped, blood clots and swelling everywhere, leaving him unable to use them for normal movement after the big fight.

It had healed.

“Like, fully? You didn’t even tell me, you bastard?” Seongje scoffed, poking Baekjin’s shoulder.

“I can fight again,” Baekjin said softly—almost as if telling Seongje he didn’t have to fight for both of them anymore.

“See? That was easy,” Gyeol said, putting the cannula away—he’d pulled it out just as Seongje got slapped.

“Don’t put that thing near me again,” Seongje muttered, shrugging his arm.

“The police came around while you were asleep,” Baekjin said.

“And?” Seongje asked.

“We scared them off. Whoever filed a complaint took it back,” Baekjin replied.

“And they just went away?” Seongje frowned. Baekjin nodded as Seongje looked at him, Baekjin didn't look like he was going to tell him how that happened. He would have to figure that part out himself.

“No questioning for anyone—you or Sieun,” Eun Gyeol added

“You shouldn’t have yelled at Baku,” Baekjin said flatly.

“Shut up, you. I spoke to him the way I felt was required. Just because I’ve told you that you can try looking out for him again doesn’t mean you butt in,” Eun Gyeol snapped, before turning to Beomseok. “Baekjin was watching from a higher floor.”

“Was Suho with them as well?” Beomseok asked.

“Wait, the whole group? Yeon Sieun and his little gang of friends is here? Why?” Seongje asked suddenly.

“Was here, and Sieun fainted while I ran into Baku at the university, so I decided to bring him here,” Gyeol said casually.

“I was walking right behind him,” Seongje said.

“And then you turned back to go hit people in the tunnel,” Baekjin reminded him.

“Yes, Suho was here—Ahn Suho. I saw the name on the visitors’ list,” Eun Gyeol said.

“Coma boy? Him as well? He must have a special attachment to hospitals. So, what was the issue?” Seongje asked, curious.

“Mild dehydration. Low sugar. He’ll be fine,” Gyeol said, typing something on his keyboard.

“He’s here? hasn’t left?” Seongje asked. The doctor nodded.

Just then, a nurse entered the room. “There’s a guest waiting to meet the patient here. Should I send him in?” she asked

“Who?” Seongje asked.

“He’s been waiting for a while—says he’s here for a visit,” she said.

“Please send him in,” Baekjin said politely.

“The police?” Beomseok suggested.

“They don’t ask for permission. They just barge in,” Seongje muttered.

A few seconds later, a man stepped into the room, drawing Seongje’s gaze upward. Slightly tall with a broad build, he was dressed in dark street clothes. His shoulders hunched forward in a way that gave him a predatory, looming posture. Long hair was tied back into a low bun, and his gaze was sharp, cutting through the room like a blade.

Seongje recognized him instantly. He’d seen the man’s picture before.

“Jeon Seok Dae,” Seongje said, his voice sharp.

“Keum Seongje,” Seok Dae replied with a faint smirk tugging at his lips, his eyes locked on Seongje.

Seongje’s gaze flicked to Beomseok, who stood completely still. When Seongje had looked into Byuksan through his information network, he had found out that Beomseok had been bullied badly. The man standing in front of him had been part of that—one of the names tied to the Runaway Sub Gang that took on small, dirty jobs.

“Yes?” Seongje asked, folding his arms as Baekjin, seated beside him, straightened slightly.

“Oh, Beomseok? It’s been a while. You’re back? I thought you were packed up and sent off,” Seok Dae said casually.

Beomseok didn’t answer.

“Water. I’m thirsty,” Seongje said, his tone clipped.

Beomseok gave a quick nod, walking to the side table next to the hospital bed. He removed the coaster from the glass and handed it to Seongje without meeting anyone’s eyes.

Seongje shifted in place drinking the water and keeping the glass aside as Beomseok quietly settled on the bed beside him. Eun Gyeol rolled the doctor’s chair closer, the wheels humming softly against the floor. He looked up from his clipboard and placed a hand on the mattress in front of where Beomseok sat, subtly positioning himself so that Beomseok was enclosed between Seongje and himself—protected, yet slightly hidden from Seok Dae's view.

“Yes, I came back,” Beomseok said finally. Seongje noticed how his shoulders slumped in calm and his fists slowly unclenched.

“To what do I owe this visit, uh… Seok Dae? Byuksan? You went to the same middle school as my brother,” Seongje asked, stressing the word brother—sharp and assertive, almost like a warning.

“You’re his brother? That is just crazy. What are you, Keum Seongje? A celebrity or something? Who are you really? I almost spent the entire day searching for you,” Seok Dae said, a hint of disbelief in his tone.

“And why would you do that?” Seongje asked.

“It’s not easy finding you. I looked everywhere—even at your university. How tiring. Anyways, now that I’m here, should we get to business?” Seok Dae said, leaning against the wall as if settling in.

“Which is?” Baekjin asked.

“Where’s your driver, Beomseok? Or your secretary—that’s what you called him, right?” Seok Dae asked.

“I thought your questions were for me. What happened to ‘business’?” Seongje scoffed.

“I know, I know. What’s the hurry? Look at your face, Beomseok—always overthinking or acting on impulse,” Seok Dae chuckled, the sound almost mocking.

It was starting to grate on Seongje’s nerves. He had just come out of a fight, and an old piece of himself had returned—one that didn’t mind sending another guy to the hospital ward downstairs.

“Don’t you dare. He mentioned the secretary; we should see what he knows,” Eun Gyeol whispered to Seongje while casually rearranging his clipboard, as if reading his thoughts.

“I don’t know where he is,” Beomseok said.

“And do you?” Seok Dae asked, pulling something from his jacket. He tossed a few photographs onto Seongje’s bed.

They were from Seongje’s second-to-last meeting with Secretary Park—just before the man was supposed to go abroad. Park had turned up murdered only a few days later.

"Found them from a local CCTV camera just incase you are wondering", Seok Dae said.

Yes, I met him. So? Don’t know where he is now. I met him to inform him that Beomseok is my responsibility now, and that his services are no longer needed. I’m sure you’ve heard the news—you see? Tragic death. Oh Hyun Tae,” Seongje tsked, his tone almost pitiful.

“So I heard. But you see… even after death, everyone leaves their dues—especially his dad,” Seok Dae said, pointing at Beomseok.

“How long have you known him? Liaised with him? Did you work for him?” Beomseok asked in a hurry.

“Yes. Daddy didn’t tell you? Aww… it’s kind of sad, how nobody really kept you in the loop—your friends or your father, you deserve it actually after what you did to that Suho, never liked the bastard but still. Where do you think those patches came from?” Seok Dae grinned.

Seongje glanced between the two of them, momentarily losing the thread of the conversation. Patches? What fucking patches?

“Yes I put the fentanyl patch but I didn't mean Sieun harm, that was YeongBin's idea. He forced me. I even told Sieun. You’re lying. I don’t believe you,” Beomseok said, his voice rising.

“That’s your issue. I couldn’t be bothered about it. But the fentanyl patches I gave Yeong Bin to use on Si-eun came from Gil Soo’s network. Your dad had invested black cash in it as well,” Seok Dae said.

Seongje frowned, quietly piecing the words together. Yeong Bin—he knew that name. Another bully. And he knew Beomseok recognized it too, because the boy had reacted when Seongje once used it while comparing the Union’s dynamics. Yeong Bin was Seok Dae’s cousin.

He wasn’t sure how the patches they were talking about came from or who the hell Gil Soo was—but now, he was very interested to know now since Sieun had been mentioned.

"Fentanyl patches were popular, squared menaces actually - someone tried getting those into the Union, I kicked them out. Kept the patches though, Beomseok must have stuck one on Sieun's neck or hand, those are the only ways they can be used", Baekjin whispered.

"If my dad was involved with Gil Soo then why did YeongBin not directly ask me for the patches? I was never told about any of this or what the patches were", Beomseok said.

“Kim Gil Soo,” Baekjin said suddenly, his voice cutting through the room. “He ran a betting app—Fight Club. Pure ponzi scheme. Was already going under because someone was siphoning the cash. The fights he set up were trash, boring as hell.”

Seo Dae’s eyes narrowed. “You know? Who the hell are you?”

“Nobody,” Baekjin replied flatly.

"That motherfucker Gil Soo tried implementing something similar to the Shuttle Patch ranks through his betting app, I had even sent Dongha and Seongmok to look into it - no originality just a pure copy, but since his app was already fucked so I didn't involve the Union in it", Baekjin whispered to Seongje who nodded

“Okay…” Seok Dae let the word drag, then turned towards Beomseok who spoke again,“But you fought Gil Soo. Even if my dad put money into that scam, it’s gone now. Why does it matter anymore? Why are you here?”

“I may have stepped out of fighting for a while back then,” Seok Dae said, his tone sharp, “but everyone needs cash, Beomseok. Not everyone’s a clueless rich brat with a silver spoon jammed in his mouth. Your father hired plenty of us later for his dirty jobs. Paid well, too. I doubt you’d know you were rotting overseas.”

“Watch your tone,” Eun Gyeol said from the doctor’s chair, voice calm but edged with authority. “I’ll ask you to leave if you get derogatory again. This is my hospital.”
It wasn’t a bluff—he sat on the younger board of directors.

“Oh Hyun Tae is dead,” Baekjin added casually. “If you’re unemployed, try somewhere else. You look like you can fight, you’ll find an opening.”

“I don’t have time,” Seok Dae scoffed. “And I sure as hell don’t need your career advice. Just tell me where the shipments are.”

Seongje’s eyes locked on him. “What shipments?”

“I have no fucking clue,” Seok Dae said, his voice rising. “I was supposed to collect a bunch of shipments from the secretary—who’s nowhere to be found—and I need to deliver them.”

“From Secretary Park?” Beomseok asked.

“Yes,” Seok Dae said without hesitation. “Your dad moved goods on the market through us. Connections, money… I didn’t usually know what was inside the boxes. Just delivered them to shady people who helped him turn his black cash white. High reward, high risk—and now I’m screwed if I don’t get the pills in time.”

“Pills?” Seongje cut in, eyes narrowing. “You just said you didn’t know what was inside those boxes.”

“Shit— I—” Seok Dae faltered, then shrugged like it didn’t matter. “Yeah, I don’t know what’s in all the boxes. But I shook a few. Definitely pills of some kind. Heard they’re hot on the market right now.”

“What the fuck…” Seongje muttered under his breath. Drug involvement? He shot a glance at Beomseok who looked just as blindsided.

“If I don’t find my shipments by this weekend—Saturday, that’s the day after tomorrow, I’ll tell the client,” Seok Dae said flatly. “And just so you know, he’ll send his people after you. So… good luck with that.”

“Are you threatening me, you fucker?” Seongje’s tone dropped. He shifted to stand, but Baekjin’s hand shot out, catching his arm.

“Where’s this boss of yours?” Baekjin asked coolly. “You’re going to have to deliver these ‘pills’ somewhere, right?”

“Midnight Scene. Hongdae,” Seok Dae spat. “Why don’t you come yourself and talk to the client?”

“We’ll see what we can do,” Eun Gyeol said, standing. He handed him a pen and a scrap of paper. “Write your number here.”

“What the fuck is Midnight Scene? You heard of the place?” Seongje muttered to Baekjin.

Baekjin shook his head. “No clue.”

“Too bad. We’ll have to go and see. It’ll be fun,” Seongje said, his mouth curling into an amused, half-looped smile.

“Just say you want to hit the guy,” Baekjin sighed.

“Yes,” Seongje replied simply, patting Beomseok’s back.

“Since I’m here,” Seok Dae cut in suddenly, “where can I find Yeon Sieun?”

The question snapped Seongje’s attention to him instantly.

“That little shit needs a good beating. He sent me on a goose chase around the university when I came to find you,” Seok Dae continued.

Seongje felt the anger creep up his hands—hot, pulsing. His shoulders didn’t ache anymore. Maybe it was the painkillers… or the sudden, almost pleasant urge to put Seok Dae through the floor. Whether it was his tone, the way he spoke to Beomseok, or the fact that there was yet another bastard that day who wanted to do something to Sieun, Seongje wasn’t sure.

But he decided against it. For now.

He got up from the bed and stepped in front of Seok Dae, sizing him up before answering. “I’m not sure where he is.”

“He said he knew you. But just a free tip, stay away from Yeon Sieun. The guy’s bad news and bad luck. Everyone around him gets fucked because of him.”

“I don’t need your free tips. Keep them to yourself,” Seongje said flatly, lips pressed into a thin line. He opened the hospital room door, silently inviting Seok Dae out, and shut it on his face without another word.

“Where are you going?” Eun Gyeol asked as Seongje pocketed his phone.

“Just walking the corridor. My legs’ll get stiff. You’re the doctor you should be telling me to do this, We'll discuss this Seok Dae nonsense later” Seongje snorted.

Eun Gyeol rolled his eyes.

“Go. His mood’s been like this for the last few hours,” Baekjin said.

“You again? I yelled at Baku because of you, you ungrateful bastard, I haven't entirely forgotten what happened a year ago - if you are so worried about him then go and meet him” Eun Gyeol huffed.

“You didn’t even tell me what you said to him also that offer you gave me to go back to Baku? Find him? I don't think it is the right time and even if it was I can't do anything if he is frustrated because you decided to bicker with him” Baekjin said pointing out, leaning forward in his chair.

“Please don’t argue,” Beomseok muttered.

“Pick a side.”Both of them turned to Beomseok, their stares heavy enough to press the air flat.

Seongje just shook his head, the gesture sharp and almost bored, before stepping out into the hospital corridor.

The air outside the room felt colder, quieter, just the hum of fluorescent lights and the faint echo of distant wheels on linoleum. He made his way toward the lift lobby, glancing around as if expecting to see Seok Dae lurking somewhere in the shadows. Nothing.

He pressed the button. The panel lit up, but the numbers above it told him the lift was stuck on a higher floor.

“Fuck this,” he muttered under his breath.

He shoved open the staircase door with a rough push and took the steps two at a time, his footsteps echoing against the walls. Two floors down, he slowed his pace, sliding his hands into his pockets as he started down the hallway.

Each time he passed a door with a narrow panel of glass, his gaze flicked inside, quick and assessing. Some rooms were empty, others dimly lit with sleeping patients.

Then he stopped.

Near the end of the corridor, a room sat in semi-darkness. A figure lay in the bed, profile faintly illuminated by the muted glow of a monitor.

Sieun.

The tension in his shoulders eased just slightly. No Seok Dae.

Seongje exhaled a quiet sigh and dropped into one of the stiff chairs in the small sitting area outside the room. He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d come here… but he decided he’d stay. For a little while. Just in case.

He had made sure that people didn’t get to Yeon Sieun the entire day, anyway—so that his eyes did not look dead again, because that was no fun. The night was not over; some time was still left.

So, he sat there and waited.

After more than a year, he’d finally tasted a fragment of his old self in a fight. It lingered in his chest like the afterburn of strong liquor—warm, dangerous, and almost addictive. He wanted to sit with it for a little longer. Not the whole life, no. That world had teeth, and he wasn’t stupid enough to offer his neck again. But there were small pieces of it—sharp, reckless pieces—that Yeon Sieun had dragged back into his orbit, and those he wanted to understand.

Free tip. Stay away from Yeon Sieun. The guy is bad news and bad luck, and everyone around him gets fucked.

The memory of Seok Dae’s voice came uninvited, bitter and smug.

“Too bad,” Seongje murmured with a low chuckle, eyes drifting back to the narrow glass panel in the hospital door. “I like having fun.”

He leaned forward slightly, catching the still shape of Sieun inside the dim room, just to be sure he was still there. His lips curved into a faint, private smirk.

━━━━━━━━━

Sieun sat quietly in the university library, the only place he liked so far. He had left the hospital early that morning. Eun Gyeol wasn’t around, but he had left his discharge note and a card with his number, just in case. Sieun had decided to come today to talk to Seongje—it was his last day as a temp.

But Seongje did not come. The professor was back, and there were a few groans from the lecture hall. Sieun noticed the difference in attendance compared to the previous two days; students who shouldn’t have been there were sitting in as well.

He felt a few people staring at him. Through gossip, they may have learned what happened at the tunnel. A large group of third-years from different departments was missing, and the Humanities tunnel had been cordoned off. None of the university authorities questioned him, but he heard that the main guy’s mother was furious, though she was holding back—probably because Seongje had gotten the whole thing on tape.

Someone from his own year even came up to thank him for standing up. Another rumor had spread across campus, claiming that Sieun was the one who had beaten the guys in the tunnel.
He also heard that many seniors from the engineering and medicine departments had not joined in as backup in the fight, mainly because they wanted Nado’s help with academics, and Seongje and Nado knew each other.

Sieun was yet to meet this Nado person, but he had better things to do today and was free since he had only two lectures which were already over for the day.

He was utilizing a whole table near the window, surrounded with several books as he jotted down things neatly in a notebook.

He flipped through The Emotional Brain, underlining phrases about dopamine spikes, unpredictable stimuli, and social reward pathways. He scribbled in the margin: Seongje – a novelty trigger? Unpredictable? Emotional amplifier? The thought of last night waved past him again, the memory of each reaction, each small jolt of emotion, insisting on being dissected.

Next he moved on to Emotional Intelligence, the paragraphs describing how humans process joy, fear, and excitement differently depending on their social connections. Sieun paused, finger tracing a sentence about the subtle difference between comfort and exhilaration. That was it—he felt normal to a certain degree with his friends, familiar, but with Seongje, the edges of everything seemed sharper, more vivid. Not frightening, not exactly, but different.

He skimmed a book on attachment theory, jotting notes: Why do unpredictable people elicit intensity? Why do familiar people provide stability?

Suho: warmth. Juntae: calm. Gotak: support. Baku: stability. Seongje: anomaly.

The journal article for it lay open, filled with case studies on adult emotional amplification in response to novelty. Sieun read a paragraph aloud, low and monotone:
“Participants exposed to irregular social stimuli report heightened emotional awareness… heightened dopamine activity… unexpected triggers…”

He paused, tapping the pen against his notebook. That was him. That was last night. That was Seongje.

One example had participants interact with a mix of calm and highly unpredictable partners; emotional responses were coded and analyzed for intensity, latency, and type. Sieun scribbled in his notebook: Seongje = high unpredictability + subtle provocation = amplified affective response?

His laptop hummed as Sieun looked around, tapping on his earphones as he saw Juntae’s video call. Not too many people were in the library, so he could take it.

“Where are you?” Juntae spoke.

Sieun noticed that Juntae’s face looked a little more flushed than usual, his eyes slightly dazed.

“Library. What happened to your face?”

“My face? Nothing—just took a shower.”

“You didn’t go to university today?”

“No, I was slightly tired. Plus I have a commitment later this evening.”

“Which is?”

“Anime club group meeting,” Juntae said, putting on his glasses.

“Oh God.”

Sieun always found Juntae’s little group of anime enthusiast friends funny since they were very regular and serious about their discussions and meetings since they were at Eunjang.

“Baku didn’t go either but Gotak did. Said he has a date later this evening,” Juntae sighed.

“He’s going to go on a date with every girl in his university.”

“Don’t say that. I think he may stay over at her place or something.”

“Wow.”

“Don’t say that either. It’s not a wow situation, Sieun.”

“How’s Baku? I haven’t called or messaged since you said Gotak said no.”

“Good you didn’t. He’s not exactly in a good mood. I’ve checked up on him and made him eat. I was with him just now, I think he’s sleeping or something again.”

“Must have been a bad fight.”

“It was about Baekjin, I’m 100% sure. No situation or person can affect Baku like this other than Baekjin.”

“You think the doctor told Baku off for the fight?”

“No, it’s something else. Baku wasn’t very reciprocative. He might tell us when he’s okay.”

“Did you get a message from Gotak?” Sieun asked, looking at his phone. Juntae nodded.

“He wants to go out tomorrow, the five of us. Not a bad idea. Baku needs cheering up.”

“Do you have a rash? What’s with the ice on your neck?”

Sieun frowned as he saw Juntae quickly change the camera angle so that only his face was shown. Maybe he switched positions, Sieun thought.

“Slept on the wrong side.”
“Did Seongje come today? I almost forgot to ask you. How’s the mood there?”

“No, he didn’t. Everything is fine.”

Sieun looked at the books displayed in front of him for a moment. A slow realization settled in. If Seongje’s presence could be treated like an experimental stimulus, then Sieun could recreate the conditions that triggered those unusual feelings: careful observation, controlled proximity, and subtle, incremental exposure. He could measure his own affective response.

For this, he would have to keep meeting Seongje or talking to him — not an idea that Sieun would subject himself to, but he had to try it for experimental sake, to come to a conclusion.

“Can you check up on Baku before you leave? I have some work to do after university.”

“I can. Where are you going?”

“I am not sure yet, but somewhere.”

“Sieun,” he heard Juntae say. As he looked back at Juntae, he knew Juntae was curious but probably had a vague idea.

“I’m hanging up,” Sieun said, cutting the call as Juntae nodded.

He looked at the phone screen, opening up Seongje’s contact, and groaned with his head on the table.

It could have been anyone else. Why Keum Seongje, of all people?

━━━━━━━━━

Like everyone in this world, Juntae had secrets.

He just wasn’t sure what number qualified as too many. Was it five? Ten? Or was it the point where keeping them felt heavier than living without them? He never bothered to count.

People called him trustworthy. The kind of person you could confide in without fear of your words leaking into the wrong ears. It wasn’t untrue, but the title came with its own complications. Group conversations could turn awkward when someone at the table laughed a little too hard, or their eyes lingered on him just a fraction too. Still, Juntae had learned to overlook it, carrying their unspoken weight with practiced ease.

He kept two kinds of secrets: the ones that belonged to him, and the ones that belonged to others.

Over time, he’d even developed a quiet, private system - categorizing his friends by the secrets he held about them, almost like arranging files in a mental cabinet. Some drawers he opened often, others stayed locked so long.

Gotak was the easiest but the most painful. Juntae liked Go Hyuntak more than he could express, and that was his secret—one he had managed to confide in Sieun only. It was not easy to hear Gotak talk about his secret escapades with girls since high school, watching him talk about the things they did.
Gotak told Juntae most of the time because Baku barely believed him or made fun of him; Sieun gave him a listening ear but not the response he hoped for; and Suho was busy, though he was the only one after Juntae who was interested in hearing the details at times

Juntae’s heart refused to accept the conclusion that Gotak was straight—or, more so, that he might never have a chance with Gotak, romantically. So he tried pacifying himself with Gotak’s secrets, cherishing every conversation and every moment they had alone together.

Baku was second. It wasn’t painful, it was hard, and it was emotional.
He lived with two faces. One was jovial, hilarious, always happy and hyper; a strong-willed, rock-solid presence who never failed to support the people he cared about. That was Baku. He had many secrets, though most never stayed hidden for long. When he drank, he often said funny things and sometimes his secrets slipped out the same way, tangled in laughter.

The second half was harder. That was Park Humin—raw and original, broken and scarred, confused, shocked, and carrying more than anyone should. Park Humin’s secrets were heavy, bundled tight with emotions, usually centered around one person: Baekjin. Juntae knew that a part of the already cracked Park Humin had shattered completely the day Baekjin died, and whatever was left survived only on memories—clinging to them like lifelines.
Humin would reveal small pieces of those memories to Juntae as if planting them into the world, afraid that if he didn’t share them, they would vanish too. Each secret felt like another fragment of Baekjin kept alive.

And then there was another secret—one only between Juntae and Baku. One Juntae hoped would never come out.

Suho came third. Juntae had met him much later than the others, but he was glad he did. Meeting Suho made him realise something—Sieun was a real person, not just the collection of quiet gestures and unexplained decisions Juntae had observed. Everything Sieun had done in Suho’s remembrance suddenly made sense within minutes of talking to the guy.
Suho was the kind of person you wanted around—easygoing, warm, almost like the brother Juntae never had. He didn’t seem to carry many secrets, but then again, Suho hadn’t been around Eunjang, Sieun, or even himself for two years.

Juntae’s relationship with Suho’s secrets was different. He was the one doing most of the telling—little facts about things that had happened in Eunjang, traded under the promise that, when Suho had a secret of his own, he would share it with Juntae. Still, Juntae knew there was something unresolved inside Suho, something messy and unlabelled—feelings and thoughts about Sieun that didn’t fit neatly into words. As long as Sieun was there, Suho was fine. He claimed he’d be fine without him too, but he admitted, with a faint smile, that it would be “a little sad.”

Juntae knew how Suho had sometimes tried to put distance between himself and Sieun, maybe hoping he could return to his old life—or that Sieun could finally move forward. But Juntae also knew Suho’s biggest scar: Oh Beomseok.
That was where Juntae’s own secret came in. Just a few days ago, he’d come face-to-face with Suho’s greatest pain point. Beomseok was at Yonsei now, and by some twist of fate, they had lectures in common. Juntae had recognised him instantly, the same face he’d seen in the photograph Sieun kept on his study desk, the one with him, Suho, and Beomseok smiling like nothing could ever change.

He’d decided not to tell anyone. Not yet. There was something about Beomseok that Juntae wanted to see for himself.

Sieun came fourth. With him, it was… confusing. Getting into Yeon Sieun’s head wasn’t easy—he had a way of shutting people out before they even realised it. But somehow, Juntae had still managed to piece together the puzzle.
Sieun didn’t just have secrets—he had a lot of secrets. Enough to make Juntae frequently ask if he wanted to share anything. Whenever Sieun wore that unreadable, slightly lost expression like he was searching for answers only he could understand, Juntae knew it was his cue.

He’d learned that Sieun wasn’t good at expressing emotions, or even understanding them sometimes, though he was getting better. Juntae knew that Sieun wasn’t on good terms with his family. He also knew that, even if Sieun never said it outright, he considered Gotak, Baku, and Suho to be his real family. Sieun thought a lot—silently, endlessly. Sometimes he wished, in his own quiet way, that life could be normal, that everything could just be okay.

Juntae knew that Sieun still had sleepless nights, the same way he had back in high school—nights when Oh Beomseok’s shadow would creep back into his thoughts. He knew Suho was deeply important to Sieun, though the nature of their bond was impossible to define. And now, Juntae also knew that Sieun, every now and then, thought about Keum Seongje.

Sieun never had to tell him. Juntae had noticed it in the way Sieun’s amusement flickered whenever Seongje's name came up, the way his curiosity about him seemed almost endless. What was Seongje? Why was he the way he was? Sieun had always been curious about people, but most of those curiosities stayed locked inside his head.
Juntae also knew something else—Seongje had been Sieun’s first kiss. A moment that he was pretty sure was stuck in Sieun's mind like a stubborn itch he couldn’t quite scratch. It was obvious he replayed it in his head more than once.

And here was Juntae’s own secret: he’d seen it happen. He’d gone looking for Sieun the day of the fight because he thought Baekjin was going to win and beat Baku badly and had stumbled upon the moment of the kiss, maybe when it was almost done - but he ran away quickly when he knew that Sieun was coming eventually. Later, when Sieun brought it up, Juntae pretended he was hearing of it for the first time, he lied.

Juntae circled back to Suho’s promise of telling him secrets as he moved quickly, his footsteps light but deliberate. The air clung to him, cool and faintly scented with fried oil drifting from the noodle shop at the corner carrying him toward a staircase so poorly concealed it seemed almost embarrassed to exist—wedged between the backside of the noodle shop sign and a wall mottled with years of peeling paint. The narrow descent led to an underground basement, hidden, its mouth yawning open in that time of the day.

The shop owner’s gaze followed him, sharp and unblinking, the kind that weighed a man’s worth in silence. His eyes lingered on Juntae’s thin frame, as if measuring him against some invisible standard and finding him far too scrawny for the kind of business conducted below.

Juntae had been around this lane before, the front side more often which was home to the gym that Suho and Gotak had registered themselves for, Juntae would agree with Baku when he said they had been scammed with the membership rates, but the gym was posh both in interior and crowd - so posh that it's broad intimidating building hid the lane behind and all the shops it had through which Juntae now mapped his way thinking about the visible difference in economic standards both in the same place but two totally different worlds as the shops in the lane crouched close together like gossiping old men whispering about anyone who dared to pass.

Juntae adjusted his glasses, the gesture more habit than necessity, as his eyes took in the parking lot. Sleek, expensive cars lined the spaces, their glossy paint catching the dim light like stars. They sat there in quiet arrogance, each one worth more than most people’s yearly income.

The noodle shop, with its chipped sign and faint smell of broth drifting from the kitchen, was only one of several discreet ways into the basement. He stepped inside, pushed open one of the glass doors at the back, and was met with a sudden wash of bright light. After the dim, cramped stairs from the noodle shop to the hidden basement, it was almost blinding, and he had to blink a few times before his vision adjusted.

The receptionist barely looked up from her desk. Two bouncers flanked another door ahead both tall, broad-shouldered, and standing so still they might have been carved from stone.

Juntae reached into his pocket and pulled out a black card. It was plain black and metallic except for a white circle enclosing a smaller one, the symbol of a nucleus.

The receptionist’s gaze flicked to the card. “Go,” she said, her tone bored, sliding it back toward him. Without a word, the bouncers stepped aside.

Juntae gave a small nod and walked past them, pushing through a heavy wooden door. The deep thump of bass leaked through the grain, faint at first but growing stronger the closer he got. The moment the door swung shut behind him, the music hit in full—loud, thick, and pulsing through the floor like a heartbeat. It couldn't be heard outside – the area had been soundproofed very well.

He wove his way through a crowd that smelled of metal and sweat—tired men slouched against benches, active ones pounding away at heavy bags, a few limping with fresh injuries, and others barking instructions or curses over the din. The place was massive, a sprawling, segregated gym system split into two sides one for regular hard gaming and exercise and the other for trained or in training fighters – professional meant to represent or dangerous who could injure.

Juntae stepped into the regular gym, the air thick with the rhythmic hum of treadmills and the clank of weights hitting the floor. His eyes landed on Suho, drenched in sweat, pounding the belt of a treadmill at a relentless pace. The sight was unexpected yet familiar it almost made him laugh.

Sieun would probably faint if he saw this.

And that was the thing. The secret Sieun didn’t know.

Nobody did. Except him, all of them only knew that Suho went to exercise with Gotak and that's it, which Sieun was reluctant about itself. 

It is also why Juntae had to lie that he was going for his anime discussion outing.

“Not in the other gym today?” Juntae asked, lifting a hand in greeting as he spotted Suho.

Suho slowed the treadmill, tugging his earphones out. “Wait—wait—let me catch my breath,” he panted, bracing one hand on the treadmill’s console as his feet came to a stop.

“What did you say?”

“I asked why you’re not in the other gym today.”

“I already had my training session,” Suho replied, stepping off the machine.

Juntae pulled a water bottle from the bag slung over his shoulder and passed it to him. “Here.”

Suho took a long sip, then set it on the floor.

“Show me your hands,” Juntae said.

Suho peeled off his hand grips, holding his palms out like a man showing he had nothing to hide. “See? No injuries. Told you.”

Juntae took them in his own, pressing his thumbs gently into the skin, checking for swelling.

“Did you fight?” Juntae asked, his tone already hinting at the answer he expected.

“I did. Got a blow on my back, but no big deal,” Suho said, turning slightly to reveal a darkening bruise along his side. Suho looked rather proud

Juntae let out a quiet sigh. “You said you’d be careful.”

“I am being careful,” Suho replied, half-smiling as Juntae steered him toward a quieter sitting area at the edge of the bustling gym.

Juntae crossed to a small refrigerator in the corner, pulled out an ice pack, and motioned for Suho to turn around.

“You know how hard it is to get out of a fight without touching your face or scraping your knuckles?” Suho added, voice light but defensive.

Juntae pressed the ice gently to his back, then leaned forward to check his hands. The skin was flushed, but unbroken—no cuts, no scrapes.

“Blood,” Suho said casually, catching Juntae’s glance. “Not mine, though. Just a clean up-jaw strike and a kick. I think I went too hard… maybe broke the guy's tooth. His blood splattered on my hands.”

“Do you think your fighting’s improving?” Juntae asked.

Suho leaned lightly against him, nodding. “Yeah. I think I’m back to where I was in my MMA days. I’ve worked hard for this.”

“You have,” Juntae agreed without hesitation.

A grin tugged at Suho’s mouth. “You know they call me a prodigy around here? Fastest learner in Hwalhak, they say.” His voice carried that mix of pride and boyish excitement he couldn’t quite hide.

Hwalhak, the place they stood in—wasn’t just a gym. Its name, roughly translating to nucleus, matched the symbol on the black card Suho had given Juntae, the same one that granted him access to check Suho’s injuries… and, sometimes, to test out the medical techniques he’d been picking up at Yonsei.

Hwalhak was where the gifted came to sharpen themselves into weapons. Some trained to compete professionally, to chase titles and glory. Most were here for the money. The people who ran it didn’t just train fighters—they sent them on jobs, expeditions, and assignments, paying generously for skill and discretion. At least, that was the story Suho had told him.

“Have you been given any jobs yet?” Juntae asked.

“No,” Suho said, a faint spark in his eyes. “But I have news for you. Promise you won’t freak out?” He pointed a finger at Juntae, who caught it between his own and gave a short nod.

“They don’t want me doing jobs. They want to preserve me.” Suho’s hands gripped Juntae’s shoulders, giving them an eager shake. “Juntae… they want me to try out for Gorae Bae. I heard the recruiters might come in a few days.”

“What’s Gorae Bae?” Juntae asked, trying and failing to match Suho’s excitement.

Suho’s eyes lit up. “The real deal, Juntae. It’s the real deal. Gorae Bae—‘the whale’s belly’ is the most hidden, most established, most influential fighting ring in Seoul. The who’s who go there to watch. Politicians, gang leaders, chaebol heirs… you name it. The money is insane. Not everyone even gets to see the place, let alone fight there. I didn’t know about it myself until I heard the chatter here. Then they said I should try for it.”

Juntae’s expression shifted in an instant from curiosity draining into horror. His shoulders stiffened, his gaze sharpening as if he’d just realised Suho was standing on the edge of something far more dangerous than he understood. Without a word, he pushed himself to his feet.

“No, Suho—no. Fuck no. Not a chance.” Juntae’s voice cracked between disbelief and anger, his hands flying up before dropping to his sides. “Sieun will kill me… and you. He will literally kill us”

Juntae started pacing, short, sharp steps like a caged animal, raking a hand through his hair before finally stopping to stare at Suho. His chest rose and fell faster now, not from exertion, but from the sudden rush of panic coiling tight in his ribs.

“But why?” Suho asked, brow furrowing, his tone caught somewhere between genuine confusion and irritation.

“Why? You’re asking me why?” Juntae’s eyes widened, his voice pitching higher in frustration. “Do you not know why? Or did those two years of your life, those years where you had no control over your body because you were in a coma - just… vanish from your memory?” He stood squarely in front of Suho now, arms folded tight against his chest, his stance a wall of refusal.

“I know,” Suho said, meeting his gaze with stubborn calm. “And I understand you’re worried. But these are professional fights, Juntae. This isn’t a bunch of dipshits cornering one guy and beating him bloody.” His words were steady, but the defensive edge in his voice betrayed the fact that he was bracing himself, ready to argue if he had to.

“And you think you’ll survive that?” Juntae asked, his voice low.

“Of course I will.” Suho’s reply came fast, almost too fast, his brows knitting together. “You’ve seen how hard I’ve worked to get close to what I was, right? You’re doubting my progress now? My hard work?” There was a flicker of something in his tone with pride stung into something sharper.

Juntae exhaled heavily, the sound more weary than frustrated. “No, Suho. I’m not doing that.”

He lowered himself to the floor in front of Suho, legs folding awkwardly, Suho rolled his eyes, looking away, his jaw tight as if holding back words he didn’t trust himself to say.

“You can go,” Suho muttered, pushing himself to stand.

But before he could rise, Juntae’s hand shot out, resting firmly on his knee, not harsh but just enough to keep him still, to make him stay.

“I’m not doubting you, okay?” Juntae’s voice was steady at first, but there was a tremor under it, like something fragile tiptoe'ing around the situation. “I know how hard you pushed through physical therapy, how you finished it faster than anyone expected. I know how you dropped everything, went to Busan to earn money, and still came back faster than you left because you wanted your dream back. For yourself.”

Suho’s gaze shifted, but Juntae kept going.

“I know you worked that café job at the Donghae Rest Stop for months, even when it felt like you were wasting your time. And then… then you fought those thugs. Ended up on the radar of someone from Hwalhak. They gave you an opening—a real chance to fight again.”

He leaned in slightly, searching Suho’s face. “I know you’ve worked hard. You’re still working hard. Café shifts, gyming with Gotak on alternate days, putting in the hours here at Hwalhak too. I know all of it. You promised to tell me your secret, and you did. I know better than anyone else.”

His voice cracked, slipping from measured to almost pleading. “But it’s still worrying, Suho. The idea of you stepping into real fights again… fights in Hwalhak, and especially this Gorae Bae place, they’ll be different. Especially if bets are involved. People with money aren’t kind, Suho.”

Juntae’s hand tightened slightly on his knee, his eyes locking with Suho’s. “You know that first-hand… don’t you?”

Juntae did not want to scratch against Suho's wound against Beomseok but he did anyway, hoping that Suho would get the reference.

Suho studied Juntae for a long moment, his eyes tracing the older boy’s face as if searching for a crack in his resolve. Juntae sat cross-legged on the rubber mat below him, looking up his posture calm but his gaze unyielding. From this angle, avoiding him felt impossible.

“Can I just… try out?” Suho’s voice was quieter now, almost careful. “So I can see the place for myself?”

Juntae’s brows rose, a faint crease forming between them. “Are you trying to negotiate with me, Ahn Suho?”

Suho gave a small, almost guilty nod.

“What’s your limit?” Juntae asked, leaning forward slightly, his voice slow and deliberate.

“For myself? I don’t think I have a limit anymore.” Suho’s tone was firm, but then softened, as if trying to offer reassurance. “But yes… I won’t get hurt the way I did before. I think I’ll know when to stop.”

“You think?” Juntae’s eyes narrowed, skeptical but not unkind.

“Yes,” Suho said, his lips curling into a mischievous smile, “to the best of my intuition… as a 19-year-old, Juntae-hyung.”

The teasing lilt in his voice was unmistakable, a sing-song tone. Juntae sighed, shaking his head as his fingers reached up and gave Suho a light tap on the forehead. The touch was familiar, almost fond, part of a running joke between them; after all, Juntae was only a few months older, but Suho never missed a chance to make it sound like years.

“Suho, I’m serious, just looking. No fighting.” Juntae’s voice was firm.

“Fine.” Suho exhaled, a little too dramatically, before adding under his breath, “Don’t tell Sieun.”

“I won’t mention it,” Juntae replied, rising to his feet, brushing the rubber mat’s faint grain off his palms. “But you know I’ll have to come clean if you get injured badly. So… be careful.” His tone softened on the last two words.

Suho leaned back on his hands, glancing up at him with that restless spark in his eyes. “You know Hwalhak is managed by people who work for those who run Gorae Bae. And those people… work for something or someone even bigger.”

Juntae tilted his head listening. “So it’s like a nexus?”

“Yes,” Suho said, his voice dropping lower, as if the walls might be listening. “From what I’ve heard, it’s tight-lipped. The jobs they give fighters here at Hwalhak aren’t exactly legal either - it’s all… hopping along the gray side of things.”

“You need to be careful Suho you almost slipped up,” Juntae said.

Suho straightened, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “Why? When?”

“You remember when you came over to our place a few days ago?” Juntae asked, folding his arms. “You showed up wearing your windbreaker… but you left in Gotak’s. Same color, sure, but not entirely the same. Sieun noticed. He thought something was up.”

Suho’s head tilted slightly as he exhaled through his nose, a half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll be careful.”

He shifted his weight, gaze drifting past Juntae as he recalled. “Those guys in the fancy sports cars that came into the complex when we were standing in the balcony ? They belonged to some guys from another branch of this place, apparently. Bumi. I’d seen them here once, so I got curious and followed them upstairs. Thought I heard a voice I recognized…” He paused, lips pressing together briefly. “I was wrong about the voice. But they had some work in your building, apparently. One of them got cold, so they asked for my windbreaker. I gave it to them, took Gotak’s instead. They were cautious at first but didn't question me since I had the Hwalhak card”

“What does this Bumi do?” Juntae asked.

Suho shook his head, “I don’t know. The people from there show up here maybe once every two months and drop off a few boxes, talk to someone upstairs, and leave. That’s it. I overheard them once when I followed them just bits and pieces. I think they’re based somewhere in Hongdae… maybe Itaewon.” He gave a small shrug, as if the details were unimportant.

Juntae studied him for a moment as he reached into his bag, pulled out a smaller paper sack, and handed it over. “Snacks,” he said simply. "Be careful Suho, I'm telling you this again".

"I will, don't worry", Suho accepted the packet without question, the faint rustle of the packet briefly filling the space between them.

“I’ll come back in a few days,” Juntae said as he slung his bag over his shoulder as Suho got up to walk him out. “Also… I think we’re going out this weekend to cheer Baku up.”

“I know,” Suho replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “It’ll be a good change. But knowing how Gotak is, do you really think he’ll settle on one place? If it were up to him, he’d hit every bar and club in Seoul before sunrise.”

Juntae groaned, rubbing his temple. “Don’t remind me. I still remember the last time, we ended up in some weird isolated place with no idea how we got there.”

Suho chuckled at the memory, then glanced at him more seriously. “How long are you going to do this? Your whole… thing with Gotak?”

Juntae’s steps slowed. He looked down for a moment, his voice quieter when he answered. “As long as I can keep his secrets, I guess. I don’t know, Suho.”, he waved at Suho and walked out of Hwalhak. Out of a secret he shouldn’t keep but kept anyway.

━━━━━━━━━

“I can’t do shit with this bastard,” the bald man muttered into his phone, pacing near the window with his tie yanked loose, sweat dripping down his temples. His voice cracked, desperate with frustration. “The paperwork’s fucking clean and all legal, scrubbed spotless. No trail, no cracks, nothing to pin and I can't do much if Oh Hyun Tae legally signed a document that says that if the asshole died all his estate would go to his adopted son. The son of a bitch representing that kid is too fucking sly. I can’t con him, and he won’t drop the price a single won either.”

He stopped, jaw twitching as the voice on the other end exploded at him. His lip curled, rage flaring.

“Why the fuck are you screaming at me, huh? .... What do I do if you couldn't con the assembly man? You should have sent that thug Choi he said he knows this punk representing the kid and he’s a scammer piece of shit himself that dipshit Choi and his group of goons—would’ve been a hell of a lot easier. I’m a property dealer who works at Geumhwa for Bamui Jiri with all due respect. If you want someone to crawl inside that bastard’s skin, then send your own dogs, it is not my fault that Bumi messed up the shipments.”He jabbed the phone off and stuffed it in his pocket, exhaling hard as though the argument had drained him.

Seongje watched the man from inside the restaurant. He couldn’t hear what he was saying, but the exaggerated movements of his hands and the way his mouth twisted with each word made Seongje frown.

“There is something not right with this fucker,” Seongje muttered, his tone sharp as Beomseok gave a small nod.

“He seems fishy,” Beomseok replied, sipping his drink and glancing at his watch. He had slipped away from university during his break, but his focus was locked on the man outside.

“I am not going to negotiate below the market rate, and I definitely won’t let you sign a sketchy deal,” Seongje said, raising a hand to signal the cashier for the bill.

“You’re just getting up?” Beomseok asked in surprise, his brows lifting as his gaze flicked once more to the figure outside.

“Baekjin listed the house just a day or two ago, and now this guy suddenly shows up claiming he has a party ready to buy it without even seeing the place or discussing the details? That’s not how things work, it's a scammers trap” Seongje said as he paid, his jaw tight with irritation.

“Oh—hey, hey, kid—you’re leaving already? I just spoke to the client. We can close at the listed price,” the property dealer bustled in, fake smile plastered on.

“That’s great. I’m sure your ‘client’ will find another house. But not ours,” Seongje said coolly.

“What? Wait—what the hell is the problem now, kid?” the man demanded, voice tightening.

“No problem.” Seongje’s tone went razor-sharp. “Beomseok. Get up.”

“You’re throwing away a golden deal, boy. Don’t be so fucking childish,” the man pressed, desperation seeping into his tone.

“I know.” Seongje clicked his tongue, grabbed Beomseok by the sleeve, and walked out without looking back.

“What if I keep the house if we don’t find a buyer?” Beomseok asked.

“It isn’t safe.”

“I know, but I can use it later. I had this idea that I wanted to work on.”

“That is?”

“Open a housing facility for kids who face domestic violence but have nowhere to go,” Beomseok said. Seongje was silent for a moment, then nodded.

“Do you think you can do it?”

“I can. It will need good planning, but I can start working on it. It’s a fixed idea. Whether or not the house gets sold, I can always buy another building.”

“Show off,” Seongje smirked.

“I have one more thing that I would like to do.”

“Which is?”

“You live on the eight floor, Baekjin on the tenth, and Eun Gyeol hyung on the twelfth . I think I’ll get a place there too. I’ve stayed with you for a few days, and I like it—the building, the interior, everything.”

“You can just stay where you are,” Seongje said, not knowing himself why he objected, but he did.

“I know, and I’m thankful. But I can’t impose forever, so I’m thinking of the 11th floor. There’s an apartment listed.”

“Sure, we’ll look at it.” Seongje tilted his head and squinted at him. “Wait a minute. You’re not doing this because you want to bring people over, right?”

“Uh—what? No. No, nothing like that,” Beomseok said quickly, crossing his arms in a cross.

Seongje’s lips twitched, as though he didn’t quite believe him but didn’t press further, Beomseok was his age - a few months younger, he had not got used to having the guy around but was trying, it was funny how Beomseok still called him "hyung". They leaned against Seongje’s car while Beomseok waited for the driver. Seongje had hired a new one, since Beomseok did not want to come face to face with the old staff who knew how he had been abused.

Seongje looked at his phone as it pinged with a message notification, he normally would have taken more time to reply if it was someone else.

Newbie ━

You didn’t come today.
You were supposed to take one more lecture.

 

Seongje ━

So? The professor’s back. Miss me or something?

Newbie ━

The attendance in the lecture hall was lower today compared to the last two days.

 

Seongje ━

That’s rather unfortunate.
Not my problem people are boring. Did anyone trouble you today?

Newbie ━

No.

 

Seongje stared at the message bubble for a few seconds as it flickered—appearing, disappearing, reappearing.

“This little shit,” he muttered.

“Me?” Beomseok looked up from his phone, startled.

“No, not you,” Seongje shot back.

Newbie ━

Can we meet?

Seongje ━

You wanna go on a date? Could’ve just said so.

Newbie ━

?

Seongje tilted his head back and stared at the sky, smirking to himself. Where the hell do you even meet someone like Yeon Sieun?

The guy was boring as hell on paper, yet somehow he kept Seongje’s attention. What kind of place would suit him?

Some cute little café, the aesthetic ones that were trending these days with overpriced coffee and exotic plants ? Or maybe a bar, though he doubted Sieun could even survive in the noise without complaining. A gaming yard, then? Neon lights, cheap snacks, controllers sticky from overuse? Seongje laughed under his breath, almost amused by how ridiculous it was to picture Sieun in any of those places.

Seongje grinned at the screen as an idea formed.

Seongje ━

I’m busy with something right now.
I can pick you up from wherever you are?

Newbie ━

I’m headed toward the subway.

 

Seongje ━

I’ve got a car. I’ll see you outside the station.

“You’re not coming?” Beomseok asked when the driver pulled up.

“No, you go,” Seongje said, gesturing for him to get in.

“What about Seok Dae? We haven’t talked about it yet,” Beomseok pressed, sliding into the seat.

“We’ll go there tomorrow. It’s already decided. Just finish whatever assignments or shit you’ve got today,” Seongje replied, shutting the door with a firm hand. He watched the car roll off before turning on his heel toward his own.

As he passed, his gaze lingered on the property dealer in the restaurant, still barking into his phone with the same vein-popping fury.

“Weird asshole,” Seongje muttered under his breath, twisting his head slightly before slipping inside his car.

[....]

Sieun lingered at the edge of the subway drop-off, earphones in, hands buried in his pockets, swaying from one foot to the other as though keeping rhythm with the station itself. People streamed past in tides and groups some rushing toward trains with restless urgency, others drifting out with tired shoulders and easy laughter. A few lingered by pillars fixing their hair in phone screens, some stood stiffly with briefcases, and others walked locked in conversations only they could hear. Sonder had become one of Sieun’s quietest comforts—the reminder that every passerby carried a life as intricate, heavy, and complex as his own. In those moments, he could almost convince himself he belonged to the same world as them, he knew a lot of people felt that way.

He dragged his gaze toward the road, watching the flow of cars until one in particular stood out, a black sedan weaving through traffic like a wasp that had spotted a picnic. He didn’t actually know what Seongje’s car looked like but by the impatient honk he had guessed it was him. It somehow fit too well that Seongje would be the sort of person who grew impatient the moment traffic slowed, as if the world itself was wasting his time. Not that Sieun had been consciously trying to connect Seongje’s quirks to his character while waiting but the thought arrived unbidden all the same.”

“Get in!” Seongje said, rolling down the window.
Sieun looked down from the higher footpath and climbed into the car, pulling out his earphones.

He paused mid-action, glancing back at the earbuds still in his hand. Tapping his ears, he realized they weren’t ringing—Seongje just happened to be listening to the exact same song. A weird coincidence.

“Shut the door, or the guy behind me is going to take it off with his car. See how he’s trying to take over? Fucking asshole in his stupid car. If there was space to reverse, I’d have shoved his steering wheel up his ass.” Seongje snapped his fingers and pointed at the door.

Sieun realized and shut it quickly, glancing at Seongje before staring straight ahead.

Seongje was still shouting at someone who tried to cut through.

“What did you say? You—yes, you, idiot! If this car could fly, it’d still crash into your head!”

More honking followed, Seongje muttering to himself before yelling again.

“You honk like that again, I’ll shove the horn so far up your ass you’ll fart symphonies.”

Sieun sat still, lips pressed tight. It was funny—slightly—but he didn’t let himself smile. Instead, he bit his tongue to keep a chuckle down as Seongje finally pushed out of the busy line and onto the main road with a sigh.

“You used to have a bike,” Sieun said, recalling how he’d seen it once or twice, usually parked outside the bowling alley.

“I upgraded. Still have it, though,” Seongje replied.

Sieun’s eyes drifted over him the bandages wrapped tight around his hands, another hidden under his hair but peeking just enough to be noticed. His fingers tapped against the steering wheel, keeping time with the beat playing faintly in the car.

“Why did you want to meet? Surprising, honestly,” Seongje said.

“I wanted to talk,” Sieun answered shortly.

“About what?”

“Why did you go and hit those guys the second time?”

“Because I felt like it,” Seongje replied, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. His tone was sharp but almost playful, as if he enjoyed admitting it. “They called for more backup and some of them were headed the same way you were going. They were itching for a fight. So was I. Don’t worry, I’ve got the whole thing on tape, you know that. And for the record, they started it.”

“The police came,” Sieun muttered, voice tight. “I had fainted, and Baku took me to the hospital. They were there.”

“Did they question you?” Seongje asked, almost too casually.

“No.”

“So? All good then.”

“Did they question you?”

“No,” Seongje said, pausing for a beat before continuing, “but they came and visited me before you.”

Sieun blinked. “How do you know that?”

“I was two floors above.” His voice was maddeningly nonchalant, like it was no big deal.

“You were? Like in the same hospital—when? Uh…” Sieun’s words stumbled out.

“The dipshits I beat were on the middle floor,” Seongje said, his grin widening at the memory. “I wanted to see them suffer. So yes, I was there.”

“I saw it. Eun Gyeol showed it to us, an entire ward packed with them,” Sieun said.

“Yes,” Seongje replied without hesitation, his eyes fixed ahead, lips quirking. “So I heard your usual group of friends were there too. Always together. Always stuck to each other like glue. Must be boring.”

The words landed sharp, laced with mockery that wasn’t entirely cruel, but probing like he wanted to peel away at Sieun’s comfort until he squirmed.

Sieun shifted in his seat, unsure if he should defend them or stay silent.

“It isn’t. Wait—where are we going?” Sieun leaned forward, trying to peer through the windshield.

Seongje’s arm shot out, palm pressing firmly between Sieun and the dashboard, forcing him back into the seat.

“Sit back, you idiot. There’s a speed breaker ahead, you’ll go flying.”

“I’m wearing a seatbelt,” Sieun muttered, frowning.

“Still.”

The car rattled over the bump, then settled into silence. The only sound was the low hum of the engine and the muted thud of tires against asphalt.

“Don’t talk about my friends like that again. Please.”

“Why? You disappointed you didn’t get the answer you wanted? Want to go tell your stupid friends I’m a loner?” Seongje chuckled darkly, “Go ahead—bet they’ll love that.”

You’re wrong. You have a very negative opinion of them”

“So, should I have a positive one? What’s your friend group like, Yeon Sieun? What’s there to like about them?”.

“You wouldn’t fucking understand. You don’t have friends.”

“And you don’t have any normal life experiences, despite having friends, dumbass.”

“You had a normal life? Please. Not even for a damn day. ‘Union second in command’? That’s just a fancy title for an errand boy and patrol lackey.”

“Errand boy? Me? Says the guy who got expelled. At least I had the balls to stay at one damn school instead of bouncing around like a lost puppy.”

“One school? Ganghak? Don’t flatter yourself. The kids didn’t like you—they just tolerated you because of the damn Union.”

“That’s bullshit. At least they tolerated me, like you said. Not like shitty Eunjang, where people treated you like the plague ‘cause of what you pulled at your last school.”

“Even in that plague, we came together and took down your useless Union.”

“Yeah, right. Like that was some big deal.”

“It was, and I didn’t betray my friends—or people I even knew, unlike someone here.”

“Fine,” Seongje said, slamming the steering wheel.

“Fine,” Sieun muttered, folding his arms and turning to the window.

He tried to fix his eyes on the streets whipping past, but the bass of the music pounded too loud, Seongje’s fingers drummed the wheel like an itch he wouldn’t stop scratching, and that sharp cologne kept hitting his nose. Every detail clawed at his focus, needling him, he wasn't able to focus on anything that he saw outside.

“I won’t say anything unless he does,” Sieun muttered, sitting up straighter like he was drawing a line in the sand. He flicked his gaze toward Seongje. To his irritation, Seongje was already watching him, unreadable before giving a small, deliberate shake of his head.

“I—” they both started, their voices clashing in the air. The words died instantly, each of them snapping their eyes forward.

“You first,” they tried again, swiveling back at the same time.

“Stop copying me!” they barked together for the third time.

Sieun scoffed, throwing his hands up in disbelief, mouth parted as though he’d just witnessed something ridiculous as Seongje rolled his eyes with a mocking expression.

“You wanted to meet, you talk,” Seongje said flatly.

Sieun didn’t waste a beat. “Why exactly do you and Baku not like each other?” His tone was calm, he already knew Baku's side of the answer and wanted to know Seongje's as well.

Seongje’s expression darkened just slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching.“Park Humin, huh? I just don’t like the guy. Never have. Never will. There’s a whole list of reasons, but one of the big ones is that his entire presence screwed with Baekjin’s head. And when Baekjin’s head got messed up, it didn’t just stay with him. He dragged everyone else into it as well in unusual ways, That endless lovers’ spat of theirs? Fucking ridiculous. I told Humin straight up to fix his mess before it boiled over, but everyone wanted to fight.”

Sieun tilted his head. “And?”

“And,” Seongje’s voice dropped, his eyes narrowing as if replaying something he’d rather not, “he interfered with my work. Not Eunjang directly. That ridiculous hero complex of his… it made everything harder. I had plans, things to keep in order, and he’d step in at the last second, playing savior, forcing me to adjust, to clean up after his performances.”

"Why?"

"A rule, It was pathetic. Baekjin was babysitting a man who couldn’t stop tripping over his own righteousness. If someone fucked Baku up then Baekjin would fuck them up. Simple, it was an unspoken understanding in the Union, hands off - unless Baekjin sent someone himself, I never really followed it though"

They were quiet again as the music played in the background.

Sieun wasn’t paying much attention to Seongje maneuvering the car. His focus kept flicking to the small bandage on Seongje’s knuckle, slightly peeling away as his fingers flexed over the steering wheel. There was nothing remarkable about the motion. Sieun had seen it all before, it was just driving - but there was something oddly hypnotic about the casual precision, the way Seongje could reverse and adjust a car with one hand while the other stayed lightly draped on the wheel. Sieun could feel his chest tighten with a mix of disbelief and irritation at himself for even noticing.

Maybe it was the fact that he had agreed to meet Seongje at all. Every passing second seemed to scramble his thoughts, each glance, each nod to the music beat, each slight twitch of Seongje’s hand pulling him further off track. He had somehow managed to forget a little about what he wanted to talk to Seongje about. If all he wanted was to ask about his friends, a text would have been enough. But he hadn’t. And now here he was, sitting too close to someone who somehow made the simplest things feel complicated.

From the time Seongje had hopped back into his life, as a person not as a thought - things had started to feel different?

He hadn’t sent a text because after the relentless swirl of emotions from the night before, he needed to test it again—needed to see if being near Seongje could trigger that strange, fleeting sense of being able to experience every emotion again, one after the other because that was maybe an experience of being normal. 

[....]

Seongje grinned to himself as he got out of the car and looked at the place he had selected. He was pretty confident that Sieun had been to every place that had popped into his mind earlier as options, but not the one that he had brought him to. It did not match Seongje’s usual taste either, and that was probably the most interesting part of it all.

Sieun stepped inside before Seongje could say anything, a blast of air conditioning sending his hair in every direction.

“Ohhhh,” he murmured, pushing a few stray strands out of his face as he tried to fix them. Seongje watched, amused. Cute.

The interior of the bar was dimly lit, amber pools of light pooling over polished black glass shelves, each bottle of wine catching the glow like a tiny gem. Smooth jazz drifted lazily through the room, mingling with the rich scent of chocolate, aged wine, and faint hints of cologne that clung to the patrons. In one corner, a few couples swayed to the rhythm, moving as if the music had taken over their bodies entirely.

Ahead, through tall, spotless windows, a sprawling walking garden stretched into the night. Fountains danced with soft sprays of water, catching the lights like liquid diamonds, and trees and flowering shrubs formed a lush, serene labyrinth just beyond the bar’s warm, decadent interior.

Seongje saw Sieun staring at the place as he just stood there, then turned around after a second.

“No,” Sieun said, looking at him in disbelief. Seongje would have looked at himself like that too, but if the guy wanted to talk, then a stupid, overdone cafe, a noisy club, or a gaming place wasn’t the right choice even though it would have been a good joke.

“Don’t look at me like that, I’ll gauge your eyes out. I wouldn’t have picked this place either, but it’s not every day that you want to go on a date,” Seongje tsked.

“This is not a date,” Sieun said defensively.

“Sure, sure, keep telling yourself that. This is our third date.”

“How—how did you even come to that number?”

“The convenience store a year or more ago, then the SNU cafeteria just sometime back, and now this is the third,” he smirked, finding a good seat that also had a view.

“Those were not dates, and this one isn’t either,” Sieun said from behind him.

Seongje had understood that Yeon Sieun was hell-bent on claiming the title of being a party pooper every time they met.

“I don’t really give a fuck about what you think,” he said as he motioned Sieun to sit down on one of the plush chairs.

The waiter slid the menu across the table with a smooth flourish, his polished hands almost dancing over the leather-bound pages. “Tonight, we have selections from Bordeaux, Napa, and a few rare blends. Our sommelier recommends starting light,” he said, eyes briefly flicking to Sieun, who blinked as if lost in translation.

Seongje, who sat across from Sieun, got up and sat next to him instead.

“Don’t panic, newbie. I’ve been here before, Eun Gyeol dragged me once. I know which wines won’t make your tongue revolt.”

“They don’t serve soju or beer here?” Sieun asked, innocent, innocent guy of course.

“No. Read the room. At times it is good to try something new. Soju and beer is something everyone has. After some time, it is not fun.”

“And this is?”

“Yes, it will be.”

“You’re lying. There is soju.”

“We are not having that.”

Sieun frowned at the pages, unfamiliar with half the names, the descriptions floating like abstract over his head,“notes of blackcurrant, hints of oak and tobacco, lingering finish.” He squinted at the menu. “How am I supposed to choose?”

Seongje had already seen those eyes in moments of anger, confusion, suspicion, worry, even despair, and frankly, it bored him. But curiosity ? real, unguarded curiosity was a sight worth savoring. Sieun’s gaze darted across the pages, sharp and quick, trying to map out the strange names and strange flavors in his mind. There was a hint of excitement in the intensity, a subtle tremor that made him pause, even if Sieun wasn’t about to admit it.

The only thing that interested Seongje about Sieun was his eyes. They were different from others. It was amusing. They kept his attention because Sieun had looked into his own for more than three seconds every time, breaking his rule.

Seongje leaned back, exuding casual confidence, and began walking him through it. “Start simple. You want something smooth, not something that punches your throat. Try the Chardonnay or the Riesling they’re easy to sip.”

“Is there a difference?”, Sieun asked looking up from the menu.

Seongje chuckled low, leaning closer, the scent of his cologne drifting over. 

He watched Sieun shift a little at first but came back to his place again

“Think of it like soju but fancier. This Chardonnay is smooth, like a gentle first sip of soju, nothing sharp. The Riesling? Sweeter, closer to a Korean rice wine, but less cloying. Reds like Merlot or Cabernet hit harder, more like taking a shot of strong soju after work but with flavor and texture.”

Sieun tilted the menu, trying to process the analogy, while Seongje’s fingers tapped lightly on the page, guiding him. “See this? ‘Notes of blackcurrant, oak, a lingering finish.’ That’s just wine-speak for ‘it tastes good as fuck and sticks in your damn memory.’ Don’t overthink it.”

When the waiter returned, Seongje waved him off with a grin. “Two glasses of the 2018 Chardonnay, please. Trust me, newbie, you’ll survive.”

As the amber liquid filled the crystal glasses, Sieun looked at the bottle and then back at Seongje.

“Step one, look. See the color. Hold your glass up to the light.” He took Sieun’s hand, tilting the glass together.

He watched Sieun’s face turn into surprise and caution at the same time at the movement.

“Notice how the Chardonnay catches the light even though they have got this place dim? Golden, like honey dripping off a comb. That’s how you know it’s young and bright. Reds are deeper, heavier, like a full-bodied Merlot. Dark as midnight, see? That’s a first hint of flavor.”

Sieun swirled the glass awkwardly. “Like this?”

“Exactly. Don’t just swirl, though. Look at the legs.” Seongje tapped the side of his glass as Sieun did it as well. “See those streaks running down? That’s alcohol content and viscosity. More legs, heavier the body. Like comparing soju to makgeolli. Light soju is thin, easy. Makgeolli thicker, textured. That’s your legs right there.”

“You sound like a teacher”, Sieun said his voice falt still tapping the glass 

“Well, I was a temp and here I am drinking with my student , it’s scandalous isn't it ? it's exciting”, Seongje smirked as Sieun just shook his head 

“This is not a date”, he repeated 

“Not sure people would say that if they saw us here”, He leaned closer, lowering his voice, playful but intimate. “Step two , newbie smell. Stick your nose in, inhale gently. Don’t just sniff like it’s food. Imagine it, fruity, floral, hints of spice, maybe oak. This Chardonnay smells like a fresh orchard, maybe a touch of butter. Imagine pear soju but better. Taste it later, you’ll see.”

Seongje guided Sieun’s hand to tilt the glass slightly. “Now swirl it. Don’t be afraid to move it in circles. That’s not just for show it lets the wine breathe, releases the aromas.”

Sieun bent down to take a gentle sniff and put his head up, doing it again. A faint scent rose, soft and inviting.

“Smell that? What do you think it is?

Vanilla? Butter?” Sieun said, his eyes up, thinking, sensing the scent as if he was missing something.

“Some sort of Nut? Apple?” Sieun asked.

“You are right. Fucking spot on, surprisingly.”

“I am, okay,” Sieun said, taking another whiff.

“Okay, enough of that, the smelling.”

Sieun frowned.

“Step three newbie, take a sip. Tiny, tiny sip. Don’t fucking gulp. Let it sit on your tongue. Taste the layers. You might get citrus first, then something warm in your throat. That’s the finish.”

Seongje tapped the rim of Sieun’s glass with his own. “Cheers? Not really, but let’s pretend. Bottoms up. Take a small sip. Swirl. Smell. Let it sit.”

Sieun took the first sip, expecting something sharp and immediate, like soju or a cheap liquor. Instead, the wine rolled over his tongue, creamy and slow, leaving a faint warmth that spread without a punch. He blinked once, then again, not sure what to make of it.

“Hmm,” he muttered, eyes narrowing slightly. “Not… bad, I guess.” His voice was flat, but there was a tiny lift in the corner of his mouth, almost a smirk he tried to suppress.

He swirled the glass again after taking another whiff, letting the liquid coat his tongue more deliberately this time. The flavors were subtle, teasing, almost like a fight where the opponent moved with quiet precision, hard to hit but leaving traces everywhere.

“It’s… weird,” Sieun admitted, shifting his weight. “Not like anything I’m used to. Smooth, soft… I don’t know if I like it or not.”

Seongje chuckled. “It’s an acquired taste. You’ll either catch it or not.”

“Ohhhhh shit,” Sieun said, putting his glass down as his eyes shut and two fingers went to the side of his throat as he tilted his head.

“Slightly warm and sticks more,” Sieun said, looking at the glass and nodding.

“See?” Seongje grinned. “That’s the point. Wine doesn’t just hit your tongue and disappear.”

Seongje watched as Sieun’s mouth turned into an almost confused expression and quickly switching to a judging expression, looking slightly impressed.

The waiter quietly refilled their glasses as he placed small circular glass dishes, each holding three different colored chocolates, in front of them.

“Step four. Now this is optional, but you eat the chocolate,” Seongje said.

“What does it do? Don’t alcohol and sweet clash at times?”

“You’ll have to try it and see.”

Sieun obeyed, placing the chocolate on his tongue and letting it dissolve. Then he took another sip of wine. The flavors collided, transforming into something richer, layered, almost confusingly satisfying. He tilted his head, focusing. “It’s… sharper? And sweet at the same time.”

“The wine unlocks the chocolate. Chocolate brings out the wine’s notes,” Seongje nodded.

Sieun looked at the glass as the wine particles moved around. He liked it.

It was an entirely different experience as he took another chocolate piece in his mouth and leaned back.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, listening to the jazz music.

“Is this what growing up feels like?” Sieun asked.

“Don’t get psychological or philosophical with me” Seongje shrugged.

“You’re older than some us by months. Were you happy to be able to officially drink?” Sieun asked.

“Officially, I had my first drink at fourteen. But yeah, fuck whatever, at eighteen as well,” Seongje chuckled, taking another sip of his wine.

“Do you have a high drinking tolerance?” Sieun asked suddenly.

“I’d like to believe so, although there are bigger players who fucking chug booze like water. What about you?”

“For soju, maybe yes. For beer, it depends. For this, Wine,” Sieun said, tapping the leg of the glass. “I guess I’ll figure out.”

“Is it always beer and soju with you and your little gang?”

“No, Gotak has a broader palate since he goes out on dates often.”

“He gets chicks?” Seongje scoffed in disbelief.

“Shut up.”

“Fine, Go Hyuntak gets pussy, happy?”

“Can you not say it so openly? What is wrong with you?” Sieun hissed as Seongje saw a hint of embarrassment in his eyes.

“I don’t give a flying fuck what people think. I could go announce this on the mic over there,” Seongje said, pointing to the mic where couples were dancing.

“I will get up if you do that,” Sieun said, his voice sounding back to its usual monotone.

The waiter came and refilled their glasses again, placing plates of kimchi pancakes, mini bulgogi skewers, and japchae bites on the table.

Sieun looked at the dishes as Seongje saw him take out his phone, click a picture, and put the phone on the table. He decided not to say anything about it.

“Eun Gyeol is going to be so annoyed if he knows you are eating this one day after yesterday,” Seongje said.

“He doesn’t have to know,” Sieun said, looking at Seongje for a moment and then back to his plate. Sieun knew he wasn’t supposed to have this a day after nausea, but he could manage.

“It is crazy how much Baku resembles him,” Seongje said, turning to face Sieun. Sieun still sat straight.

“They are not on good terms,” Sieun said quietly.

“Must be fucking crazy fighting with someone who looks just like you,” Seongje said, tapping his fork.

“Is Eun Gyeol part of some, I don’t know, association or gang?” Sieun asked.

“No, why?” Seongje asked, interested.

“The police officers who came to my room, I heard them—not very well. They said that they did not want to anger the doctor, Eun Gyeol, because he knows people who have the police in their palms,” Sieun said, turning sideways to look at Seongje.

Seongje thought for a moment. He himself was curious as to how Baekjin and Eun Gyeol had managed to sway the cops away, but he knew that Baekjin had dealt with the police before.

“That annoying shit Gyeol is connected well. He is one of the best surgeons around, must have some reach. I have heard he has treated some influential people, the kind who have a hold on these cops,” Seongje said.

“Makes sense,” Sieun replied.

“Do you still fight?” Seongje asked.

“No. Not anymore. I actually didn’t even get into a brawl—your stupid three-second rule made me get into one, and obviously whatever happened at the tunnel,” Sieun sighed.

“Do you like the rush of fighting?” Seongje asked.

“No,” Sieun lied.

“Liar,” Seongje said. “You hate the idea of fighting, not the rush it gives you.”

"You're mistaken", Sieun defended.

"Why did the Ganghak guys save you a seat at the PC Cafe? Why that seat particularly?", Sieun asked after a minute

"Do they still do it?", Seongje asked curious

"They did, when I last saw"

"Because it's my seat, I sat there since middle school. I could see all over the cafe from there and it was easy to get to after beating people", Seongje said casually.

It was new for Seongje to watch Sieun ask questions, he had done it the cafeteria as well, but he didn’t particularly hate it. He had no reason to sit in silence.

“It doesn’t feel so warm now,” Sieun said, pointing at the glass.

“It has settled in your throat. Do you like it?”

“One could say so.”

“Would you have bashed that pot into my skull that day we first met?” Seongje asked.

“No. I don’t do things people can see coming—you did. Doesn’t mean I didn’t want to hit you with one, though,” Sieun smirked.

“Very funny. Your whole tool-using fighting shebang is very predictable to me,” Seongje mocked.

Sieun waited a few seconds before speaking again. “You didn’t give me the list of all the accounts the Union used, did you?”

“That’s right. You figured it out?”

“Math isn’t hard for me—some things just didn’t add up.”

“Did you tell anyone about it?” Seongje’s tone turned cautious.

"No. What you gave me was enough.”

There was a sudden wave of loud cheers from the other side of the bar. Sieun and Seongje looked toward the bustle—someone was celebrating their birthday. Sieun said something, but Seongje couldn’t hear him over the noise.

Seongje grabbed the arms of Sieun’s chair and pulled it closer with a sudden jerk. Sieun looked at him immediately, startled.

“I can’t fucking hear you. They’re too noisy,” Seongje whispered into Sieun’s ear. Sieun shifted to the corner of his chair, glancing back at his place, his movements careful, measured.

They stayed quiet for a few more seconds. The silence was almost oppressive, broken only by the faint clinking of glasses and the distant laughter from the birthday party. Seongje stole another glance at Sieun, who had turned his head back, his expression unreadable. He didn’t know himself why he had pulled the chair so close.

The birthday noise had died down after a few minutes, and so had Seongje’s mild, alcohol-induced confidence in the bold move. He watched Sieun as he toyed with the food on his plate rather than eating it, his focus drawn to the dessert bar instead. It was almost irritating how he picked at the dish absentmindedly, lost in thought.

Seongje realized he couldn’t even push the chair back now. 

“It is going to be even more fucking weird if you do,” Seongje thought to himself, momentarily losing ideas on what to do.

“Seok Dae—what do you know about him?” Sieun asked breaking the silence.

“Who’s that? I think I’ve heard the name before somewhere,” Seongje lied—not that Sieun knew he was lying.

“A guy from my middle school. Byuksan. He was into drugs. He was looking for you on the campus ,” Sieun said.

Seongje already knew about this. 

Drugs was an uncharted territory for Seongje as well not that he did not know of them and their specifics but the Union had not gotten into that.

“Was he? I don’t know him. Not sure if I’ve seen him—might have passed by. The Union had reach near Byuksan as well during it's last months,” Seongje said.

“He wanted to meet you,” Sieun said.

“How do you know?” Seongje asked.

“I saw him while I was coming to the tunnel.”

“And? What did you do?” Seongje asked.

"Sent him to the wrong building.”

“You’re full of shit,” Seongje chuckled , he was going to deal with Seok Dae as well, rude punk who dared to threaten him of all people.

The air between them held a subtle tension as the waiter returned to refill the last glass from the second bottle. Their shoulders brushed ever so slightly, a fleeting contact that sent a tiny spark through the space between them. Both paused for a fraction of a second, just long enough for the warmth of the other’s presence to register before they pulled back, each reaching for their glass.

“What did the guy at Byuksan do that made you almost kill him? I mean, he died later that is what I have heard, but you were the first cause?” Seongje asked.

“Bully. A bad one. It was a rush of anger that made me do it,” Sieun said.

"With the pen, I assume?” Seongje asked.

“Yes—the one you say writes like a cockroach.”

“It does,” Seongje replied as he smirked at the little glare of annoyance that Sieun gave him his eyes squinting and offended 

There was an awkward silence again, and it was slicing through Seongje’s patience. He wasn’t accustomed to awkward silences with anyone—Yeon Sieun had become an exception, even after his three-second rule. Seongje couldn’t fathom what the boy was thinking; his eyes were fixed on his plate, tracing the edges of the food as if it held some secret.

“Fuck this,” he muttered to himself, grabbing his wine glass and standing up.

Sieun’s eyes shot up, locking onto him immediately.

“The walking area outside looks interesting. Might as well check it out,” Seongje said, hoping Sieun would follow so there would be some space between the chairs.

This was ridiculous. He fucked people for fun, yet here he was, feeling absurd because he had pulled someone’s chair closer to him.

“Can we take this outside?” Sieun asked, gesturing to his glass. Seongje nodded.

“They have us on the tab, and I don’t think we can disappear into the fucking bushes with this, so yes.”

“Okay,” Sieun nodded, getting up as Seongje opened the glass door to the walking section outside. There was outdoor seating, and a few people strolled past the fountains in the open area.

Sieun stood there for a moment, taking in the view. He glanced at Seongje, then back at the fountains.

“What?” Seongje asked, expecting something deep or pretentious that would make no sense to him.

Sieun scrunched his nose, looking at Seongje again.

“This is a smoking area, but you have no cigarette,” Sieun said, pointing to Seongje’s pockets.

Seongje had left them in the car.

“Fuck you,” Seongje scoffed, while Sieun shook his head and looked down at the patterned tiles.

“You have no cigarette,” Sieun repeated, now sounding like he was enjoying his own little joke.

Did Yeon Sieun just fucking laugh? He could do that?

[....]

Sieun felt it first as a light, disorienting warmth, creeping from his chest into his limbs, a subtle looseness he had never allowed himself to feel. The Chardonnay lingered on his tongue, buttery and slightly sweet, with sharp hints of citrus that made his senses more alert yet strangely unfocused at the same time. Each sip seemed to twist the screws in his mind, loosening the tight control he habitually maintained.

He was sitting across from Seongje, listening as he spoke, words flowing naturally without the usual calculations, the usual defensive pauses Sieun clung to. Panic bubbled beneath the surface. This…this normal conversation, the quiet idea of sharing a drink, was foreign, destabilizing. His chest felt too open, his thoughts too exposed. He wanted to analyze everything, plan every response, but his mind refused to cooperate, blurred slightly by the wine’s warmth.

It was terrifying, and intoxicating, and exhilarating all at once. Sieun felt like he was teetering on the edge of losing himself, something he didn’t yet have a name for, this unguarded normalcy, a sensation so alien that it rattled the very structure of his mental armor. Every moment with Seongje, every casual observation and glance, tightened the panic while simultaneously loosening the screws he had spent years securing. For the first time, he realized he could feel without strategy, without fear, without calculation and that terrified him more than any fight ever had.

Because Sieun felt like he had an adapted family with his friends, with Suho, Seongje was none of that, and yet it was different with him. Wine or not, he needed to induce some order, even if that made him look like an absolutely shit person, because walking next to Seongje somehow seemed like an even closer, more intimate event than when Seongje had pulled his chair close enough to make their shoulders just brush.

“I will walk here,” Sieun said, pointing at a narrow strip of the patterned footpath—three steps sideways, just enough to create a clear boundary between them. “And you will walk here.”

Seongje rolled his eyes, the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he glanced at the neat geometric tiles beneath their feet.

“What?” he asked Sieun, swirling his glass.

Without waiting for an answer, Seongje shifted three steps to the side, deliberately matching Sieun’s distance, the click of his shoes echoing softly against the polished pavement.

“So that the glasses don’t fall. It’s a narrow path, and I don’t want to walk in the grass,” Sieun said. It was an absolute shit of an excuse, but it seemed to work. They walked, and Sieun sighed. Yes, he wanted to see if Seongje could trigger the emotion in him, but if he was conducting an experiment, there had to be some order.

“How long were you ranked first on Shuttle Patch?” Sieun asked, and Seongje tilted his head. Sieun already knew the answer to the question but someone had to break the ice again.

“You know?” he said.

“Juntae told me,” Sieun replied.

“Juntae,” Seongje asked, confused but answered anyway. “About a week—short-lived, but sweet, the perks of being first were fun, had pretty girls visiting me.”

Sieun just shrugged, almost pretending he did not hear that.

“How does Seo Juntae know?” Seongje asked.

“You won’t make fun of him?” Sieun asked cautiously. He knew that Seongje would miss no chance to take a jab at his friends.

“What’s there to make fun of? That he doesn’t fight, or that he still gossips like a high school girl? Does he still do that? I remember some guys in the Union saying they used him for gossip during his errand runs.” Seongje’s mouth curved into a slow, needling smile.

“Juntae does know a lot. He’s like this overflowing box of information—I was always surprised how he knew so much about the Union, He still talks about it” Sieun said.

“Was he like… a fan?” Seongje asked, brows pulling together.

Sieun nodded. “Yeah. Weirdly devoted, too. He said he got into it because of Ji Hakho”

“Shit, hated that guy,” Seongje muttered.

“He beat you, that’s why?” Sieun tilted his head.

“No. Other reasons.”

“Did you ever use Juntae as a shuttle boy?” Sieun’s tone was almost casual, but his eyes stayed fixed on him as he sipped on the wine gently trying to wear out the taste longer

“No—uh, actually I preferred not to,” Seongje said. “I know people who did—but I heard he had these weird friends who were into some crazy Japanese stuff back at Eunjang? Called your friend ‘Juntae-kun and all.’” He shrugged.

“Oh, they totally bowed to him,” Sieun said immediately. “Like, full ninety degrees.”

Seongje gave him a look almost stopping mid walk. “You’re serious, don't fuck with me?”

“I'm serious, they had a theme song for him too. Played it on their phones when he walked in during break time.”

“What the hell—”

“It was cute,” Sieun grinned. “Their hideout was the janitor’s room. Broom closet meetings to hide from Hyoman, the whole deal.”

“So… they were like a cult.”

“More like a very underfunded fan club.”, Sieun said as he heard Seongje chuckle and shake his head.

Seongje snorted. “Crazy kid.”

He glanced at Sieun. “So, what did he tell you about me then?”

“A lot of shit,” Sieun said, pulling out his phone . He unlocked it, tapped into his notes app, and scrolled until he found a long paragraph as he started reading out what was written.

“Faked your own kidnapping… lied about injuries… oh—used chicken feet once… spiked drinks, installed spyware, leaked messages, made people fight for fun… rearranged exam halls… burned love letters in public… graded someone’s confession for grammar… fake dates, cruel jokes, left people waiting hours… oh, and apparently lending your jacket is a trap.”

Seongje smirked. “Not bad, not bad at all, Can I have a look?”.

"Juntae sent me this" Sieun said beforehand so that Seongje did not get any wrong ideas as he handed him the phone looking at what Seongje was doing closely.

“This one’s wrong,” Seongje said, tapping a bold sentence. “I don’t record things I do with people.”

Sieun’s eyes went wide as he looked at it—then he quickly glanced away, pretending not to care, but the quiet exhale of relief gave him away.

Seongje looked at him as Sieun took his phone from his hands and took a big sip, suddenly finding the fountains interesting.

“Come to think about it, newbie, in the car you told me that I betrayed my so-called friends and people I knew, but you wouldn’t have taken down the Union without me snitching. It’d have been a fucking shit fight that got everyone screwed—no proof, no shot. And guess who handed you that proof? Me.”

"He is going back to that day again, change the topic - change the topic"

"Fine", Sieun said 

“What, you’re not gonna say anything else? This is fun—argue with me. You looked like you wanted to in the car”, Seongje teased.

"No', Sieun said, tone flat.

“Do your precious friends even know what you did for me to give up that information?” Seongje asked, voice low

"Please, let us not discuss this right now"

"No"

“Why? You should’ve told them, right? Isn’t that what friends are for? Sharing shit and all?”

"Not always"

"Awww, this is no fun Yeon Sieun, Should I go and tell them myself?", Seongje asked looking at him.

No. No . No 

“Don’t,” Sieun said quietly, his eyes locking onto Seongje’s. He hesitated, swallowing the lump in his throat before adding, “Please.”

It wasn’t fear that gripped him, Sieun already knew. It was just a kiss, after all. But it wasn’t just any kiss; it was his first. If it had been some random, meaningless moment, maybe it wouldn’t have mattered so much.

He had already told Gotak, Baku, and Juntae about how hard he’d pushed Seongje to get the information out—how he’d been tough, unyielding. Which was a complete lie.

'I won't, if we talk about it", Seongje said 

"What is there to talk about it? You kissed me - I kissed back. That's it."

“What’s there to talk about? You kissed me, I kissed back. End of story. I don't really remember it”, Sieun said as he saw Seongje raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, you don’t remember? Well, that’s just fucking convenient.”, Seongje chuckled.

'It is what it is", Sieun said as he internally sighed.

"This wasn't so bad, he got what he wanted and now he will not raise this again and the others won't come to know. Well done Sieun'

“So, you don’t remember that kiss, huh? Weird, first kisses usually burn into your brain.”

"What the fuck? What the hell is he saying?

"I dont know what you are talking about", Sieun said looking at the trees, but he knew Seongje was looking at him, maybe Sieun needed more alcohol.

"Maybe it left more of a mark than you are letting on."

“You’re imagining shit. It was nothing.”

Sieun was still looking at the plants that were being illuminated in neat lines by the lights as he sensed Seongje move sideways, towards him as his hand immediately whipped out to stop him, landing on Seongje's chest.

"Three steps away, the glass can fall - they will ask compensation for it inside ", Sieun said as Seongje had already pushed past it.

3 steps away from Sieun

2 steps away from Sieun 

1 step away from Sieun 

“Okay, smarty. If you don’t remember, then why are you all stiff and weird whenever I’m close?”, Seongje said as he faced Sieun leaning down to look at him.

"You're too close again, you are not three steps away"

"So?"

“That’s… not—”

Seongje watched as Sieun had one hand with the glass on his chest the other near his pocket. Sieun's pen.

Sieun carried his pen everywhere.

"You’re reading too much into this.”

“Am I? Because you almost said ‘first kiss’ just now. Almost.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Come on. Admit it. That kiss was your first, and you’re trying to act like it’s no big deal. I'll go easy on you”

“I mean—It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Oh, so you admit it then?”

“Don’t twist my words.”

'Your watch is giving you away Newbie", Seongje said standing straight as Sieun looked at it, he did not usually wear it but he had today and it was flashing – Pulse: 119 bpm ↑ – Skin Temp: +0.3°C. He quickly took it off and held it in his palm

“That was adrenaline", Sieun said 

"From what? Walking? We are walking at a fucking snail pace"

“You’re annoying as hell.”

“No, you’re hiding things. You’ve never kissed anyone before....except me.”

“Wrong.”

“Then name one.”

“Not that I owe you—”

“First kiss, wasn’t it?”

"No"

"Your watch is flashing again"

"Because you are in my space, I told you – three steps away"

"Because I am right"

“You’re—”

“—your first.” Seongje grinned. “Thanks for confirming.”

“That’s not—”

“Too late newbie. Slip of the tongue.”, Seongje said as he started walking again slowly, whistling and waving his almost empty glass.

“Fine. Yeah, it was my first. Happy?”, Sieun said as he caught up with Seongje's pace shoving the godforsaken digital watch in his pocket. 

“Very. Now, tell me—how much have you replayed it in your head, huh?”, Seongje said his face plastered with the smug expression of victory.

"God he just won't stop"

“Does it matter?”

"No I am just curious"

'No, nothing like that happened", Sieun said 

"Lies, Lies , Lies"

Sieun remembered it. It had played in his head more times than he would have liked. Sieun had tried so hard to forget it but he couldn't.

"Okay, This is closed for now.", Seongje said as he saw Sieun's shoulder relax upon hearing that.

"Thanks", Sieun said.

"For what?", Seongje asked.

"Take it or leave it, don't probe into everything", Sieun said.

"Fine, I won't tell your little friend group'

"Juntae knows", Sieun admitted. He doesn't know why but he did.

“Do you tell him everything? What the hell?”

“No. Can we go inside?” Sieun asked.

“Okay,” Seongje said, following Sieun in, chuckling as the blast from the air conditioner hit Sieun’s hair, messing it up again. Seongje turned and asked for the bill.

“I’ll pay,” Sieun said.

“No,” Seongje replied, tapping his phone.

“But I called you?” Sieun said.

“And I agreed to come. Pay on the next date,” Seongje said, smirking.

“This is not a date,” Sieun said again.

“Well, too bad, Yeon Sieun. You can pay or split the bill if it matters so much to you the day you agree this was a fucking date. Otherwise, it’s no fun,” Seongje said, crumpling the customer copy of the signed bill into his pocket as Sieun tried to see it.

“What are you looking at?” Seongje asked as they walked out, placing his hands on top of Sieun’s head to prevent him from getting blasted by the exit air conditioner.

“Metro routes,” Sieun said, busy looking at his phone.

“Are you fucking crazy? You’re going to go in a subway? Drunk?” Seongje’s voice was sharp.

“So? So many people do from Hongdae? Itaewon?” Sieun said.

“But you won’t. I picked you up, so I will drop you back. Don’t fucking argue with me,” Seongje said, waving his hand dismissively.

“You’ve had alcohol too,” Sieun pointed out.

“I had two glasses, you had three. I know the driving limit,” Seongje said, shaking his head.

Sieun didn’t want to give Seongje his house address, but he sat in the car anyway, remembering the park he and Baku had taken a walk in. That was a common one that faced three complexes.

He saw Seongje yell at someone again, the man arguing back, clearly drunk. The guy’s shrill, annoying voice scraped against Sieun’s ears, making him flinch.

Sieun waited a few seconds, listening to the heated exchange. Seongje wasn’t entirely at fault—maybe just a little—but the other man was uncooperative, aggressive, impossible to reason with.

With a quiet exhale, Sieun unstrapped his seatbelt, opened the car door, and stepped out. He walked toward the car behind Seongje’s, eyes briefly scanning the group still boozing, their laughter loud and sloppy. He let out a soft sigh and massaged his throat for a moment.

“MOVE YOUR FUCKING CAR, YOU SHIT-FACED CUNT-FUCK, BALL-SNATCHING MONKEY-FACED DIPSHIT! ARE YOU BLIND, BRAINDAMNED, OR JUST A BUTTON-EYED FUCKWAD WITH THE BRAINS OF A ROCK?! I SWEAR TO GOD, IF YOU DON’T GET YOUR STUPID WOBBLING CAR OUT OF THE WAY, I’LL RIP YOUR BUMPER OFF, SHOVE IT UP YOUR CRACK, PISS ON YOUR HOOD, AND FEED IT TO A PACK OF RABID CHICKENS, YOU MOTHERFUCKING DINGLEBERRY DIPSHIT! DO YOU HEAR ME, YOU SHIT-TONGUE LICKING BASTARD AND SNOT-FACED PRICK?! MOVE. THE. FUCK. NOW. OR I SWEAR I’LL THROW YOUR STUPID CAR INTO THE GODDAMN SUN, YOU PISS-PANTSING IGNORANT BASTARD!”

"Fuck", Sieun scoffed after he was done yelling, he had just said whatever crap came to his mind.

The guy and his friends just stared at Sieun, mouths agape, frozen in surprise. The man in the driver’s seat of the other car immediately rolled up his window and started pulling away from behind Seongje’s car, tires crunching softly but in a hurry.

Sieun let out a sharp sigh, tilting his head in disbelief before glancing back at Seongje. He found him half-leaning out of his own car, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, a mixture of shock and unspoken amusement flickering across his face.

“Get in the car,” Sieun said, pointing at him. Seongje nodded, sliding in as Sieun buckled his seatbelt.

They stayed quiet for a few moments as Seongje navigated out onto the main road. Eventually, a chuckle escaped him.

“Dingleberry dipshit?” Seongje shook his head, laughing softly. Sieun glared at him, and Seongje stifled the laughter with a stoop of his shoulders. “Okay—okay,” he admitted, still grinning.

After a few minutes of silence, Sieun spoke, giving Seongje the address of the building near the park.

“I read somewhere that it’s a rule of thumb when sitting in the passenger seat that you must support the driver’s rights… and wrongs as well,” he said, leaning against the glass and staring out at the passing streetlights.

Seongje didn’t respond, and Sieun didn’t mind. He knew anyway that Seongje had already laughed.

Seongje did glance at Sieun once or twice during the quiet drive. The other was on his phone every now and then. Seongje looked at a notification on his own phone screen during the red light.

Baekjin ━

I looked at this place, “Midnight Scene”.
They don’t do reservations. Me and Gyeol were talking if we have to go and meet the guy’s boss, we’ll have to call him.
I disagree with Gyeol. Let’s just walk in the lines outside these bars are usually long. I don’t have the patience to stand in them.

Seongje ━

Fuck man.
I figured it would be a fucking recommendation, you know, someone inside type of shady place. 

Sieun stared at his phone screen as the groupchat was active again. Gotak being the usual conversation starter.

Gotak ━
I figured out a place for us to hit tomorrow 

Baku ━
I am not going

Gotak ━
Shut the hell up, nobody asked you

Suho ━
One place or hopping again?

Juntae ━
No hopping, my feet are dying.

Gotak ━
Why are you all such boring-ass babies? We’ve got a car now, you lazy fucks

Baku ━
I’m am not going in the car.

Gotak ━
Nobody fucking asked you, Baku.
(3) 👍

Sieun shook his head as he added a thumbs up like the others as well without replying, Baku definitely needed some cheering up.

Suho ━
What’s the place? My café shift ends early tomorrow.

Gotak ━
Midnight Scene.
Heard from some girls at university it’s the new hot spot 

Juntae ━
Hot spot = long lines. No thanks, Gotak
Find a better place.

Baku ━
Yeah fuck that, let’s skip
(4) 👎

Gotak ━
Zip it, Baku, you brooding little shit
No reservation system. You have to know someone to walk in
I’ve got references, some cute girls are going, There's discount on the drinks.

“This is your place?” Seongje asked, glancing at Sieun as he looked up from his phone. He looked up to see the buildings near the park.

“Yes, one of these,” Sieun said, removing his seatbelt and sitting up straighter for a brief moment. His hands rested lightly on his knees, fingers tense as if unsure what to do next.

What was he supposed to do now? Step out casually, as if nothing had happened? That felt impossible. Too abrupt, too rude. But sitting here suddenly felt equally uncomfortable. His chest tightened, a swirl of uncertainty and self-consciousness raking at him.

“Thanks for meeting me?” Sieun finally said, his voice quiet, almost questioning, as if seeking permission more than expressing gratitude.

Seongje smirked, leaning back in his seat, one arm slung casually over the headrest. “Thanks? That’s it? Pathetic.” His eyes glinted, sharp and teasing. "This date was fun, Should we do it again next time?"

"This was not a date", Sieun said getting of the car.

"So?", Seongje asked looking through the window.

“No,” Sieun said, his voice flat, though it barely reflected the whirlwind of thoughts in his head. He didn’t know what exactly to say. The experiment he had planned to test his own reactions and it was already unraveling. Being anywhere near Seongje, moving through the same space, kept tangling his thoughts, scrambling the order he tried so hard to maintain. He shook his head and started walking toward the park.

Before he could get far, Seongje’s voice rang out, playful and sharp. “Dingleberry dipshit!? You looked so hot when you yelled at those bastards!” His tone carried loud enough that Sieun was certain some people in the park had heard it, despite the vroom of passing cars. Sieun instinctively ducked his head, a flush creeping across his face, embarrassed beyond reason.

“This fucking idiot… why is he like this?” Sieun muttered under his breath, his cheeks still tinged with heat. Despite his annoyance, a small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his lips, betraying the mix of exasperation and something uncomfortably close to amusement.

Seongje was nothing.

Yet with him, normal didn’t feel like a lie.

━━━━━━━━━

Table for None: An old street word of mouth saying,
You rush into a place, grab a seat that isn’t yours, and the table won’t keep you. Either the food turns cold, the company thins out, or you’re dragged away before you can settle. Streets say it’s bad luck, an omen. A seat you weren’t meant to take will never let you sit too long specially if there is someone or something else that requires your presence.

━━━━━━━━━

“Suho, I didn’t mean to get so angry. It was just out of reflex,” Sieun muttered to himself, staring into the mirror. He had chosen something simple for their night outing—all black.

He knew he looked a little crazy, whispering softly to no one, to Suho, when Suho was just outside in the corridor talking with Juntae. Their voices carried faintly through the door, a reminder that he wasn’t really speaking to himself at all.

“What? You’re still on Volume 2?”

“Why are you on Volume 4? Why do you read so fast—don’t tell me you just look at the illustrations.”

“No! And besides, Juntae, we started reading this at the same time, and I’m two whole volumes ahead of you. Even Baku’s ahead of you—he’s on Volume 3, last I checked.”

“The devil lies in the details.”

“The devil is you! You tell me to read these webtoons, but you read so slowly yourself because those friends of yours from Eunjang want to sync with you and analyze every damn line. And I have nobody to discuss it with.”

“Go discuss it with Baku.”

“I’m not taking any chances right now.”

“Fine, I’ll read it after we come back. Happy?”

“You better—or I’ll give you spoilers. You know, at the end of Volume 2 there’s—”

“Shut up. No, no, no! Fuck off, you did this last time as well!”

Sieun from the corner of his eye saw Juntae covering his ears as Suho chased him around with a book outside his room.

Suho was back—breathing, moving, laughing, stitched into Sieun’s days as if he’d never left. Sieun was grateful it was almost a miracle how fast Suho had recovered during the months he was in therapy. There was no real reason anymore for Sieun to whisper his name under his breath, no reason to mutter to the air like he used to. He could walk across the room and say it to Suho’s face if he wanted. The habit had rooted too deep. For two years, speaking Suho’s name into the void had been the only way to make the weight inside him bearable. Somewhere along the way, the name stopped being just Suho’s—it had become the voice Sieun lent to his own thoughts, the shape he gave to his conscience, the echo that lived in him when no one else did. Even with Suho standing right there, alive and real, Sieun still carried that ghost inside.

He sighed as he stepped out of his room, shutting the door behind him before heading straight out of the apartment, looking back once as Suho was still teasing Juntae with talk of “spoilers,” his grin unshakable, his persistence maddening. Across the floor, another door hung ajar. Gotak emerged just then, balancing two or three pairs of shoes in his arms, muttering to himself about which ones Juntae and Suho should choose, his heavy steps carrying him straight past without so much as a glance.

Sieun slipped into Gotak and Baku’s apartment. The shift in atmosphere was immediate—quieter, heavier. From the balcony came a thin curl of smoke, threading upward into the dark. Baku sat alone, a figure cut in deep tones of blue and black looking up at the sky, it wasn't an unusual sight but the cigarette in his hand was.

“Since when do you smoke?” Sieun asked, lowering himself into the plastic chair beside Baku.

“I don’t.”

“But you are.”

“Just felt like it. Are the others ready?”

“No. They’ll take some time. I think Gotak might change again.”

“Have you ever smoked?”

“No.”

“Not everyone likes it the idea of smoking. My dad does, you know that. That’s why I wanted to try it.”

“Recently?” Sieun asked. He wasn’t a smoker himself, but his general observational skills told him that Baku didn’t look like a novice.

“I first tried one at fourteen.”

“That early?”

“Yes. I stole two from one of Dad’s packets while he was with his friends.”

“Two? One for Gotak?”

“For Baekjin. I had a feeling he would know how to light one correctly. I wasn’t entirely wrong, but he lost his lighter, and I ended up losing one cigarette just searching for the damn thing. He was so angry he gave me an earful and we had to manage with one.” Baku chuckled at the memory, smoke curling around his face.

“Before he formed the Union?”

“On the onset of it. A day before his birthday. He had come to visit me—I had my first drink that day as well. Wouldn’t recommend clear soju, though. Burned the insides of my throat. His too, but he refused to admit it.”

Sieun sat quietly, letting Baku’s words hang in the air. Baku took another drag from his cigarette, exhaled slowly, and sighed.

“I should have done more birthdays,” he murmured. “He showed up outside the restaurant by default a day before every year since I knew him. On his fourteenth birthday the one I just mentioned—Seokhyeon called him several times, and he didn’t pick up. It was funny.”

"Because he was with you?"

"I'd like to assume that was the reason. I miss him, Baekjin, alot"

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done what I did this morning,” Sieun said quietly.

Baku didn’t respond with words. Instead, he simply took another long drag, then reached out and patted Sieun’s head softly, wordless, and strangely comforting as it always had been whenever he did.

SEVERAL HOURS AGO —

Sieun was fine. Absolutely fine. He’d even walked straight into his and Juntae’s apartment after Seongje dropped him off, chest puffed like a man who could handle his liquor. Three glasses of wine? Please. He wasn’t fifteen anymore. He’d brushed his teeth, tossed his used clothes aside, even sent a smug “drunk my ass” text to no one in particular. He could have come by the subway himself as well.

Then he blinked. And the floor… shifted.

Not like tilted slightly. No, it was literally drifting away, like the apartment had decided to take a road trip without him. He grabbed the wall for balance, missed, and somehow ended up glaring at the lamp as if it were responsible.

“What the fuck,” he muttered, dead serious. He wasn’t drunk—obviously. Drunk people didn’t feel like their souls were slipping out the back door while their body stayed behind, right? Right?!

The slight rush he had from being near Seongje had faded away; neither left was the anger he had for the idiots who refused to move their car.

By the time he made it to his bed, he was clutching his pillow like it was a parachute and whispering, “Okay, okay, okay,” to no one. This was fine. Totally fine. Except he had no fucking clue what was happening, and somewhere in the back of his head, he was pretty sure he was dying. Of wine.

Sieun was having a good sleep, but something wasn’t right. Maybe he wasn’t on his bed after all—and he was rudely made aware of that when his head thunked against something too hard to be a pillow, jolting him awake. The ground beneath him was flat, gritty with dust and cigarette butts, and when he squinted his eyes and turned his head, he saw Gotak and Juntae leaning against the humming bulk of air conditioner outlets, their silhouettes blurred by faint steam curling from the vents.

On the far side, as his mind processed the scene, he could make out Eun Gyeol’s voice—sharp, exasperated—which clashed with Baku’s deeper, more restless tone.

It hit him then: this wasn’t their building. The view over the ledge was wrong. The skyline tilted at angles he didn’t recognize, and there was a park below. He recognized the park—it was where Seongje had dropped him off.

This rooftop had taller walls, rusted guard rails, and an antenna jutting crookedly toward the sky. He couldn’t remember walking here. Couldn’t remember leaving at all. His body prickled with unease—the kind that comes when you wake up in a place your mind has no map for. He was pretty sure he had gone home after Seongje had dropped him off.

Sieun got up, bracing against the concrete wall for a minute, then walked toward Gotak and Juntae, who immediately looked up at him.

“You’re up?”

“How can you fall asleep while they’re arguing?” they asked Sieun, who looked at them with a bewildered expression as he turned his head toward the arguing duo, straining to hear what they were saying.
Why were they even standing a few feet apart from them when they had to talk loud enough for everyone else to hear?

“I don’t need your charity money.”

“It is not fucking charity money, it’s yours—how do I get that inside your thick head!?”

“It is. You think you can just come back after years and slap a cheque in my face and fix everything?”

“I have nothing to fix with you, Humin. There is nothing wrong between us.”

“I can’t believe this—you… you’re saying this to tick me off, aren’t you? Or are you just delusional, thinking only you have the right to be disappointed in people, and others can’t reciprocate it with you?”

“Oh, so you are disappointed you little shit. May I ask why?”

“Because you were never around. But I was reminded of your existence very often. And if you cared, you would have been around when I was suffering.”

“Huh, you’re back at this again? No—I did not know you were being compared to me by your father. And I’m sorry if you were.”

“No—you are never sorry. Never.” Baku’s voice cracked through the air, sharp and raw. “You told me you would help me, but you got busy with your own life to care. You weren’t there each time my dad hit me. You weren’t there each time I called you for help. You weren’t there when I came to your university campus a few years ago, begging you to fix my wounds instead of going to some stranger.”

“Shit, I knew this point would come out,” Gotak muttered under his breath, low but not low enough. His voice carried, and Sieun caught every word.

Sieun took a step forward. The chipped concrete crunched beneath his shoes as he moved closer, drawn into the argument even though something in his chest screamed at him to stay out of it.

“Sieun, don’t go there,” Juntae called out, his tone more urgent now, sharp like a hand grabbing his arm.

But Sieun didn't stop. His pulse thudded in his ears, drowning out every warning except his own stubborn need to know

“He still hits you?” Eun Gyeol asked, his voice quieter now, the sharpness draining out of it, replaced with a reluctant softness.

Baku’s laugh came out as a scoff, disinterested and bitter. “That is none of your business. And no—he doesn’t. Not anymore. Because people who ACTUALLY care about me stepped in. So you don’t need to care now.” His tone rude but the crack in it betrayed the ache underneath.

Eun Gyeol’s jaw tightened. He took a step forward, hands balling into fists at his sides, not in anger but in some helpless attempt to hold himself together. “You think I didn’t care about it—ever?”

“You didn’t.” Baku’s words snapped out instantly, as if they’d been waiting on the tip of his tongue for years, something he could say again and again.

“I did,” Eun Gyeol insisted, his voice rougher, almost desperate now. “I used to ask Baekjin about you, I—”

He didn’t get to finish.

“Baekjin?” Baku cut him off, his voice rising, breaking apart with rage that trembled like a fault line. His chest heaved, and his eyes burned as if everything he’d kept buried was fighting to claw out but Baku still kept in out of respect. “Why would you ask him about me? He knew nothing—absolutely nothing!”

Baku stepped closer, his shoulders shaking, the accusation spilling out of him like it had been festering too long. “You could have asked me instead. Me. But no—you always wanted to talk to Baekjin. Baekjin this, Baekjin that—” His breath hitched, and his face twisted as a hidden truth forced itself free. “And the worst part is… he wanted that too!”

Sieun slowly took a step forward again. The tone was something he recognised—broken, desperate, like something had been forced out of Baku. He had heard him speak like this before, once—Baekjin’s funeral, when Seokhyeon had stood rigid in black and spat venom, he had accused Baku of never having any sort of relationship with Baekjin and coaxing him to leave, as if Baku's presence was an insult to the funeral itself.

“Excuse me? What did you just say—what are you implying?” Eun Gyeol asked.

Sieun watched him clench his fist again as he stepped closer to Baku. Just one step, but enough for Sieun to shift forward as well, mirroring the movement. They hadn’t noticed him yet.

“I said what I said. You and Baekjin… I don’t know what you two had, but it is—it is—” Baku’s voice broke, the words stalling in his throat.

“It is what?” Eun Gyeol pressed, his gaze sharp. Sieun drifted one more step forward.

“You know what it is,” Baku muttered, looking past Eun Gyeol, eyes fixed somewhere no one else could see.

“What’s the word for it?” Eun Gyeol’s voice dropped a few decibels.

“Wrong. Disgusting. Stealing.”

The words came out like frustration vomit, shards, ugly thoughts all jumbled together that Baku couldn't keep in. Sieun saw Baku’s fists curl tight, his shoulders trembling as though he hated himself for speaking them.

“Why?” Eun Gyeol demanded.

“Because—because—” Baku’s voice remained uneven. 

Sieun could hear Gotak and Juntae a little closer now he was sure they had moved slightly ahead as well. All three of them had registered what Baku was about to say.

“Because what, Humin?” Eun Gyeol said, his tone rising just a little.

“BECAUSE YOU TOOK HIM AWAY FROM ME! YOU DID! HE STOPPED COMING TO ME! I WAITED—at times—but he did not. HE. CAME. TO. YOU! And you never stopped him from doing what he was doing—everything in the Union. You never sent him back to me because you wanted Baekjin! It’s what you’ve always done—you’re never satisfied, you always want everything! And because of that, I have suffered. Because you took everything from me—my peace, my right to live and learn as someone average, not gifted like you.

“And if that wasn’t enough, you took him as well! Yes, I didn’t care for him at one point—but that doesn’t mean, it never meant, that I had forgotten him!”

Baku yelled, his words breaking into a frustrated sigh.

There was silence on the rooftop immediately.

A voice rung in Sieun's mind, it was Seongje's something he had said to Sieun just a while back.

"Why 3 seconds for this rule of yours? Why not strike immediately or extend it to something like 5 seconds?"

"You know how long it takes the brain to catch up? Three seconds. That’s all. Three seconds where the body’s wide open, where the shock’s still crawling up the spine but hasn’t hit the head yet. If they freeze, they’re done. If they don’t, they’re still fumbling, still vulnerable. That’s the sweet spot — the moment you can put them down, or own them completely. And it works both ways. Hesitate in that window, and you’re the one on the floor. Three seconds… that’s all it takes to decide who walks away.”

One. Two. Three.

The count had barely ended before the silence cracked with a sharp smack, a sound that ricocheted across the rooftop like the crack of a whip. It was expected, almost rehearsed, and Sieun had seen it coming a heartbeat before it landed. Baku staggered back a step, wide-eyed, caught off guard. He didn’t move. Didn’t fight back.

Sieun did.

One. Two. Three.

It took Sieun the same 3 seconds of quite to cross the distance where he stood and the other two stood and react.

One second—his fist knotted in Eun Gyeol’s collar. Another—he slammed him against the concrete ledge, the city sprawled below. Another—pen clicked open in his hand. One more—His wrist flicked, swift and practiced, the tip arcing toward flesh with the precision of someone who knew where to draw blood.

The pen grazed. A whisper of sting. Not because Sieun missed—he never missed—but because Eun Gyeol’s hand snapped up just in time. Reflex. The kind only someone trained to heal could have, the instinct to block faster than thought. A doctor’s reflex.

One. Two. Three.

Sieun realized what he had just done when he saw that Eun Gyeol hadn’t flinched instead he was staring straight back at him. Panic struck. Sieun stumbled a step backward, the pen slipping from his hand in horror. He hadn’t meant this. It was instinct - sudden, sharp, born from the urge to protect Baku from someone already disappointed in both of them, but not like this.
He had used his own pen, not one of the ten Seongje had given him even though he had one in his pocket. Eight still sat in perfect condition, untouched since the tunnel incident where he had used one.

"Fuck why did I listen to what Seongje told me? WHAT THE FUCK, That's his brother not his enemy Sieun!"

“SIEUN?!” Baku’s voice rang out, frantic, as he stumbled forward. His steps slowed when he reached Eun Gyeol, his tone breaking into a softer plea. “Hyung…” He reached out to steady him, but Eun Gyeol’s blood-streaked hand shot up, halting him in place. Crimson dripped steadily between his fingers, yet not a single tremor ran through them. Not a single flinch through his body.

Sieun’s chest tightened as he watched. Eun Gyeol’s face was shifting before his eyes, every line hardening, twisting—horror flaring into distaste, disbelief cutting in sharp beneath it. His eyes locked on Baku.

“You didn’t read the file I gave you, did you?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Sieun blurted out. But Eun Gyeol just flicked his injured hand dismissively, as if Sieun’s apology, even the whole mess, wasn’t worth his time.

“I saw the cheque. I don’t need the money. I am fine. Your hand is bleeding,” Baku said quietly as Eun Gyeol rose to his feet, deliberately keeping his distance.

“This is the problem with you, Park Humin. You never see what’s right in front of you and only cling to whatever picture you’ve built in your head. You fucking idiot. THAT MONEY IS YOURS NOT MINE ! How many times do you want me to repeat this?”

“What—?”

That’s what Baekjin left me. That’s why he kept coming around. That money—it was for you. He told me you weren’t safe at home, and he was working on saving up so you could get out or run away if ever needed. He made me promise I’d give it to you if things got bad. And I didn’t—because I believed he’d be there for you. But look at what you did. You kept shutting him out, pushing him away—and that’s why he ended up with me more and more. The deposits kept getting bigger… and so did his injuries,” Eun Gyeol said, his voice tightening.

Sieun felt it again, Guilt. For what he had done to Baekjin, it came and went every time he was mentioned.

He turned to Baku, who only blinked, his face paling. Juntae and Gotak were right behind him now, close enough that Juntae’s hand pressed steady against his shoulder.

“You… you—what are you saying?” Baku’s voice rose into a desperate cry. His breath hitched, words stumbling out as though he couldn’t force them into sense. “No—no, that’s not—don’t—don’t say that!” His eyes shone, wide and refusing, like the truth itself might shatter him.

“Baekjin gave me a hefty sum. What’s left of it is in that cheque—it’s yours. Most of it has already been deposited for your university fees. I didn’t pay it with my own money, though I would’ve loved to. But I promised Baekjin I wouldn’t. He wanted you to have the chance to make something of yourself, whatever path you chose, even while pursuing other interests. He started this practice a few years ago, back in middle school. While I was here, he’d hand it to me directly. After I left for the States, he began transferring it.”

“No, no—please don’t say this, please. You’re lying—this… this, stop using him to cover up your money!” Baku’s voice broke as he dropped into a crouch, his head buried in his hands.

Sieun glanced at Juntae and Gotak. Both stared back, their faces twisted in the same mix of shock and revulsion. The moment was heavy with the realization of what Baku had once believed—The doctor and Baekjin, bound by something sordid. The thought alone made their stomachs turn because it was the exact opposite.

A sorrowful cry ripped out of Baku, slighly broken and helpless, before he sank to the floor. He sat there like something broken, shoulders caved in, knuckles tapping against the concrete in a hollow rhythm that was more despair than fury. His other hand dragged over his eyes, as if he could wipe the world away, but the small, traitorous glint of a tear still slipped free. It slid down his face, catching on his jaw like rain tracing a faultline on stone. Sieun saw it, but did not move at that moment.

Eun Gyeol loomed above him, shaking his head, his shadow stretching long across Baku’s hunched form like a judge’s gavel about to fall. He bent down and snatched up the file lying beside him, the papers whispering against each other like secrets eager to escape. His hand shot out, gripping a fistful of Baku’s hair and yanking his face upward. Baku resisted, his body twisting like a tethered animal, but Eun Gyeol’s rough grip forced his eyes up into the light, unwilling and trembling.

“Read what’s in here Humin-ah,” Eun Gyeol’s said rather calm for the way he had gripped Baku, “It’s not just the cheque. There is a write up for you as well. You wanted to know how he turned out the way he did—so read.”

He released Baku suddenly, the hand falling away like a broken chain, and let the file drop heavy into his lap. The papers landed with a dull slap.

“Your hand is bleeding,” Sieun said.

“So?”

“I acted on reflex. I thought you were going to hurt Baku—it was… wrong.”

Eun Gyeol turned his palm over, staring at it as though it was someone else’s hand. “No one can hurt Humin more than he’s already hurt himself.” He flexed his fingers, then showed the gash to Sieun. “I deserved it anyway. I left Humin too. Never on purpose, but I still left. I thought—” his voice caught, before hardening, “—I thought with Baekjin around, and the others, Baku would have people. I wasn’t completely wrong.” He gestured to his bleeding hand, then curled it into a fist.

Another sob slipped out of Baku. His body shook where he sat, hollowed out by grief.

“Take him home. After sunrise—Baekjin liked sunrises,” he said, stepping past Baku ruffling his hair and through Gotak and Juntae, his hand brushing each shoulder in passing. He shot Sieun one last look, muttered “good aim,” and left. The rooftop door slammed shut behind him like a final word.

Sieun tilted his head back, eyes flicking to the sky before landing on Baku again, and in that breath, everything came rushing back like a sharp blink of memory.

He had gone home after Seongje dropped him off, but the night hadn’t stayed quiet for long. Juntae had shaken him awake, urgent and restless, muttering about Baku and Gotak arguing downstairs. Gotak had returned late from his date, and Baku, already pacing, wanted the keys to the car Eun Gyeol had given them so he could return it. By the time Sieun sat up, Baku was already gone, stomping down the stairs.

Juntae and Sieun exchanged a glance, their decision wordless. They called Eun Gyeol themselves. His number was tucked inside Sieun’s medical report. He had also heard Gotak saying that Baku wanted the file Gyeol had given him as well.

When he went digging through Baku’s room to find it, the scene stuck with him: clothes scattered in heaps, a laptop over the bed still on, papers stacked and toppled over. A room buzzing with disorder. On the desk, the file sat half-opened, and as he reached for it, his gaze caught on the trash bin. A torn wrapper, unmistakable. A used condom, carelessly discarded.

Had Baku really had someone over in the middle of all this? Not that it was any of his business.

At first, Baku had been furious, snapping at the suggestion like it was an insult. But eventually, with a sharp exhale and a scowl that wouldn’t lift, he gave in and agreed to meet Eun Gyeol. He refused to let him come near their housing complex, though—too close. Instead, they sent him the address of one of the buildings by the park.. Gotak had managed to slip them in, boasting under his breath that he knew the way—he’d been there before, at some girl’s apartment, one of those forgettable late-night flings that always worked in their favor at times like this.

They settled in to wait, the minutes dragging longer than they should have. Sieun’s head was still heavy, the dull throb of a hangover pressing behind his temples, and before long his eyelids sank. He had slumped against the wall, drifting in and out of half-sleep, while his friends waited and Baku paced around the rooftop restlessly, Sieun hadn't even come to know when the doctor had come.

Sieun watched as Gotak and Juntae tried to pull Baku to his feet, their movements clumsy but earnest. He moved forward almost instinctively, his own hands hovering before finally reaching out to help. Baku—always the one to scoff at tears, the one who swore he never cried looked smaller now, just momentarily, Sieun knew that. Gotak steadied him, wrapping an arm firmly around his shoulder, and Baku leaned into it with his head bowed, eyes shut as though holding back the world. One hand stretched blindly toward Juntae, the other toward Sieun, as if needing anchors on both sides.

For Sieun, it was in moments like these, the fragile, unscripted fragments—that he felt something close to belonging. To be drawn into someone else’s quiet grief, to be included in a space that was unguarded, gave him the rare sense that maybe he wasn’t just an outsider looking in. The warmth of Baku’s hand brushing his own, the silence humming with breaths and unspoken trust it settled somewhere deep in him. That, and whatever it was Seongje stirred in him, tugging at him in ways he couldn’t name, made Sieun stay rooted right there, holding on for now.

Gotak grunted as he tightened his arm around Baku’s shoulder, steadying his weight. “You’re heavy, you know that? Crying doesn’t make you lighter.”

Baku let out a shaky laugh against him, his voice muffled. “Shut up. I don’t even cry.”

Juntae, who had Baku’s other arm, snorted softly. “You always say that, but you’re usually the first one to. Doesn’t make you weak, though. Makes you honest.”

“You’re not supposed to hold this all by yourself,” Sieun said.

There was silence for a beat, just the sound of four boys breathing against each other.

“Yeah you asshole remember that,” Gotak murmured, softer this time. “If you fall, we all fall. That’s the deal, right?”

Juntae agreed nodding. “Right. None of us walks alone.”

Baku let out a ragged breath that almost sounded like a laugh, almost like a sob. “You guys are idiots,” he muttered, his voice trembling.

“Yeah,” Sieun whispered, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “But we’re your idiots, you formed this group.”

"Aspiring top student calling himself an idiot for Baku, oh my god", Gotak said dramatically as Sieun glared at him.

“We can watch the sunrise, right?” Baku asked quietly, he didn’t really need permission.

“You want to? Of course we can,” Gotak said without hesitation.

Baku gave a small nod, pulling his head off Gotak’s shoulder. The group loosened their hold, letting him step forward toward the edge of the rooftop. The others trailed after, not too close at first, just giving him space as the pale morning light spilled over the city.

“Sunsets,” Baku started, voice uneven but soft. “Baekjin liked sunsets. Said it made the night come faster, and he loved the night. He fucking hated sunrises though—” Baku gave a watery chuckle, scrubbing at his face with his sleeve, “—even though he was an early bird.

The three of them saw that Baku always took pride in knowing Baekjin better than anyone.

It almost made Sieun wonder what it felt like knowing someone better than anyone else in the world? He didnt know anyone that well.

“Why did he say that then?” Juntae asked referring to the doctor.

“Because I hated sunrises. Because looking out for it meant getting up early, back in middle school we had made a pact that hours after sunrise we would do what I wanted and hours after sunset we would do what Baekjin wanted, he always chose the good options.
And now…” He trailed off, staring at the horizon, the rising sun burning gold against his eyes. His shoulders sagged, and when he spoke again, his voice carried none of the earlier humor. It was just raw. “Now he can have anything he wants. The sunsets. The sunrises. All of it. It’s his.”

“Let’s go back home,” Sieun said. Baku nodded, picking up the file from the ground, brushing off the dust, and holding it close to his chest.

“What’s with the long faces?” he asked, his voice soft but teasing.

“Are you okay?” Juntae pressed.

“I’m fine,” Baku said with a small sigh. “Let’s go back. I’m tired, and if I don’t sleep soon, there’s no way I’ll be able to hang out with you guys today.” He started walking toward the roof exit, slow but steady.

“You—wait—you’re coming?” Gotak called out, jogging to catch up, while Juntae as he looked back at Sieun who was trailing behind.

“You’ll take me anyway,” Baku muttered

That is how Baku was—like a spine, rock wall, a group holder that could bend for a while but wouldn’t snap, just like his emotional state, which he always fixed for himself and for others. His friends were grateful for that, if Baku ever knew.

He hoped their outing today would make Baku feel better. Also, whatever Baekjin had left Baku to read wouldn’t make him feel so lonely, despite everyone around him.

Sieun gestured to Juntae to go as he walked slowly out of the building behind him, pulling out his phone and clicking on the first message.

Keum Seongje —

Did you get back home, or are you inside some fucking bush?
If you are in one, send a pic ;)

“This guy,” Sieun muttered to himself as he replied to him. He was sure Seongje had lied to him about the number of drinks he had.

Sieun —

How many drinks did I actually have?
Also, I am not in a bush.

Sieun glanced at his friends ahead as he walked. Of course, Seongje wouldn’t be awake at this time.

He was immediately proven wrong when his phone tinged.

Keum Seongje — 

Three.

He was up early, that was surprising not that Sieun had any opinions of Seongje's schedule or routine yet.

Sieun — 

You’re lying.

Keum Seongje — 

What?
Are you still high or something?

Sieun — 

No.
But the effect lasted longer.

Keum Seongje — 

Holy shit, you really do have the tolerance of a fuckin’ goldfish. Sexy.

Sieun — 

Shut up 

Keum Seongje — 

Not my problem if you and your friends havent been having the real stuff 

Sieun — 

🖕

Keum Seongje — 

Cute. Don’t flip me off, pretty boy.

Sieun — 

Stop calling me that, I have a name.
I will block you

Keum Seongje — 

://

Sieun closed the chat with a huff, rolling his eyes so hard he was pretty sure he felt them click in his skull. Of course, he wouldn’t block Seongje, hell, he couldn’t. That man was chaos incarnate and also, inconveniently, essential for his experiment. Muttering something that probably sounded like a curse in three different languages, Sieun opened a notes application as he typed out observations from the previous night, like some sleep-deprived scientist cataloging a particularly unpredictable species

하나 — #1 (Y.S’s exp)

Seongje behaves less like a person and more like a parasite with free will. A parasite doesn’t kill its host outright, it lingers, it prods, it lives off the host’s nerves. Seongje does exactly this. He attaches himself with a smile, burrows into my attention span, and feeds on it until I am left annoyed at myself as to why I have to analyze what he says. Unlike other parasites, however, he laughs at his own jokes. 

When Seongje is present, I experience a rapid onset of recurring, inconsistent emotions — irritation, fascination, mild horror, curiosity, and, inexplicably, amusement. These are not the sort of emotions that rise naturally in me with other people as often as they seem to do with him in a short span of time, they arrive in waves.  Seeing him a few times is hardly sufficient to form a conclusion, but it is apparently enough for my mind to start rehearsing belief.

Seongje behind the wheel is a case study in misplaced passion. His verbal outbursts toward inanimate vehicles and strangers are…. violent in theory, but delivered with such creative insult construction that it is funny, but I see no reason why I should laugh. He also wanted to walk in a smoking area and had no cigarettes on him, it made him looked ridiculous. 

Keum Seongje also demonstrates persistent delusions. Example: He insists that every casual interaction qualifies as a “date.” This may indicate either pathological overconfidence or a tragic lack of self-awareness. He does not get a free pass to say whatever he wants just because he is my first kiss, it is rather relieving that the conversation on that topic is out of the way now.

Sieun clicked his phone shut, smirking to himself, not before renaming Seongje in his contacts as “Parasite”.

━━━━━━━━━

Seongje crouched against a car, a cigarette positioned perfectly between his lips, his fingers tapping swiftly against his phone screen as he battled away at the game he was playing.

“Do you know how long he’s going to take?” Beomseok’s voice cut from inside the car, Gyeol leaning against the door like he’d been standing there forever.

“That fucker takes way too long to dress,” Seongje muttered, exhaling a stream of smoke that wafted around his face. “What’s even there to look at? All he owns is black and white.”

Meanwhile, Seongje himself was a walking middle finger to minimalism: a loud red shirt, black pants, red-and-black sneakers, and two silver bracelets—“borrowed” from Baekjin, because why the hell not? Baekjin would never figure it out, and that little victory alone made the wait almost worth it.

“Your bandages are loose,” Gyeol said, frowning.

“They are? Here.” Seongje glanced down at his hands, chuckling darkly. He peeled off the bandages from his knuckles, rolled them into neat little cylinders, and flicked them toward the backseat of the car. The sight made Gyeol’s eyes widen in horror as Seongje’s red, raw knuckles lay exposed. He blew gently over them, savoring the sting.

“Fuck you,” Gyeol muttered, shaking his head.

“Your palm looks fucked too. What happened?”

“Yeon Sieun,” Seongje replied casually, as if that explained everything.

Seongje tilted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips as he looked at Eun Gyeol, clearly amused.

“How?” Seongje asked, incredulous, his eyes narrowing.

“Went to meet Baku, had an argument, I slapped Baku and Sieun grazed my palm with a pen,” Gyeol recited tersely.

“Feisty,” Seongje chuckled.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. All of it over Baekjin, I assume?”

“What else do I have to argue with Baku over?” the doctor sighed.

“Let’s move,” they heard Baekjin’s voice, muffled slightly under the cap pulled low over his head. He was dressed in dark shades of blue and black, a rare departure from his usual black-and-white ensemble.

“Look at him, magically appearing the second Baku’s name comes up,” Seongje muttered, shaking his head. He dropped his cigarette to the floor and crushed it under his heel before sliding into the driver’s seat, earning a sharp scowl from Baekjin, who looked like he might just take the wheel himself.

“You were out for quite some time yesterday,” Baekjin said, his eyes flicking back toward the passengers. Eun Gyeol bobbed his head slightly, lost in whatever music thumped through his earphones, while Beomseok leaned lazily against the glass, his gaze distant, headphones half-sliding off as he repositioned them.

“Yeah, stalk much?”

“Doesn’t take a fucking genius to figure out, you parked your car all slant in front of mine.”

“Did it on purpose.”

“So, who the did you screw this time?”

Seongje just rolled his eyes at the question, conversations like this with Baekjin were never unusual.

“Nobody, I was out with Sieun.”

“He fucking agreed?"

“He called me, what the hell do you take me for?”

“So?”

“He’s good company, but a party pooper as well.”

“You want to fuck him?”

“Depends on what kind of fucking you mean – his day? Sure, it is fun annoying the bastard.”

“No, you know exactly what I mean, dumbass.”

“Sure, why the fuck not. He looks fun to toy with.”

“People are always games for you, huh?”

“Hell yeah. Life’s boring if people don’t keep me entertained.”

"You're fucked up"

“Of course. You think I’d hang out with him for something serious? Be real – I don’t do serious. See what sticking around for one person did to you?”

“It’s different with me and Baku. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I don’t want to either, trust me. All that waiting, sacrificing, whatever bullshit you went through – it goes right over my head.”

“Maybe one day you’ll understand what it actually means.”

“I’d rather not. Feelings? No thanks.”

They stayed silent for a moment before Seongje spoke again.

“And why’re you acting all righteous? Not like you were ever clean yourself. I could remind you of all the people you’ve been with – long ass list, actually. You were never satisfied with anything or anyone. Fuck, you even turned Seokhyeon into a little bitch. Pathetic… and still kind of impressive.”

“Shut up, we had a deal.”

“Yeah, deal. You don’t blab about my conquests, I don’t open up about yours. Fair

“How many people do you think Baku’s been with?”

“Come on, man. Always dragging that fucker into the conversation.”

“I asked you a question.”

“Decent, I assume.”

“And Go Hyuntak?”

Seongje smirked to himself, remembering how during the Union days he’d spent half his time psyching Baekjin up about Hyuntak and Baku being more than friends, it was a decent narrative. God, he used to love watching Baekjin's blood boil. Fun then, boring now.

“Out of the equation. Newbie says he’s scoring girls left, right, and centre.”

“You’re going to have to stop here,” Beomseok said, pulling off his headphones and leaning forward from the backseat.

“How far is it on foot?” Baekjin asked.

“We’re near Exit 9, so… seven, eight minutes?” Eun Gyeol answered, and Seongje gave a small nod.

“Seogyo-dong looks over inner Hongdae. We can cut through the back,” Seongje said, pulling into a parking lot.

Eun Gyeol hopped out first, walking ahead while dialing the number Seok Dae had given him. Seongje, Baekjin, and Beomseok followed a few steps behind

“Here’s the deal,” Seongje said, turning slightly toward Beomseok. “You and me go see Seok Dae’s boss.”

“I’ll come too,” Baekjin cut in.

“No. You stay with Gyeol. If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, then you come. Not before. Whatever punk they send out, I can handle.”

“You stay behind Seongje, got it?” Baekjin told Beomseok, his tone sharpening. “The place doesn’t sit right with me. I’ve seen worse. If things go south—or they have guns or some shit—you come straight to me and Gyeol.”

Beomseok gave a short nod. “What about hyung?”

“Seongje can manage,” Baekjin replied. “If it comes to it, I’ll go in after him.”

They slipped into a narrow alley, where the walls closed in tight and the air carried the faint mix of smoke, spilled liquor, and perfume. At the end of it rose a three-story building, its dark facade almost forgettable if not for the heavy black door guarding the entrance. On a regular day, it would have been easy to walk past without a glance. Tonight, the crowd gave it away. A long line snaked along the wall, people dressed in sharp, glittering outfits or street styles, their low voices weaving with the occasional burst of laughter. Cigarettes glowed in the shadows, heels clicked on the pavement and voices run through the area of people arguing to be let in.

Seongje noticed a few things quickly,

1. There was no signboard, no neon logos that indicated the place’s name, unlike the pictures he had seen in the reviews, which was misleading.

2. Music was booming out from an entryway to the basement.

3. There were way too many bouncers at the front entrance, even for a trendy bar. He watched a few of them trying to pull away those who got in forcefully.

4. People were bribing waiters to let them in.

5. Tinted windows covered the upper floors, making it impossible to see inside, though faint silhouettes moved against the light.

6. Security cameras were mounted on awkward corners, some covered with tape or turned away, as if someone didn’t want a real record of what happened.

7. People were coming out looking dazed or jittery, clutching their jackets, avoiding eye contact, some clearly high.

This place looks… interesting,” Seongje muttered to himself as he walked toward the matte black door. He weaved through the long line of waiting patrons, pulling exaggerated faces at them, pouting, squinting, sticking out his tongue—earning glares, curses, and a few middle fingers in return. He chuckled quietly at their frustration; the fact that he could waltz inside while they fumed only made it funnier.

“Seok Dae,” Baekjin and Eun Gyeol called to the man at the front keeping track of guests. The man nodded, signaling a bouncer to let them through, and Seongje smirked to himself as he waved to the people standing behind them, clearly enjoying the momentary superiority of skipping the line.

It was a sensory maelstrom as soon as the doors opened and shut behind them, EDM pulsed through the floor, bass vibrating up through at a frequency that one could feel it in their shoes, colorful lights splintered across the mirrored walls, painting the crowd in streaks of neon pink, electric blue, and acid green. Bodies pressed together on the dance floor, some obliviously close, others intentionally grinding, completely unconcerned with personal space. Almost every table and lounge area was packed—some people perched on laps, others locked in open displays of affection, hands roaming, mouths claiming.

Near the DJ booth, sleek poles caught the light as women and men danced, their movements sharp and practiced, outfits crafted to turn heads. Crumpled bills fluttered from tips tossed by far-too-drunk admirers, scattering across the floor like confetti. Bartenders navigated the rush with deft, confident motions, bottles clinking and cocktails sloshing rhythmically, harmonizing with the relentless beat. Cashiers at the bar chuckled over towering stacks of bills, goading guests into ordering more, their laughter slicing through the haze of strobe and smoke. The air itself felt electric, thick with perfume, sweat, and spilled liquor, every corner humming with whispers of love and hatred, clandestine glances for those looking for a fun night, or subtle confrontations between drunk or high guys trying to prove a point.

Seongje spotted Seok Dae leaning against the bar, rocking the same dull outfit from the other day—boring. He watched Baekjin tug his hat lower, like anyone here would even recognize him, as they strolled up to Seok Dae.

“You’re late. Expected you guys to come a little sooner.”

“Be grateful we came. I would’ve rather enjoyed watching you get your ass kicked by your client—boss, whatever.”

“He doesn’t like waiting,” Seok Dae muttered, scowling.

Seongje laughed, smacking Seok Dae on the shoulder. “What part of me looks like I give a shit, you bastard?”

“Come upstairs, third floor—just you,” Seok Dae said, pointing at Seongje. Seongje shook his head and grabbed Beomseok’s wrist.

“You came in acting all tough in front of him. He comes with me—take it or leave it.”

“Fine, they stay out,” Seok Dae said, gesturing toward Baekjin and Eun Gyeol.

“I need a proper table with drinks, or I’m not going up,” Seongje shot back, folding his arms. “On the same floor.”

“It can be arranged,” Seok Dae hissed, leading them through the spiral staircase, black as pitch, each step hovering above the shining lights of the floors below.

The third floor felt slightly more angled, deliberately cordoned off from the noise of the lower levels. Rows of curtained booths lined the space, each one a private little world. Seongje scoffed, unimpressed he’d been to bars like this before, bars like this that were built for secret rendezvous, sometimes more scandalous than the cash they demanded. Ridiculous prices for a few hours of seclusion, he thought why pay for this when motels existed?

His eyes flicked over the floor, taking in the plush booths, the half-closed curtains, the faint silhouettes that moved behind them. Some looked bored, some dangerously amused, others entirely lost in whatever indulgence had brought them here. Seongje’s lips curved into a lazy smirk. Another playground for people with money and no patience who thrived on watching fools pretend they had control.

He leaned against the railing, arms crossed, pretending to be disinterested as he surveyed the room. A faint laugh escaped him as he caught a couple struggling to keep their balance on a narrow booth bench. A man led Eun Gyeol and Baekjin to one of the tables on the floor as Seok Dae pointed at a booth, Seongje stepped in as Beomseok followed close behind holding his hand.

“They’re here,” Seok Dae muttered, The man he was speaking to filled the space with sheer size alone - broad shoulders, thick neck, as he smoked something that wasn't nicotine near the tinted window as he immediately shut it with a thud. Seongje couldn’t tell if he was all muscle or just pure mass. Three other men lingered silently, eyes flicking to Seongje like predators assessing prey, but he didn’t even glance at them.

“The shipments?” one of the men asked, cautious, almost too polite for a room that reeked of tension of Seok Dae's fate that night.

“Not there. Told them to come see you,” Seok Dae muttered, standing in toward the corner as if he knew what was coming for him. The giant lunged, grabbing Seok Dae by the collar and yanking him like a ragdoll. “What the fuck, you useless shit? First time screwing this up, huh? I thought you had some damn skill, but look at you!”

He dropped the cigarette, grinding it into the floor with a vicious stomp, sparks of ash scattering across the floor. Both hands slammed against Seok Dae’s face, twisting and smashing it like he was kneading dough. Seongje raised a brow, amused, leaning slightly forward.

“Sorry! I’ll—” Seok Dae started, but Seongje’s voice cut through like a whip. “Done fucking around? You’re wasting my time, dumbass.”

The giant released Seok Dae with a grunt, rubbing his hands like he’d just swatted an annoying fly. The three others shifted as the guy turned looking at Seongje.

Seongje’s eyes scanned him for a beat, then a crooked, shit-eating grin spread across his face. He let out a laugh, sharp and loud, teeth bared like he was savoring some ridiculous joke only he understood. “Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath, letting the words slide. The laugh grew, spilling out in bursts, making Beomseok and Seok Dae glanced at each other, clearly confused, despite not being on the same side of the situation

In front of Seongje stood Seoknam Gorilla.

“Ah, what the fuck,” Seongje muttered, shaking his head like a kid who’d just seen something absurdly stupid. “Wait a minute…” His grin widened, as he stepped forward. In one swift, shocking motion, he slammed both hands onto Seoknam’s face, rotating his cheeks in a slow, almost ridiculous circle, shaking his head like he was savoring every second.

“This is fucking hilarious,” Seongje said, laughing under his breath, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mischief. “I get it now… this is why you were doing it, huh?” He smacked the guy’s face once more for good measure, just enough to make the absurdity sting.

Then he spun around, eyes locking on Seok Dae, voice dropping into mock seriousness: “Nice fucking joke, pal. Now, where the hell is the client?”

“What the fuck are you doing? THIS IS THE CLIENT,” Seok Dae barked, eyes wide, as Seongje froze for a second, jaw dropping.

“You’re shitting me, right? Like, you’re actually serious?” Seongje snapped, a finger pointing at Seoknam. “This useless sack of shit is your boss—client?” He wagged his fingers in exaggerated air quotes. “This cocksucking motherfucker? You call him your boss?”

“Hyung,” Seongje heard Beomseok say warningly as he felt Seongje might cross some line, although Seongje had no lines.

“Chill, sit here,” Seongje said as he spun Beomseok by his shoulders and made him sit on a chair, looking back at the other two.

“Sit down, Seongje,” Seoknam said blandly.

“Oh no, no, no,” Seongje said, waving his arms and chuckling, looking at Seok Dae. “I am disappointed. You went through all this shit to find me and didn’t even tell this fucker of a client my name?” His voice dripped mock offense.

“You know him?” Seok Dae asked.

Seoknam glared at him while Seongje flopped down next to Beomseok, stretching his feet over the table like he owned the place.

“You’re gonna tell him or should I?” Seongje’s voice was sharp, teasingly cruel.

“I—” Seoknam started, but Seongje cut him off with a cackle.

“Your client? This dumb motherfucker was one of my dogs. Can’t follow shit, drinks like a filthy pig, choked like a clueless fuck on my dick. Solid three out of ten for that head. Zero respect, buddy,” Seongje said, pulling out a cigarette, lighting it with a wicked grin.

Seongje watched Seok Dae blink in surprise, the guy clearly caught off guard by the situation. The three other men in the room, perched like useless accessories, couldn’t help but grin among themselves.
Seoknam slammed a massive hand on the table. “Enough,” he barked, voice low and angry.

“Ohhh, baby, why the fuck are you pissed?” Seongje said, leaning back lazily, a smirk spreading across his face. “You wanna suck me off again? I’ll give you a better score this time, pinky swear.” He blew a teasing air kiss, completely unbothered by the glare shooting daggers from Seoknam.

“The shipments,” Seoknam said, sitting down and looking serious.

“Yes, your shipments. Tell me, I am listening.”

“They were supposed to be delivered by Saturday, which is today, and they are not here. The shipment order was managed by this guy’s secretary, am I right?” Seoknam said, questioning Seok Dae in the middle, who nodded.

“What was in those boxes? This guy says he thinks it was pills,” Seongje said, pointing the cigarette toward Seok Dae.

“None of your business,” Seoknam replied shortly.

“Please, I would like to know. The guy managing this for my late dad was my secretary, after all,” Beomseok said politely.

“Why are you talking in the middle?” Seoknam barked.

Seongje just scoffed, leaning forward and snatching a can from the nearest of the three guys sitting on a couch near them. With a swift flick, he sent it flying directly at Seoknam’s face.

The cold liquid splashed over Seoknam’s hair and down his shoulders. His eyes narrowed into slits, nostrils flaring as he growled, the corners of his mouth twitching in barely restrained fury. He wiped his face with a clenched fist, water or whatever was in that can dripping from his knuckles.

“What makes you think you can talk like that, huh? Have you forgotten how shit worked between us, you bastard?!” Seongje said his voice thick.

Seoknam slammed a hand on the table, making the three other guys jump. “You little shit!” he bellowed, leaning forward, his gaze burning into Seongje like molten iron. “Do you even know who the fuck you’re messing with?”

“Tell me all you do is flap your mouth.”

“You better watch your tongue,” Seoknam growled. “This isn’t the Union anymore, you coward. Running your mouth after running away? Fucking pussy.”

Beomseok caught it immediately the way Seongje’s hand froze mid-rotation with the cigarette. He sat up straighter, his grin gone.

“What are you now, huh?”

“I work for Bumi,” Seoknam shot back, chin raised, almost prideful. “So keep your respect straight. I work for men who could spawn ten Unions in a single fucking day.”

“Bumi?” Seongje let out a short laugh, exhaling smoke through his nose. “That’s a dogshit name.”

Seoknam didn’t flinch. Instead, he reached down and hauled a medium-sized carton box from the floor, tossing it onto the table with a loud thud. The lid cracked open as it landed, a few pale pills scattering near Beomseok’s shoe. Beomseok instinctively nudged them out of sight with the side of his foot, face blank, eyes straight ahead.

“Shipment that was supposed to be delivered, but wasn’t,” Seoknam said casually, like the box was nothing more than a stack of napkins.

“What kind of drugs are these?” Seongje asked, not even glancing at the pills. Pills reminded him of Baekjin and his mother and he wasn’t about to let that crawl back in his head at that moment.

“Bultang – or Raze, as they call it in the market.”

“What the fuck is it for?”

"This isn’t some candy or energy drink". Seoknam pointed to the pills.

“You take it, and within minutes, your body forgets limits—reflexes sharpen, pain dulls, and your stamina becomes insane. You can keep moving, keep hitting, keep fighting long after anyone else would collapse. But assholes who take it get cocky. When it wears off, your muscles burn, your joints scream, your heart feels like it’s about to explode. Most people can’t handle it more than once. It’s addictive, dangerous. You use it wrong, and it’ll chew you up faster than any opponent ever could.”

“So you’re telling me people are taking this shit instead of fighting like normal? Fucking idiots,” Seongje spat, disgust curling in his voice.

"Listen here you fucker, I won't admit this again so listen just once – not everyone fights like you do, some people need other avenues", Seokdae said, his face looked like he immediately regretted saying so.

“What are the specifics?” Beomseok asked.

“Enhanced reflexes, heightened senses, pain suppression, adrenal surge, extended endurance, quick recovery, and much more,” Seoknam replied, his tone lower and more respectful towards Beomseok this time around.

"Successful testimonies?", Beomseok questioned.

"High rate bone - muscle fortification, it has been tried to bedridden and someone who was almost in coma as far as I have heard, it has worked well", Seongje watched Beomseok look down hearing the word "coma".

“Well, too bad—you, or whoever the fuck this Bumi shit is, won’t be getting this anymore. You might have time to dig your dirty hands into this drug shit, but I don’t,” Seongje said as he stood up.

“The shipments have to come. This drug is doing good for people as well. You can’t fucking oppose Bumi—it won’t end good for you,” Seoknam smirked.

“Can’t? I have—” Seongje snapped, pointing at him.

“There’s a warehouse where they come from, they have the original formula. They won’t pipe out shit until he signs the papers. The money has to come in, so you’re nobody to make decisions, Keum,” Seoknam said, looking straight at Beomseok when he mentioned the signature.

“No fucking signatures will be made, and what I said is final. Don’t cross me, you bastard,” Seongje shot back, standing his ground.

“Fine,” Seoknam shrugged and chuckled darkly as he got up, tilting his head toward the three. “I guess I’ll have to teach you the hard way, just like you once taught me, you arrogant fuck.”

Seongje tsked as he watched Seoknam slip out of the curtained booth pulling Seok Dae with him, rapping his knuckles against the wall like some cheap signal. Pathetic. Leaving his three little lackeys behind to take the hit for him—predictable, lazy, and so fucking cowardly.

But Seongje wasn’t pissed. Not at all. His chest buzzed with anticipation, a grin already twitching at his lips. This was the kind of shit he lived for. Three against one? Perfect. He flexed his fists, rolling his shoulders, feeling that familiar rush prickle down his spine.

━━━━━━━━━

“Shit, this place looks insane,” Suho muttered, eyes darting around as he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. He cut through the crowd with Sieun on one side and Juntae on the other, Baku trailing close, and Gotak up ahead with a girl from his university tugging him by the hand. She seemed to know exactly where she was going.

“Told you, Midnight Scene is up and trendy for a reason” Gotak said smugly, nodding upward. Above them, streams of banknotes drifted down like glitter from the floor above.

“Woah… imagine being rich enough to just throw money around like that,” Baku said, half–laughing as they watched people stomp over crumpled bills while others casually bent to pocket them.

“I’ll place you on the second floor, you can even go and enjoy the music sets in the basement later. Is that fine? This floor’s hopeless, as you can see,” the girl said, gesturing for them to follow her toward the staircase.

Sieun glanced back. Juntae was hanging behind, dragging his feet on purpose. He slowed down too, letting Baku and Suho pass so he could catch him.

“Nice place. Hate the girl though, she's stuck to Gotak like glue,” Juntae muttered flatly.

“I figured,” Sieun said, keeping his voice low. “She’s not sticking with us anyway, so relax.” He’d already dragged that detail out of Gotak in the car, and the way Juntae’s shoulders eased told him it was the right thing to mention.

The music and lights were overwhelming, almost suffocating. Sieun didn’t like spaces that screamed for attention, and this one was a little too much. But Baku, Gotak, and Suho were clearly into it, their eyes wide, their energy buzzing. So Sieun told himself it was fine.

They slid into the booth. They tossed their phones on the table as Suho kept his jacket against the backrest and leaned forward, already scanning the menu card left on the table.

“What are we drinking? Don’t say water, I’ll actually throw up,” Suho said, grinning at Sieun across from him.

“Beer’s cheap,” Baku suggested, tapping the laminated page. “Or somaek? I’m down for that. Gogo said there's discount here on weekends”

“Of course you are,” Juntae muttered, slouching into his seat. “You’ll drink anything that doesn’t taste like battery acid.”

“Cocktails here are strong,” Gotak added, pulling out his phone. “People say the vodka mixes hit too fast.”

“Beer? Soju? Mix?” Suho asked the group, already half-lifting his hand.

Gotak nodded. “Yeah, somaek first. Keep it easy.”

A waiter leaned in with a practiced smile, notebook ready.

"I will have a cocktail", Juntae said pointing at one on the menu.

Sieun leaned back, fingers brushing against the table. His eyes flicked to the menu infront of him, though he didn’t open it. The thought of beer or soju made his tongue curl. After last night’s wine smooth, layered, almost velvety, cheap alcohol felt like it would scrape against his mouth. He wanted something refined, something that lingered rather than burned. But he stayed quiet, letting the others decide.

"I'll have a beer", Sieun said, it was better than whatever drink mix the others wanted to have.

“Three somaeks, two rounds, one beer and uh - this cocktail, actually make two of this” Gotak said finally, handing the menu back.

"Copycat", Juntae mumbled

The waiter nodded and disappeared into the crowd.

Music from the lower floor thumped through the walls, vibrating faintly under Sieun’s elbow as it mixed with the song being played on the floor they were on. He caught Suho’s eyes on him, playful, the corner of his lips curled into a half-smile.

“Hey,” Suho said suddenly, leaning in over the table, voice raised just enough to be heard. “Dance with me?”

"What?"

Suho didn't wait for Sieun to respond as he made him get up. The beat thudded heavy through the floor, bass vibrating up Sieun’s chest as Suho tugged at his wrist.

“Come on,” Suho leaned close, his words almost swallowed by the music. His grin was cocky, a little daring. “Just one song.”

Sieun exhaled, resisting for half a second before letting himself get pulled through the crowd. The lights spun across Suho’s face in flashes of violet and red, turning his smirk into something sharper, like he knew exactly what he was doing.

They found a pocket of space in the middle of the dance floor, pressed between strangers, shoulders brushing strangers’ shoulders, sweat and perfume thick in the air. Suho moved first it was easy, natural, loose shoulders and quick hips, like he’d done this a thousand times. Sieun felt stiff by comparison, hands at his sides.

“Relax,” Suho mouthed, leaning closer, his breath warm against Sieun’s ear.

"I am happy Suho, that you can do everything again - I know I have said this before but the doctors didn't have hope for a recovery even after you got up, but seeing you like this and how you well you did in therapy, I am thankful", Sieun said as Suho shook his head 

"Come on, I know - but this isn't the time to be sappy Sieun, dance - have some fun", Suho said as he spun Sieun around.

Sieun swallowed. His body didn’t want to move the way Suho’s did, but the rhythm was insistent, unforgiving. Slowly, he let himself sway, match Suho’s pace. Suho laughed and stepped closer, so close their chests nearly brushed.

Sieun’s pulse hammered in his throat. He told himself it was just the music, just the press of bodies, just Suho being reckless like always.

Suho’s palm was warm against his, steady in its grip, the kind of warmth that seeped slowly rather than ignited. When his other hand slid to Sieun’s waist, a faint tingle followed like a delicate ripple along his skin. It was grounding, even reassuring.

But it wasn't the same.

Sieun couldn’t stop the memory of Seongje from forcing its way back into his head, Suho's touch wasn't the same the touch was warm, steady, almost comforting, but it wasn’t the same. Not the way it had been when Seongje had grabbed his wrist near the tunnel, stopping him with a force that made his pulse spike. Not the way Seongje’s hands had enclosed his so many times while teaching him to perfect his hold on the glass, deliberate and consuming. Not even when Seongje had pulled Sieun’s chair close amidst the noise the proximity alone had been enough it had pressed against him in a way that made every nerve hum.

“The drinks are here—uh—we should go,” Sieun said, glancing up at Suho. Suho followed his gaze to the table and nodded, but the song hadn’t ended yet. Sieun couldn’t stay. One, because he barely knew how to dance, and Two, because he couldn’t move with someone else’s hand on his waist while his mind was haunted by someone else entirely in that moment on the dance floor.

They went back to their table as Sieun watched the waiter place the drinks, he took out his phone and opened the note space he had made for his observations, typing quickly and putting his phone down.

둘— #2 (Y.S’s exp)

He came back into my head again, I think that it was a distraction this time. Neural hijack intensity: 97%. Voice calibration: STUPID LOUD. Observed intrusive flashbacks were the tunnel wrist incident, glass-holding and the chair-pulling. Music temporarily overridden by internal Seongje commentary in my head.

I have always wanted to dance with Suho. Well, it has been something I thought of doing back in Byuksan, back on his birthday, but I couldn’t do it, even when Suho was fine to dance (I’m glad). But the problem is in me. 

Actually, the problem is Seongje, because I can hear his stupid voice in my head while dancing instead of music. 

The glasses clinked sharply, high-pitched over the pulsing bass, as Sieun, Suho, Juntae, Gotak and Baku all raised their drinks in unison. “Cheers!” Gotak shouted, a grin splitting his face as he tipped the glass, the amber liquid sloshing over the rim as he pulled Baku's cheek who resisted but gave in to Gotak's antics in a few seconds anyway.

Laughter bubbled from the group as the warmth of the alcohol spread through their chests, loosening limbs, lightening moods. Juntae leaned back in his chair, knocking elbows with Sieun, who rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips as Juntae mentioned something Gotak liked to eat. Baku nudged Suho, whispering something that sounded like a R rated joke that made the latter snort mid-sip, sending a few droplets onto the table, which only made everyone laugh harder. Baku was happy, Sieun saw that or atleast Baku pretended really well to be happy, to improve his mood and everyone else's.

“Looks like there’s an argument going on over there,” Juntae nodded toward a cluster of guys, five of them, just like their group, who were gesturing wildly at the floor manager and Gotak’s friend who had gotten them in.

Sieun tilted his head, observing, he had seen them outside. “I think it’s because we skipped the line, and they seemed to be here before us” he said, voice low, letting the music and chatter mask his words.

Juntae frowned. “But isn’t that the system here?”

“They had a connection too, through someone else, to get this table,” Sieun replied, tapping the polished edge of their table for emphasis as the both of them looked at the group, but their observation was cut through when they heard a familiar yet unfamiliar voice approaching their table.

“Well, well, well,” a voice drawled, thick with mockery. All of them looked at the figure approaching the table from behind, 4 of them instantaneously recognizing the guy, Suho took a moment longer.

“Seoknam,” Gotak said cautiously, setting his glass down with a soft clink, his eyes flicking between the man’s ugly, mocking grin and the rest of their table.

“What the fuck is this circus today? Reunion for worthless fuckwits or some shit? First that other dipshit shows up, now you prideful Eunjang punks? What, did you all get lost in this tiny shithole of a city? Holy shit, I didn’t think I’d ever have to see you guys again!”, Seoknam said clapping as he put his hand against Juntae's chair leaning on it.

“Just go,” Baku said smoothly, his voice calm, but there was an edge to it that made Sieun tense. Sieun knew without looking that if Suho and Gotak had not sandwiched Baku between them on the couch, Baku would have snapped at Seoknam’s mocking tone immediately.

“Why? Why should I?” Seoknam leaned back slightly, his ugly grin widening as if he were daring them.

“I don’t want to argue with you,” Baku replied, his eyes never leaving Seoknam’s.

“Argue? You think you can do that, you asshole? Why does everyone act like they’re still in Yeongdeungpo? Grow the hell up,” Seoknam barked, leaning forward just enough to make his presence oppressive.

“You should too,” Gotak said, his tone flat but carrying a warning.

Seoknam’s grin twisted. “What if I don’t? What will you do? Gather a crowd to fight me—eh? Or wait, do you two”—his eyes flicked between Sieun and Baku—“want to kill me? Aww, I’m trembling. Gonna gang up on me like you did with Baekjin?”

Sieun noticed Baku’s fingers clench tighter around his glass, knuckles whitening, as Suho and Gotak exchanged quick, tense glances. Juntae leaned forward his hand hovering near Baku on the table not touching, just close enough to be a silent, desperate, a shield of sorts, hoping Baku wouldn’t snap. One wrong move and the whole point of dragging him out to lighten his mood would collapse.

"Ohhhh this is interesting, this is rich,” Seoknam sneered, leaning over the back of Juntae’s chair, eyes darting between Juntae’s hand and Baku's which was on the other side of the table.

“Already got yourself a shiny little boyfriend, huh? Fucking shit, didn’t think you had the balls. Replaced Baekjin that fast? Poor motherfucker. I almost feel sorry for his sorry ass… almost. But, this one?” He let his gaze roam over Juntae like a filthy appraisal. “Not bad, can't tell if this is supposed be an upgrade or downgrade, but he is obedient I remember his little shuttle runs, cute".

Boyfriend? Juntae? What was the guy even saying?

Gotak lunged instinctively the next second, his hand snapping toward Seoknam, but the man was too quick. With a casual flick, he swatted Gotak away, stepping deliberately to trap one of Gotak’s legs in front of the couch. Seoknam knew that Gotak’s strength was in his legs, and now it was useless. The man didn't seem bothered when Gotak tried using his other leg to trip him.

“How dare you?” Gotak hissed, tension coiling in his muscles as Baku held his hand from reacting further. Seoknam let out a guttural laugh.

Sieun shot up, his hand diving into his pocket instinctively, but froze when he caught Baku’s sharp shake of the head. They both watched as Seoknam shoved Gotak back onto the couch, smirking.

“This was fun Park Humin,” Seoknam said casually, turning on his heel and striding away as he took Gotak's somaek with him..

“What?” Sieun blinked at Baku, frustration and disbelief mixing in his chest. He could have taken the guy down in seconds, easily, so could have Gotak.

Baku calmly wiped his hand on a napkin, tossed it onto the table in a messy heap, and stood, fists tightening. “I’m going to the restroom,” he said, maneuvering past Gotak’s trapped leg, eyes never leaving the retreating Seoknam as Sieun saw him looking at Juntae one last time.

What the fuck was going on here?

Sieun and Suho even exchanged a confused look

“He’s not going to the damn restroom ! We came here to calm him down, not start a fight! I'll go get him” Juntae’s voice cracked with urgency, his hands clenching into fists as he sprang to his feet.

“I’ll come with you!” Gotak shot out, eyes wide, panic etched across his face.

Juntae whirled around, gripping Gotak’s shoulders, shaking him slightly. “Are you insane? You’ll just shove him straight into Seoknam and instigate him and get yourself into a fight as well too! Stay here” His voice rose as he left Gotak's shoulder and walked away fast where he could see a little glimpse of Baku.

“Are we just going to fucking sit here?” Gotak asked, glancing between Sieun and Suho.

“No, let’s—let’s have a plan,” Suho said, his voice low but urgent. “We go get Baku and stop him from getting into a fight.”

“Where has he gone, though?” Sieun muttered, rising to his feet, eyes scanning down from the railing and then up to the floor above. He couldn't see Baku or Juntae

“We’ll split up,” Gotak said, sliding his phone into his pocket. “You both check this floor and the one above. I’ll go down. There are three spiral staircases, so cover all of them.”

"We can call Baku?", Sieun asked 

"No, the music is really loud he won't hear anything", Gotak said.

“What about the table?” Suho asked, a hint of worry in his tone.

“Fuck the table,” both Sieun and Gotak said in unison. Sieun sighed and added, “They’ve got a tab on it Suho, we can find Baku, then come back and pay. Let’s check this floor first.” Sieun grabbed Suho’s hand, pulling him along as Gotak headed down the stairs.

“Is that table free?” one of the guys from the noisy group arguing with the manager asked, leaning towards a waiter.

The waiter shook his head like he had seen people vacating their tables midway several times his voice clipped and monotonous. “It’s on a tab. It’s a table for none, find another seat, please.”

━━━━━━━━━

“Can you stop pacing? I’m getting dizzy just watching you,” Eun Gyeol muttered, head resting on the table as he stirred his drink.

Baekjin’s arms were crossed as he circled, tension rolling off him. “Fifteen minutes have passed.”

“And?” Eun Gyeol shrugged, glancing around the crowded floor below. “No signal from them yet. Must be chatting. You know how Seongje is, patience is a foreign concept to him. They’ll come out anytime soon now"

Baekjin leaned over the railing of the third floor, eyes scanning the scene below, people dancing, drinks in hand, laughter cutting through the thumping bass. His gaze froze on a single table. He hunched closer, heart skipping a beat.

There was Baku. The way his face caught the light, the subtle tension release in his shoulders as he laughed, it was imprinted in Baekjin’s memory in a way nothing, not even amnesia, could erase. He hadn’t seen him properly at the hospital, the dim parking lot, the argument between Baku and Gyeol and Baku walking off alone all of it was a fast blurred image. But here, alive and unaware of him being watched, Baku was exactly as Baekjin remembered.

Baku looked radiant, laughter spilling from him like it was contagious. His friends clustered around. Baekjin recognized Go Hyuntak, Seo Juntae, Yeon Sieun, and a face he’d only seen in reports before, Ahn Suho. Baekjin’s first time seeing Suho in person, he’d only glimpsed him through the dry professionalism of Seongje’s reports when he had sent Seongje to visit the guy a year or so ago.

“Thank heavens you stopped pacing,” Eun Gyeol muttered, sliding beside Baekjin. “What are you staring at?”

“There,” Baekjin said, pointing subtly to Baku’s table. Gyeol let out a soft scoff. After the way things went that morning, he’d expected Baku to brood, maybe sulk a bit, but clearly, the friends he kept had a way of keeping him cheerful. Good for him, Gyeol was somewhat happy for him regarding that sector.

But Baekjin’s quiet intrigue soured when movement caught his eye—a figure descending the spiral stairs of their floor, Baekjin did not see what booth he came out from as he saw him climb down the staircase meandering through the crowd with deliberate randomness before heading straight for Baku’s table. Familiar. A familiar face.

“What?” Gyeol asked, noticing Baekjin’s expression tighten.

“Seoknam Gorilla,” Baekjin muttered, fists gripping the railing as he edged to the side for a clearer vantage from the angled third floor.

He watched as laughter at Baku’s table abruptly died when Seoknam approached. Minutes of tense movement and argument unfolded: Gotak rose, attempting to confront him, but Seoknam blocked his legs effortlessly—the very same move Baekjin had taught him. Sieun followed suit but didn’t react much, leaving Baekjin unsettled. Then, just as quickly as he’d appeared, Seoknam walked off from the table.

Baekjin shifted further along the railing to the right, tracking Seoknam as he descended the stairs. He paused at the bar, leaving a cocktail glass infront of the bartender while a knife was discreetly passed from the counter.

Baku followed a few steps behind, weaving through the crowd, slower than Seoknam, giving Baekjin a moment to calculate the unfolding situation, he knew this encounter was about to erupt. He also knew that Baku had defeated Seoknam once when he was temporarily a part of the Union.

“This idiot,” Baekjin muttered, shaking his head as he turned to Eun Gyeol. “Seoknam has a knife,” he said.

“So? Baku went after him. I’m sure he can handle himself,” Eun Gyeol added, though his voice carried a note of doubt.

“What?” Baekjin asked, raising an eyebrow.

“From the stories you’ve told me about the fights between all of you at Yeongdeungpo, people would think you were trying to overthrow the government. I think Baku can manage,” Gyeol said, trying to sound confident.

“No,” Baekjin snapped, “Seoknam is good—with knives. Not with normal street fights. That thick-headed fuck doesn’t mess around when he has a knife.” He paused, frowning as he considered the situation, he was thinking logically, he was well aware of Baku's strength in a fight but he did not want to take a chance, Baekjin had taken down Seoknam with a knife before so he knew.

“You go and distract Baku,” Baekjin ordered, eyes sharp.

“What?” Gyeol blinked, taken aback.

“He’s your brother. Come up with something. I’ll deal with Seoknam.”

“Na Baekjin is supposed to be dead, and your shoulder just healed. I can try to distract Baku, but how is this supposed to work out?” Gyeol asked, lowering his drink.

“You don’t worry about that,” Baekjin said firmly, his gaze flicking toward the booth where Seongje was sitting.

“He’ll call if things go south. You told him to send Beomseok,” Eun Gyeol reminded him as they split up, another table being hastily abandoned.

Table for None.

[....]

It didn’t take Beomseok more than a few minutes to realize that Seongje hadn’t been joking when he claimed to be a decent fighter. “Decent” felt like an insult, especially after recalling the number of guys who had been left utterly shunned by him that they all had to be admitted in a hospital ward.

He watched Seongje fight all the three guys together, Seongje was fast, He pivoted, letting the first guy crash into his shoulder while he twisted, using the man’s momentum to slam him into the table behind. The second guy swung a fist, wild and heavy, but Seongje leaned back just in time, the knuckles grazing the air, and countered with a short elbow that snapped the man’s head sideways. The third came from the side, and Beomseok felt his chest tighten as he instinctively moved closer, ready to intervene but Seongje’s hands were a blur, deflecting a strike, catching the wrist, twisting it, forcing the guy to stumble.

Beomseok’s eyes widened as the three guys lay low only for a few seconds before they lunged at Seongje again, their movements erratic but unnervingly fast. The haze in their eyes, the taut muscles, the unnatural energy. it was obvious the pills had kicked in.

He looked at the box of pills as he took two handfuls of it and kept it his bag, zipping it up as he held one pill he had hidden behind his shoe in his hand. If it really did what the guy said. he might be able to help Seongje, he popped the pill as he swallowed it dry grabbing whatever drink was left in the can as he gulped it in and waited.

Seongje on the other hand didn't flinch when they came back again. He ripped the man’s arm, spun him like he was enjoying making him dizzy, and slammed him into floor as he held the guy's hair in his hands the man’s face scraped along the floor where remnants of what was thrown at Seoknam splayed, leaving a wet, sharp sound that made Beomseok flinch.

The second attacker came at him swinging just as fast but jerky, like the pill had pushed his reflexes into overdrive. Seongje met him with a brutal uppercut to the jaw that sent the man stumbling back towards the booths curtains as Seongje wasn't done he grabbed the guy as he wrapped a curtain side around him almost choking the man as he resisted, the cloth tightening around him as Seongje moved him immediately in a swinging force as the guy screamed, staggering into a chair that toppled, bottles crashing around him, ripping the curtain as well.

The third attacker lunged from behind catching Seongje's shoulders, as he kicked him but Seongje turned around and kneed him in the stomach as he caught the guy's head under his arm dragging him towards the table.

Beomseok looked at the two men lying on the floor. If the drug worked on them, they’d get an energy surge any second now and so would he. He felt his palms heating up as he watched Seongje bang the guy’s head against the table, cursing under his breath.

A glass bottle caught his eye. His hands gripped it tight as he stood, muscles tense, ready. The two men stirred, twitching as the pill’s effect began to kick in, and Beomseok’s heart hammered in his chest as the men seemed to be getting up again.

He kept the bottle back on the table immediately pushing back his thoughts. He couldn't do this.

But just a second later as he almost felt a guttling cramp in his stomach he stood up, without thinking he picked up the bottle and spun it clutching it in his hands.

Every nerve was screaming with a strange, electrifying clarity. The drug coursing through his veins sharpened his senses, turning him into something he was barely able to register or recognise.

The first one of the two who managed to get up came infront of Beomseok as he chuckled trying to punch him in the gut but he broke the bottle against the table as he swung it, the rim of the bottle square across the guy's temple. The glass cracked with a wet, sickening pop, sending his skull jarring like a dropped watermelon, and he slumped to the floor, dazed, groaning like a dying pig. Beomseok felt a rush of triumph and adrenaline almost a dark, consuming thrill that made his chest tighten with exhilaration.

"What the fuck?", he heard Seongje say as he still held onto the guy pressing him onto the table. Beomseok turned around and the second man barely had time to blink before Beomseok swung again. The bottle smashed into his shoulder with the impact of a hammer smashing through bone. He staggered, clutching at his arm like it was a piece of rotten meat, and before he could gather himself, another brutal swing slammed across his jaw. Teeth ground, and blood trickled down his chin as he hit the floor with a harsh, metallic thud. Beomseok’s pulse surged; his body hummed with power, each movement instinctive, violent, and perfectly timed, the drug pushing him beyond fear, pain, or hesitation.

"You said you didn't fight you little shit? You lied?", Seongje asked as Beomseok shook his head.

"Hyung they are on the pill, here take this bottle, you will have to hit him with it, they have to pass out or atleast faint completely I think", Beomseok handed the bloody bottle to Seongje who smashed it on the guy's head without looking at him as he dropped him.

“How the hell did you do that?” Seongje demanded, eyes wide.

Beomseok’s chest was heaving, his grip on the table tightened. “The pill,” he muttered, voice rough, almost detached. “I took it.”

Seongje smacked him across the face, hard enough to snap his head to the side as his glasses fell off. Beomseok barely flinched. He just blinked, unfazed, as if the hit had been a gust of wind brushing past him.

“Are you insane, you bastard?” Seongje shouted, his voice cracking with anger. “Do you even know what that shit does to you? The side effects?”

“It doesn’t hurt when you hit me,” Beomseok said, himself surprised as he looked at the blood on his hands from the broken bottle. Small, barely visible fragments of glass were still there, pinching through his skin.

“Here, take your glasses,” Seongje said as he turned Beomseok’s jaw, looking at him. “Are you sure you are not hurt?” There seemed to be a little maybe very minute hint of regret in Seongje’s voice.

“No, no, hyung, I am fine. It does not hurt anywhere at all. Wait—where is Seok Dae?” Beomseok asked, looking around.

“That fucker Seoknam took him out when he went. Check if he’s outside,” Seongje said, getting up from the floor.

Beomseok found Seok Dae outside the booth, leaning with earphones in his ears, completely oblivious to what had just happened inside. Beomseok ripped the earphones out, even having to inch up on his toes to reach.

"Fucking shit You want get fucked over? Seok Dae snapped, but Beomseok only scrunched his eyebrows, punched him square in the jaw, and yanked him by the collar back inside, still not fully registering the wild energy running through him.]

"Here he is", he said putting Seok Dae infront of Seongje as Seok Dae registered the scene inside the booth but Seongje tried to tackle him before that. 

Seok Dae pushed Seongje with his elbows as Beomseok caught Seongje's arm as Seok Dae tried to leap across the chairs where Seongje and Beomseok had been sitting earlier, yanking down a curtain barrier and exposing another booth. Seongje and Beomseok glanced behind him—more people. Lackeys. They rose to their feet one by one, black jackets uniform across their backs, each stamped with a strange white circle-within-a-circle logo, all of them turning to face the source of the commotion.

“Fucking hell.” Seongje smirked, almost scoffed. He’d fought fifteen bastards the day before; numbers didn’t mean shit to him.

“Beomseok-ah, get the fuck to Baekjin and Gyeol,” Seongje ordered.

Beomseok froze, watching him crack his knuckles. “I can fight with you, hyung.”

“Do as I fucking say or I’ll fucking kill you before I beat them.” Seongje shoved him back hard. Beomseok stumbled, realizing something had been shoved into his hand. Seongje's phone.

“It’s got something important in it, so if you lose it, I’ll beat you bloody myself,” Seongje said without looking at him.

Beomseok swallowed and nodded, slipping quietly out of the booth. As soon as he stepped out, Beomseok’s eyes darted across the floor, scanning for Baekjin and Gyeol. The table he saw them sitting on before they had gone inside ? Empty. Gone. A jolt of unease ran through him. Maybe they were downstairs.

He lunged toward the staircase, adrenaline spiking, but skidded to a stop at the edge. Two figures were climbing up, Yeon Sieun and Ahn Suho. Here? Together? His stomach clenched, a cold weight pressing down. Suho looked… fine. Too fine. Untouchably calm.

Panic clawed at him. Beomseok spun on his heels and sprinted across the floor, eyes darting for cover. The restroom. Anywhere to hide. He slipped inside, slammed the door, and leaned against it, chest heaving. Like the coward he was.

Beomseok panted, leaning over the basin, eyes locked on his reflection in the mirror. The blood on his hands had begun to coagulate, darkening as it dried along the creases of his skin. He twisted the tap, letting cold water gush over his palms, scrubbing at the sticky residue, trying to wash away both the evidence and the adrenaline that still thrummed through his veins.

Suho was okay. He had to be. Seongje had told him that Suho had woken up, and on one level, that was incredible and almost miraculous. But Beomseok couldn’t shake the unease rising in his mind. Suho seemed… too okay ? His motor function precise while climbing the stairs, cognition intact, affect stable. That shouldn’t be possible. Beomseok’s studies in the Philippines had included extensive research on prolonged comatose states and it's types the persistent vegetative states, minimally conscious states, and the typical sequelae of hypoxic-ischemic encephalopathy.

Statistically, someone in a two-year coma which according to Beomseok's rough calculations, Suho had been unconscious for roughly 24 months would exhibit severe, or even if lucky some mental and physical disabilities or trauma. It could be any sort of thing like cortical atrophy, spasticity, dysphagia, and cognitive impairments. Even if there was rigorous passive and active physiotherapy to maintain tissue integrity and prevent contractures, Maybe Sieun would have made him exercise in that state ? But still it was something that didn't look real to him.

Beomseok’s chest tightened, a mixture of awe and dread knotting in his stomach. How had this even happened? The science screamed that it shouldn’t, yet the reality stared back at him in the calm in his own reflection.

He suddenly remembered what the guy, Seoknam had said inside.
"The drug has worked successfully on bedridden and people in an almost comatose state"

Had Suho been exposed to "Raze?", Is that why he healed - Is that why he is okay? Would Sieun have allowed it - if this was true, did Sieun know?

Sieun. Sieun. Sieun 

A bitter, sour taste pooled in Beomseok’s mouth, making him gag as he tried to swallow it down with his own spit. Fuck…His stomach churned. Suho, fucking Suho had come here with Sieun. Together. In a goddamn booth area. Together?! Were they… were they here to do that? The thought hit him like a punch to the gut, and he almost wanted to puke, the mix of jealousy, panic, and self-loathing crawling up his throat. Pathetic. Absolutely fucking pathetic, and he hated that he couldn’t stop imagining it.

He stumbled out of the restroom, knees weak, and tried to peer over the railing. Nothing. Suho wasn’t there. Then he heard something from one of the booths a low, wet, desperate moan, like someone getting pounded raw, followed by another, harsh, sloppy and ragged. His stomach twisted, bile rising, mouth tasting like shit.

Goddamn it, what the fuck is going on?

Every nerve in his body screamed while his fists clenched so tight his knuckles burned. He felt small and weak like some dumb little rat eavesdropping on things it had no right to even the drug's adrenaline didn't work. Shit. Humiliating. And it made him want to puke and punch the walls at the same time.

Swallowing hard, teeth grinding, he forced himself to move downstairs. He had to find Baekjin and Eun Gyeol. He had to. It was better if he found Baekjin first considering the fight Seongje was involved in.

[...]

“Did Baku walk off fast or slow?” Suho asked, gripping the railing. Sieun stood two steps ahead, peering down at the second floor, trying to get a better view one last time before moving up

“Gotak’s searching downstairs. No messages yet, we need to check the third floor,” Sieun replied, just as his eyes caught the top part of angled spiral staircase leading up as someone walking towards it on the floor above.

A guy adjusted his glasses and strode quickly toward it. Sieun’s blood ran cold for a moment. He recognised the person immediately, Oh Beomseok. Walking straight toward them, hands covered in blood, streaks dripping down his wrists and fingers.

It had been a while since he had seen Beomseok, but Sieun could not forget his face - he had seen Beomseok countless times in his dreams, in the very fighting rink he hated. The dreams had stopped eventually, it had hurt leaving Beomseok alone.

Suho was right behind him. Suho was awake. Suho had been in a coma because of Beomseok. Sieun shook his head. He couldn’t let them come face to face—not now.

He spun to face Suho. “I think we didn’t check that corner ? You see the smoking area on the second floor?,” he said, carefully keeping Suho’s back towards the direction Beomseok came from.

“Shit, you’re right,” Suho said, nodding. “Come on, let’s have a quick look.”

“No. You go. I’ll check the third floor. If we both go together, it’ll waste time,” Sieun said, urgency threading his voice which he managed to hide.

“Will you be fine?”

“Of course. I’ll be fine. Go.” Sieun watched Suho stride off, hands in his pockets, moving with purpose. He exhaled sharply and glanced back at the staircase. Beomseok wasn’t there. Where the hell did he go?

There didn’t seem to be any other way down from the floor. He had to find Baku anyway, so he might as well see if Beomseok was around. Sieun stepped onto the floor, scanning the spot where he had seen Beomseok standing. He tilted his head, the image of the blood stained hands came back to him not for the blood, but the phone those hands held; a blue phone cover with a white devil face on it. He had seen that cover before; it was Seongje’s. He had it on perhaps a different phone model in Ganghak as well when he fought him on the rooftop.

People could have the same phone covers, right? But he had seen one in Beomseok’s bloody hands?

Sieun immediately took out his phone, as he tapped on it quickly, calling the contact number he had changed just in the morning.

“…The number you are trying to call is switched off or not reachable at the moment.”

“Fuck,” Sieun muttered, pocketing his phone. He walked past the booths toward the registry table that listed the occupants. He rifled through it, confusion growing. Most booths were full as far as he could see but no entries had been made. Had they hired someone incompetent, or lazy enough to skip the register entirely?

He walked past a few booths, trying to get a view through the dim curtains, when he heard a voice from one of them and then he heard something crashing, a thud of furniture, then someone speaking afterward from one of the booths.

“This bastard… won’t look away? Huh? It’s been three seconds. What should I do with you?”

Sieun stopped in his step as he looked at the booth, those exact words, in the same sequence, in the same manner and voice were deep-rooted within the fibers of his brain, etched into the neurons themselves. Along with other things as well, Seongje wasn't the only occupant.

He stepped forward cautiously as he opened the curtain and peeked in from the side first, trying to get a look and even stepped inside furthermore a second later, still behind the curtain as he looked at the scene in front of him.

Seongje stood smack in the middle of the booth, typical Keum Seongje, always finding himself in the exact spot where chaos decided to sit down too.

There was a fight going on, in full swing as the acrid smell of sweat and alcohol whifted to his nose.

Sieun could only watch, not because he couldn’t or wouldn’t help, but because Seongje was managing the entire thing alone and well. Sieun had not seen him fight in the tunnel; he had only seen the aftermath. He had not seen Seongje’s shuttlepatch fights; he had only experienced the fights he himself had with him.

"You have to find Baku, don't watch him"

Sieun didn't really care about the voice in his head. Not now. Watching Seongje fight felt like a forbidden thrill, dirty, intimate, almost perverse to him. Only because of how much Seongje seemed to enjoy it, He understood why Eun Gyeol had called it Seongje's art.

Breath caught in his throat he watched the fight from behind the curtain like a voyeur, A man struck from the left, swinging what looked like the snapped-off leg of a chair. Seongje caught it on his arm with a dull, meaty thud that made Sieun’s own bones ache, then Seongje twisted at the last moment, catching the blow awkwardly on his forearm before smashing the wood across the man’s knee. The crack sounded fresh and loud, and Sieun’s stomach roiled. The man shrieked, collapsing like a broken puppet, while a thin line of blood sizzled down Seongje’s arm, sticky and warm, gleaming like fresh semen in the dim light. He hissed through clenched teeth, spit wetting the floor, eyes wild and untamed.

Another attacker charged, brandishing a broken bottle. The glass kissed Seongje’s shoulder, carving across his bicep, Sieun’s gut clenched; the red ran like thick, hot syrup. Seongje didn’t pause. He seized the man’s wrist, twisting it with a brutal torque that made it pop and then rammed him backward into the table. The crack of wood was immediate.

Before Sieun could breathe, another body barreled from behind. Seongje met him with a knee to the gut that folded him like a used tissue, then smashed his elbow into the man’s jaw. The sound wasn’t just bone it was teeth spitting blood, jaw splitting like rotten fruit. The man crumpled, drooling red across the floorboards. Seongje’s knuckles were bleeding now, leaking, but he didn’t look like he gave a single fuck.

One more came along, fists flailing almost desperate. Seongje ducked, rolled, and rammed a fist into the man’s gut, forcing a guttural, animalistic grunt that sounded like it came from a deep, filthy cavern. His ribs scraped a chair in the process, he grimaced, but it only seemed to ignite more fire in him. He snapped forward with a palm strike to the guy’s face, smashing it sideways, snapping the man’s head back like it were a cock bent too far.

Sieun didn't exactly like watching people fight, neither was he one of those freaks who got off watching people fight, but this was a show to watch - It was wrong, wrong as hell, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away. It played out like a filthy, brutal porn, almost vulgar because of Seongje's confidence in his skill and no Sieun did not watch porn, maybe once or twice but not more than that.

Sieun's eyes whipped sideways as he watched a man approaching Seongje from the back, a broken glass in his hand, instinct took over Sieun as his hand reached over to his pocket pulling out his pen, not his but the one of the ten that Seongje had given him as he moved away and in from the curtain immediately, before he fully registered his own move, he shoved it between the man’s collarbone and jaw, pressing hard, making the man yelp in agony as Seongje turned around.

"You?", he asked slighly suprised as he kicked someone near his foot.

“Why are you always fighting whenever I come across you?”

“Why do you always happen to be around when I’m in a fight?”

“What the hell is all this? What are you doing?” Sieun asked, pretending to be surprised, as if he hadn’t been standing there, watching every minute of it.

“Just some fun. Why are you here?” Seongje asked, eyes sharp but calm.

“I came with my friends,” Sieun said.

“And?”

“There were some issues,” Sieun replied, his voice steady. He pulled out his pen from the guy's neck he had just taken down as he pointed it towards another man stirring behind Seongje. He glanced at Seongje, who gave a quick, approving nod. With a swift motion, Sieun jabbed the pen into the man’s leg, forcing him down as he pulled the pen out again after that.

"That was hot"

"Shut the fuck up"

Sieun scanned the booth. Several men were sprawled across the floor, groaning or trying to push themselves up. A few still moved, dazed and sluggish, His eyes flicked back to Seongje, who strode calmly through the mess, gripping a man by the collar and speaking with that infuriating mix of amusement and menace.

“This was no fun. Open the next curtain. Are there more wankers hiding in the next booth?” Seongje’s voice carried over the grunts and thuds. He bent slightly, inspecting the battered man at his feet. Seok Dae.

Sieun bent down and looked at him. “What is he doing here?”

“As you said… drugs,” came the curt reply.

“You do drugs?”

“No,” Seongje said, voice dry. Then he looked down at Seok Dae. “Come on, Seok Dae. Say hi. My boyfriend is here to save the day. You know him, don’t you?”

With a mischievous chuckle, Seongje lifted Seok Dae’s hand, forcing it into a sloppy wave toward Sieun, as if the whole absurd scene was some grotesque performance just for him.

“I am not your boyfriend. What the hell are you saying?” Sieun said, exasperated.

“Almost feels like it. Look at us—on our fourth date after our third,” Seongje said.

“This is not a date,” Sieun replied.

“Awww, you’re disappointed. I can understand, well this isn’t exactly presentable, but I can still offer you a drink. There must be some bottle I haven’t broken,” Seongje said, scanning the booth seriously.

“Seok Dae, you know where the liquor is, right? See, now Sieun’s disappointed. This is no way to treat your date,” Seongje chuckled, making Seok Dae look up and put his head down before Sieun could look.

“Listen, Seok Dae, I don’t know what the hell you’re doing here, and it’s obvious you’re still into your entire drugs business and might be sniffing all that as well. But this guy? Not my boyfriend,” Sieun spat out glaring at Seongje.

“Are we breaking up? Come on!”, Seongje whined, dragging out his words like a sulky toddler.

“This guy is insane and a compulsive liar. Seriously, don’t take his word for shit. I’m not his boyfriend; he’s just spewing nonsense.”

“Saying this on our fourth date… fuck, that’s nasty,” Seongje said, looking at Sieun, who perched over the lying Seok Dae on the floor, trying to talk to him.

“Shut up! Can’t you see I’m talking?” Sieun said, frustrated.

“I’ve told you the truth, okay? Seok Dae? Helloooo?” Sieun yelled. Seok Dae stayed out cold and unresponsive, and Seongje lost it. He threw his head back and laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls like a jackass.

“I’m telling you the truth,” Seongje mocked. “Fuck, this is funny and he’s out, probably fainted. You look stupid talking to him,” Seongje grinned.

“What, he wasn’t awake?” Sieun asked, scrambling to his feet.

Seongje just shook his head, groaning, twisting his bleeding hand like it was nothing.

“Honestly, you’ve got the most tragic fucking luck,” he muttered, smirking despite the blood.

They looked at eachother in a moment of silence before they hard voices and footsteps outside the booth.

“Where the fuck is that motherfucking bastard? Which damn booth is he hiding in?”
“Fucking dumbasses can’t even handle one shitty thing!”
“Getting their useless asses beaten by one guy like a pack of little cocksuckers!”
“Whichever shitbags got beat from our side find them as well, they should be stripped bare and thrown to the dogs!”
“Goddamn worthless motherfuckers, can’t do shit right!”
“Pathetic little cunts, all of them!”

“Go from this booth,” Seongje said as he tilted his head towards the booth with the torn curtain. “Take the right and you can go downstairs to your friends.”

Sieun had to find Baku, he knew. But Suho, Juntae and Gotak were also finding Baku—and Seongje, even if it was just entertainment to him, art to him, stood here alone, just like he had in the tunnel. He’d even gone for round two and fought the backup that was called in. Seongje was crazy. Sieun wasn’t.

Sieun hated watching fights, and he hated fighting—that was a fact. But he had enjoyed watching Seongje fight, and fighting for him as well. Even if it wasn’t much, in the tunnel and now here, that too was a fact.
Would he enjoy fighting alongside Keum Seongje? Was that a fact too ?

His moral values, conditions, and principles only seemed to uphold for others. It was different when it came to Seongje—and that was his experiment.

So Sieun shook his head and picked up his bloody pen from the floor as he brought out his own and clicked it.

“What?” Seongje asked, his expression almost amused.

“You take the ones on the left and I take the ones on the right,” Sieun said, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“You’re staying?”

Before Sieun could answer, the torn curtain jerked open, men spilling in one after another, voices rising, the space instantly tighter, louder, charged.

“Only if you tell me what the fuck is going on and who these people are.” Yes, Sieun was a nosy bastard as well—curious most of the time as he labeled it, but for his experiment he was nosy.

“It’s a date.”

“It’s not a date.”

[...]

Juntae had fucked up. Almost messed up. He’d been following Baku, but somewhere in the mess of lights, pounding bass, and bodies grinding against each other like they were all in heat, he’d lost track. One blink and Baku was gone, swallowed by the dancing mirage of people. Great. Now Juntae was running around like an idiot, checking corners and dim lit areas and people's tables like some desperate creep. They’d come here to make Baku feel better, not to let him swing fists. If Baku got into a fight, his mood would tank even harder—and that meant everyone else’s night was over too. No Juntae did not mind what Seoknam had said about him, he had heard worse from people at Eunjang.

He’d already scoured the ground floor, even wandered into the damn kitchen by mistake. The cooks either gave him dirty looks or ignored him completely, probably assuming he was another drunk kid stumbling where he didn’t belong. Not wrong, but still rude. With no leads, he drifted toward the back exit, thumbing through the group chat on his phone. No updates. Of course. The signal was garbage probably because Midnight Scene was basically a cave with alcohol. Gotak and his ridiculous choices he made just because the girl who guided him here was pretty.

He barely looked up before slamming straight into someone. Glasses against glasses. He blinked—Oh Beomseok.

Had Sieun and Suho seen him? He was here too?

Beomseok’s eyes lifted from his phone. They looked glossy, not drunk-glossy, not high-glossy, but… weird. He clutched his bag like someone was about to rip it off him.

“You here? Hi,” Juntae said.

“Hello. Surprising seeing you here,” Beomseok said.

“Yes, just came with some friends,” Juntae said as he watched Beomseok’s expression. It didn’t change. If the guy was still looking out for Suho and Sieun, he would have definitely checked their social media. Sieun never posted anything, but Suho did and his picture was there with Suho as well, enough for Beomseok to recognize. Beomseok had really made no move for Juntae to be suspicious that he was looking out for his two friends in anyway.

“Looking for someone?” Beomseok asked.

“Yes, I’ll take your leave,” Juntae said politely. Beomseok gave him somewhat of a smile as Juntae hurried out from the back exit. There was nobody there. He turned back to go inside but paused, turning his head when he heard grunts behind a wall. Slowly, he walked toward the sound in the alley outside Midnight Scene.

Juntae turned behind the wall as he looked over slightly, and his heart almost stopped at what he saw. He had to look again and again, had to take his glasses off to make sure he wasn’t mistaken, and look again.

Seoknam was in a scuffle with his knife out, but the person fighting Seoknam wasn’t Baku; it was Baekjin. Na Baekjin.

Juntae had to cover his mouth in order to make no noise or yelp.

Na Baekjin was dead. They had all cried at his funeral. Baku had been miserable every time he remembered him. Even today, he got a shocker because of Baekjin, but Baekjin was here. Juntae could see him, with his own eyes, dressed in tones of navy blue and black, his eyes still sharp as they always were. His hair was slightly different, it wasn't slicked back, the dark strands looked damp as if he’d just run a hand through them. It wasn’t neat but it suited him, Juntae remembered seeing his hair like this before once on his shuttle runs.

Seoknam was there, knife flashing under the dim light, his face twisted with rage. It looked like the both of them had been fighting for a while before Juntae had come.

“Fuck you!” Seoknam roared, spitting out blood as his blade sliced through the air. “I’ll fucking gut you, you piece of shit!”

Baekjin didn’t flinch. He lunged, hands closing around Seoknam’s wrist. The knife slashed past his shoulder, tearing fabric but not flesh. With a vicious snarl, Baekjin slammed his knee into Seoknam’s ribs.

Seoknam wheezed, but swung the knife wildly. “I’ll fucking kill you! How are you back? How? You were dead”

Baekjin caught his arm, twisted hard. Seoknam screamed, knuckles white around the blade, but Baekjin drove his elbow into his face with a sickening crack. Blood splattered, and Seoknam stumbled, swearing, “Fuck—fuck you!”

The knife clattered to the ground.

“Pick it up,” Baekjin spat, his voice like gravel, shoving Seoknam back. “Try again, asshole.”

Seoknam lunged for it, but Baekjin was faster. He stomped on Seoknam’s hand crushing it with brutal force, and Seoknam’s howl tore through the alley.

"I thought I had made myself very clear that I won't tolerate anyone going near Baku with intentions that disappoint him, seems like you forgot while I was away"

"Let go of my hand you fucking bastard, I don't work for you anymore"

Baekjin didn’t stop. He dragged Seoknam up by the collar and rammed him against the wall. Seoknam thrashed, cursing, “You fucking dog—” before Baekjin’s fist silenced him, knuckles crunching against cheekbone as he picked up Seoknam's knife throwing it up in his hands and in position as he slashed the skin of Seoknam's stomach right through the fabric, slamming him down and throwing his knife along with him - injured to hurt, injured to remember, not injured to kill.

Juntae could barely breathe. He almost flinched when he felt a tap on his shoulder from behind as his hand was still on his mouth and behind him was Beomseok, watching the fight as well.

“What are you doing here? Are you following me?”

“No. You shouldn’t stand here and watch.”

“Excuse me?”

“Baekjin won’t kill him. Don’t worry.”

“You know Baekjin? How, Beomseok?”

“I’ll tell you everything you need to know. It’s about time we spoke.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s been a few days. But how long do you want to keep playing this game ? Me pretending not to recognize you, and you pretending you aren’t friends with my former friends?”

“How is Baekjin alive? How did this happen - we - uh - he was dead?”

“We’ll talk tomorrow. At the university. Not today.”

“Why?”

“Just go for now. I think I saw your friend Baku on the first floor. He’s there with Eun Gyeol.”

“You know him as well?”

“Yes. It’s complicated. Just go,” Beomseok said as he stepped forward, standing in front of Juntae, eyes still locked on the remnants of the fight.

Juntae stood frozen for a moment before finally moving.

He couldn’t digest the fact that Baekjin was alive. Maybe the vodka from the cocktail had gotten to his head. Gotak had said the vodka was strong here. Maybe he was just coming up with excuses in his head.

His phone caught signal in the alleyway of Midnight Scene as he looked at the group chat to see Gotak and Suho’s messages saying they had found Baku and were on the first floor with him and Eun Gyeol. A picture of them was there too, as Juntae looked at it, going back inside and climbing up to the first floor, finding his friends.

“Juntae? You are here, look, we found Baku,” Gotak smiled, patting Baku’s shoulder. He clearly had had a few more drinks.

“Eun Gyeol is a good doctor. He says I am a miracle patient,” Suho said, tapping his beer can, also a little dazed. There was no way he would make it to Hwalhak in time tomorrow.

“Can we talk for a moment?” Juntae asked, looking at Baku, who didn’t seem angry anymore, didn’t look drunk either, as Juntae gave a courtesy nod to Eun Gyeol.

“Okay,” Baku said, getting up as he followed Juntae to a secluded area. It wasn’t truly secluded, but it was out of the way and view from where the other three sat.

“Are you okay?”

“Of course I am. Were you looking for me? Sorry if I stressed you out,” Baku said, brushing a stubborn strand of hair off Juntae’s forehead. The touch lingered just a moment longer than necessary.

“It’s okay. But where were you? And where did Eun Gyeol pop up from?” Juntae asked, feeling the warmth of Baku’s hand as he nudged him closer. A few drunk guys stumbled nearby, but Baku didn’t seem to notice.

“I went after that bastard Seok Nam myself. I followed him, but he disappeared. Eun Gyeol hyung was near the bar on this floor. He came up to me, apologized, wanted to mend things after this morning’s argument.”

“And what did you say?”

“I said, okay and apologized as well. He is my brother after all. Bygones can’t be bygones at the moment, but it’s enough that I can greet him when he is around, and he can be in touch in case of a medical emergency. Gotak and Suho seem to like him. Gotak has always known him since he saw him first back years ago. He and Sieun seem to have some tension, but I think that might not last long.”

“I’m a doctor too, I mean I will be one day,” Juntae said quietly.

“Yes, I know. You’re my favorite doctor,” Baku replied, ruffling his hair and pressing a quick kiss to Juntae’s forehead. “Do you want a hug?”

“Yes,” Juntae nodded as Baku engulfed him in one. Baku was quite big compared to him and could cover him completely. Juntae wanted a hug but almost felt guilty asking for it. Hugging Baku now that Baekjin was alive. Baku was his friend, his best friend, his family but he was something else to him as well.

“You know I was really angry when Seoknam said those things to you. I still feel like going and knocking the life out of him,” Baku said, his chest pressing against Juntae.

“I don’t mind, Humin. I’ve heard worse,” Juntae murmured.

“So? Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t. I’m here.”

“I’m fine. Trust me.”

“I didn’t like the way he looked at you.”

“A lot of the Union members looked at me like that. It doesn’t bother me.”

“They won’t get to do that again"

“Are you mad or… jealous?”

“I don’t know. You’re okay, so my mood is fine. Things might be better with Gyeol hyung as well. Going forward, we will see how it goes,” Baku said, pulling out of the hug but keeping his hands around Juntae’s waist.

“Should we go home?”

“Let them have a few more drinks. You can stay here with me if you’re bored,” Baku grinned.

“Have you seen the floors above? They seem a little private.”

“We can check them out. Where is Sieun?” Baku asked, holding Juntae’s hand as they walked from behind the bar, passing the back of the table where the three sat, busy with their own talk and beers.

“I saw him going towards the third floor from the ground floor, the left side over there when I was looking for you. We’ll find him and tell him you’re okay.”

“Ohhhh, booths?” Baku said, looking up at the angled staircase.

“Baku, no.”

“Come on, just five minutes and we will find Sieun,” Baku grinned as Juntae stared at him, still holding his hand.

“You are just going to let Sieun search around for you? What if someone sees? What if he sees?” Juntae asked.

“Nobody will see. We will be quick. I promise.”

The same guilty feeling coiled in Juntae’s stomach, overlapped by the secret he had with Baku, and the idea that he couldn’t let Baku know that Baekjin was alive, not just yet, not until he had figured things out himself.

So he let himself be led towards the right of the third floor instead of the left, where he watched Sieun go. Into his own secret once again.

"We should look for Sieun first"

"He will be fine, he is an adult - yes I was worried for him the other day, but that was only because Seongje was there and I don't trust the guy, but all of us are here, he will be fine"

A secret he and Baku shared, a secret pact made a few months after Baku had slightly normalized after Baekjin’s death. It was just sex with no meaning to it. Juntae did not want to be a virgin per se, and Baku needed someone as well.

Juntae had no feelings for Baku in his heart, and neither did Baku. Juntae only liked Gotak, but he had felt the need to enter this agreement because he knew Gotak was experimental and free, and Juntae might not match his level if he didn’t learn. It wasn’t insecurity; he just wanted to learn.

It wasn’t complicated because Baku didn’t know he liked—more than liked Go Hyuntak. Only Sieun did, and Sieun did not know he was sleeping with Baku. Neither did Suho, but he was sure Suho had an idea and did not say much. Gotak knew nothing that idiot he liked so much, it almost made his heart burst.

It wasn't complicated until now - because Baekjin was back and he couldn't tell anyone about it.

━━━━━━━━━

Sieun did not know how to dance well.
Sieun also knew that he had unanimously decided that he would taken on the people on the right and Seongje on the left.
That did not happen because they had managed to partner up while attacking the men, back against back - their movements almost in sync.

Sieun’s pulse pounded in his ears as he stepped forward, pen clutched tight, and the chaos of the booth erupted around them again and again. Men lunged, bottles shattered, fists and legs moved, tables broke, curtains tore, chairs splintered, the couch had been overturned and the tinted windows were cracked through but somehow, he even saw some waiters watching them as if it was a movie shoot, amidst the madness, they moved together, Seongje and him, as if they had rehearsed this violent waltz a thousand times.

Seongje spun, elbow arcing like a dark ribbon, and Sieun ducked beneath it, twisting his body to deliver a strike that perfectly matched the rhythm of Seongje’s movements. The floor was slick with spit, alcohol, sweat and blood, but their steps were precise, almost hypnotic. Every clash of limbs, every grunt of pain, felt like a note in a symphony they alone could hear.

Seongje’s hand brushed Sieun’s shoulder as he pivoted, almost too close, and a spark of heat licked through him. The contact was brief, fleeting, but electric. Their eyes met mid-motion, a flash of connection in the fight, and for just a tiny moment, the men around them disappeared. There was only the two of them, bodies moving in perfect sync, violent, fluid, intoxicating.

They moved together, close but never clumsy, flowing through the onslaught with a rhythm that was almost sensual, almost intimate.

A bottle shattered at their feet, cutting through the dim light, and a man lunged at Sieun. Seongje’s hand caught him mid-tumble, sliding across his back, guiding him around a swing, and Sieun spun his hand and his pen, striking with a precision that made his own stomach tighten. Pain flared in his side where a chair had grazed him, but he ignored it, moving with the matched pace, moving with Seongje.

"I think we have taken down most of these fuckers, I don't see more, they look like they need to regroup, we'll cut out, just four to five more wankers", Seongje said as his elbow slammed into a man's jaw as he roughly pushed him towards Sieun moving on to the next guy, and Sieun’s palm met the man’s chest, pushing him back and punching him down before making a slash on his end with his blood soaked pen. Their eyes met again, a flicker of understanding, of connection before they were both twirling, ducking, striking, in perfect synchrony again, fighting against what was left of the men. It was violence made beautiful and almost erotic in it's closeness.

Sieun’s stomach twisted with adrenaline and something darker, something that bordered on awe and longing. He hated that he felt it, hated the thrill that surged through him, but he couldn’t look away, stop moving or stop fighting.

The fight ended, leaving them both panting as they leaned against what remained of a broken table. Their fingers brushed momentarily, but they pulled away immediately. 

Correction. It was Sieun who pulled away first, maybe it was Seongje? It wasn't at the same time. Either one of them had their fingertips their longer.

"Sorry"
"Sorry"
"Whatever"

Seongje was more injured than Sieun. Sieun’s own cuts were barely visible, hidden beneath his jacket, and he had dodged or absorbed fewer blows because he was faster. Seongje had shielded him repeatedly, taking the brunt of the attacks, while Sieun moved with precision and been much cleaner.

“They kept getting up again and again. If we hadn’t put them down, they’d still be fighting. What the hell?” Sieun muttered, wiping his mouth. A streak of someone else’s blood had splattered across his cheek.

“It’s the drug your middle school chum Seok Dae has been selling. Some solid stuff,” Seongje said, acknowledging its potency.

“What drug is this? How did you get involved in this?” Sieun asked, momentary concern flickering in his eyes.

“I’ll tell you. Wait a fucking minute,” Seongje muttered, shaking his head from side to side to clear his thoughts.

Sieun straightened, stepping in front of him. He held Seongje’s head firmly, hands around the side of his head tight as he held it still.

“What the fuck are you doing, newbie?”

“Shut up. If you’re dizzy, your head won’t settle if you keep moving. Stay still,” Sieun said firmly. Seongje muttered something that sounded like “bossy,” a small smirk hidden in his exhaustion.

Sieun kept his hands steady as Seongje closed his eyes. He could feel Seongje’s pulse, fast and erratic, through his palms. Blood smeared across his fingers and Seongje’s face, but he moved carefully, brushing the streak near his ear with his thumb.

The balance between his hands at Seongje's head slipped as Seongje’s forehead leaned into Sieun’s shoulder.He cursed himself for letting this proximity happen, yet he didn’t move Seongje away.

"What the fuck?" I was holding his head 
"Should I move him?" "No, let him stay"
"Few seconds max...maybe one minute, he can stay for one minute"

He pulled out his phone from his back pocket, scanning the group chat. They had found Baku there was a picture with the doctor too. Relief washed over him.

“This place fucking stinks,” Seongje murmured suddenly, his voice vibrating against Sieun’s shoulder. Sieun snapped back to reality, pushing Seongje’s head gently away with one hand.

“Your head should stay still now,” he said softly.

“Okay, whatever,” Seongje muttered, blinking and adjusting his glasses.

“I’m going. You should too, before more people show up.”

“I’ll do what I want,” Sieun replied, a small smirk tugging at his lips. He knew Seongje was crazy and would do something crazy again if he could.

“Police?” Sieun asked cautiously.

“Don’t bother. As grand as this place looks inside, it’s shady. No name board, people being bribed, cameras positioned at weird angles like they don’t want anything recorded. Nothing will happen.”

“Where’s your phone?” Sieun asked, recalling a cover similar to Seongje’s in Beomseok’s hand. He hadn’t even thought about Beomseok during the fight.

“Somewhere,” Seongje muttered, pacing as he searched for a lighter. Sieun shook his head, stepping out of the booth. He glanced back at Seongje who looked back at him and then looked down at the floor, lost in his own thoughts.

Sieun went to the washroom quickly, washing his face and hands, pulling his jacket closer to hide the cuts though there weren’t many. He headed down, finding his friends on the first floor. Suho and Eun Gyeol were still chatting, and Gotak was a few steps away, talking to someone else.

He turned when he heard Baku’s voice behind him. Looking back, he saw Baku coming down with Juntae—second floor? Couldn’t be third; he would have seen them there.

“Where have you been?” Baku asked.

“Searching for you,” Sieun lied, though it wasn’t entirely untrue.

“Well, I am here now,” Baku said, shaking Sieun’s shoulders lightly. It hurt a little, but Sieun didn’t react.

“You’re not angry?”

“I decided not to care about Seoknam. I’ll deal with him when I see him next time.”

“Why is your shirt upside down?” Sieun asked, leaning closer to Juntae as a louder song played. Juntae immediately looked down at his shirt.

“He spilled something on it. The restroom here was stacked, so he went upstairs to clean it. There were drunk idiots all over, so I went with him,” Baku said, putting his arms around Sieun and Juntae as they walked toward the table where Suho was.

“You’re here? Where were you?” Suho asked, putting down his beer can, Sieun could figure out that he was drunk. Sieun glanced at the doctor, who nodded and patted Baku on the shoulders before leaving.

“Sorry,” Sieun murmured as Gyeol walked past him.

“Don’t apologise. I think I deserved it, so let’s forget about it.”

Sieun hoped Seongje would get his injuries treated. The doctor knew him, and there was a high chance he had come with him—or Seongje would go to him.

“What is Gotak doing?” Baku asked.

“Oh, a senior from his university. He recognised him and wanted to chat. Let’s go back after this,” Suho said.

“You are crashing at our place, you can share with Gotak or me. No ifs and buts,” Baku said to Suho.

“That goes without saying. You think Sieun would let me go like this?” Suho asked. Sieun just rolled his eyes and nodded, still glancing up at the third floor.

[....]

“Have you settled in well?” the senior asked Gotak as he nodded.

“Yes, I like it,” he responded.

“You look like you can pull quite a crowd of girls. Heard from a fresher that you’ve already bagged a few cute dates.”

“Is that a compliment? Thank you, sunbae. I try,” Gotak said.

“Of course. You know what? I just had this idea looking at you. Do you by any chance fight? Heard you’re good with kicks.”

“Fights? I don’t fight anymore—not professionally. I did give a demo of a few kicks to some fellow freshers though,” Gotak replied.

“That’s good. If you’re free, you should come and watch some fights. It’ll help your skill. Bring the girls with you as well,” the senior chuckled.

“Where?” Gotak asked, intrigued.

“Here,” the senior said, handing him a card. It looked metallic, black with a fish etched in white, the fish stomach had a cross on it as a design.

“What is this?” Gotak asked, examining the card.

“Gorae Bae. It’s this cool fighting rink. You should visit, and obviously bring some nice dates for us as well if you can,” the senior said, nudging his friends, who chuckled.

“Can I bring my friends?” Gotak asked, pointing to the table where the others sat.

“Unfortunately, the card is a single invitation. But if you’re free and ever decide to drop by, you can call KK—you see the line number on there? He’ll tell you where to come,” the senior said.

“KK?”

“Yes, he manages things. You can ask him if you can bring your friends along, but remember the dates, okay?”

“Okay, thank you,” Gotak said, pocketing the shiny card and glancing at it once more.

[....]

Seongje put his hands in his pockets as he chuckled, leaving the sketchy booth a moment after Sieun had gone. He glanced at Seok Dae as he passed, eyes landing on the box of pills. Carefully, he tried picking it up without touching the whole thing, folding the box in some awkward way and stuffing it into his jacket.

“If they want this shit, they’ll have to come for it again,” he muttered to himself, smirking.

He walked slowly, almost limping, toward the staircase, when his gaze caught something on the right, across the floor. He squinted, perching his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“Park Humin and Seo Juntae?” he muttered, half in disbelief.

It wasn’t surprising that they were here, of course. Sieun had said he had come with his little gang pests so it was obvious that they would be here. What was surprising was how they were standing. So exposed and oblivious to anyone else on the floor.

Juntae was busy buttoning his shirt, looking far too serious, while Baku was casually adjusting his pants. Then Seongje watched what he had termed impossible in his head happen, Baku leaned in and—Seongje had to blink twice—planted a small, deliberate kiss on Juntae.

Seongje’s eyes widened, his jaw tightening in disbelief and amusement. He had seen plenty of things in his time, but this? This was another level. The duo didn’t notice him, or maybe they didn’t care, as they turned toward each other. Seongje quickly turned around his back facing them from the opposite end of the corridor as he leaned facing the wall, holding it for support.

"What the fuck is going on here?"
"That punk Humin and that wimp Juntae? Kissing?"
"Were they screwing around this whole time? Since when was this a thing?"

Seongje scoffed, shaking his head as he chuckled. Once again, the world had decided to prove him right. He’d already told Baekjin that sticking around with one person was useless—and, fuck, wasn’t he on point? Baekjin’s precious “Humin” had already moved on, while Baekjin still clung to him like some dead ghost from the past. Pathetic.

He liked keeping people as games, Baekjin's talk in the car of Sieun being his next was quite appealing to him as well.

From the corner of his eye, he watched as they went down.

Did Newbie know about this?
Wouldn’t he have mentioned it?

Seongje sighed as he lowered his expectations. Sieun spoke like he was himself being taxed for having a conversation at times. Maybe he could get this out of him.

It was fun to annoy Sieun, and considering that Sieun had fought alongside him, he knew the guy would come inquiring about the fight soon enough. He had made a deal to tell him after all.

Seongje’s grin curled wider as he remembered how he had watched Sieun move beside him, every strike and dodge like some fucked-up tease meant only for his eyes. Newbie wasn’t just keeping up with him, he was matching him, step for step, like their bodies had rehearsed this rhythm in bed instead of in that trashy booth. The sway of Sieun’s shoulders, the flex of his jaw when he grit his teeth, the sharp snap of his leg as it connected, it was vulgar in the way it drew Seongje’s gaze lower, made him imagine all that controlled power grinding against him instead of those lousy lackeys.

There was something indecently erotic about it, Sieun’s shirt sticking to his back when he had removed his jacket, hair damp and parted and falling into his face, breath coming out in rough little bursts that sounded way too much like gasps. Every time Sieun’s arm brushed his, Seongje felt the heat shoot up like static, making him wonder if Sieun even realized how dangerously close he looked to being fucked rather than fighting.

Their rhythm was stupidly in sync, and that annoyed Seongje more than anything. He wasn’t supposed to like fighting with someone, because he always fought alone.

And that was the real amusement for Seongje the very straight-laced, uptight and alive eyed Yeon Sieun moving like a partner in crime, like he belonged there at Seongje’s side, too pretty and too furious to ignore. Seongje wanted to laugh, wanted to push him, wanted to pin him right there on the floor and see if Sieun would snarl at him the same way he snarled at the bastards they had fought against, "together".

He walked down the stairs and found Beomseok, Eun Gyeol, and Baekjin perched on the second floor. Baekjin was leaning casually against the wall, Eun Gyeol had his head in his hands, and Beomseok looked like something had gone terribly wrong

“What’s up, fuckers?” Seongje asked as he stopped in front of them, then turned to Beomseok. “I thought I sent you to them. You could’ve sent Baekjin up instead.” He clicked his tongue.

“Not that I needed your help or anything,” Seongje added quickly, shooting a glance at Baekjin. “I managed just fine.”

“We have a problem,” Beomseok said.

“Clearly. What the fuck is happening here? These drugs and the lunatics managing them. I’m not giving them the signatures they want. I did take their little box of goodies, though.” Seongje smirked, pulling the crumpled box from his jacket.

Beomseok immediately opened his bag, revealing more pills inside. Seongje raised a brow.

“Has the effect worn off?”

“It’s still there. But there’s one more issue that has to be discussed before the pills.” Beomseok’s eyes flicked toward Gyeol and Baekjin.

“That is?” Seongje prompted.

“Seo Juntae saw me,” Baekjin said, almost unbothered.

“What the fuck? How? Where? I—” Seongje stopped himself before he blurted out more, nearly revealing exactly who he had seen Juntae with.

“Baekjin went after Seoknam. The bastard had a knife, and Baekjin fought him. But I think Juntae was following Baku and ended up finding Baekjin instead. Beomseok was right behind Juntae,” Gyeol explained with a sigh.

“Wow. Another person knows you’re back from the dead? Must feel good.” Seongje snorted.

“It’ll be fine,” Baekjin replied in his usual calm, collected tone, eyes steady like he already had a plan in mind.

"You need to stop babying Park Humin, fuck", Seongje sighed

“I’ve tried to control the situation. I told Juntae I’ll speak to him tomorrow,” Beomseok added.

“You think he’ll tell the others tonight?” Gyeol asked.

“Not a chance,” Baekjin said with certainty.

Seongje, however, wasn’t overly concerned about Baekjin’s little resurrection secret being outed to one of Sieun’s gang of pests. His mind was far more entertained by the growing Baekjin–Baku–Juntae triangle. Now that was the kind of mess he could dig into, poke at, and eventually drop on Sieun just to watch the fallout and to keep himself amused.

"Seo Juntae won't say shit. I agree with Baekjin", Seongje said.

“How can you be so sure?” Gyeol asked.

“Just send him to me after you’ve spoken to him. I’ll handle him,” Baekjin said to Beomseok, who nodded.

“You’re hurt,” Beomseok said, looking at Seongje as he handed him his phone.

“No shit, but it’s okay,” Seongje shrugged.

“I’ll patch you up. What did they say? The people upstairs?” Gyeol asked.

“The people? Oh, don’t give them so much respect. It was just fucking Seoknam playing client or some shit like that. Told us that if Beomseok didn’t sign the warehouse papers, which we should visit by the way, it won’t pipe out more of these drugs, and I’ll be messing with scary people.” Seongje rolled his eyes dramatically.

“What are the pills?”

“Boosters. Cocktail of advantages. Beomseok took one as well—” Seongje’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll fucking kill you if I see you pop one again.”

Beomseok nodded. He knew Seongje wasn’t entirely serious, just worried. Slightly.

“What people?” Gyeol asked, sounding a little sleepy.

“Some dogshit-ass name called Bumi,” Seongje chuckled.

Gyeol’s head shot up. He glanced at Baekjin, then turned to grab Seongje by the shoulder.

“What did you say?” Gyeol pressed.

“Some group called Bumi. Said they’d spawn like ten Unions in a fucking day. No offense to you, Baekjin—ah”

Gyeol banged his head on the table with a dull thud.

“Bamui Jiri?” Baekjin asked quietly.

“Bumi was a group they wanted to make back then. They didn’t, because of the strict drug laws in the country. Looks like they’ve found a way,” Gyeol explained.

“What the fuck are you both talking about?” Seongje asked, genuinely curious.

“Let’s go back. I’m tired,” Gyeol muttered as he stood, sighing. His tone carried the weight of someone who had just realized the past always comes crawling back, dragging people down with it.

“What’s he saying?” Seongje and Beomseok asked in unison.

“It’s not safe to talk about it here,” Baekjin said, his voice cold and warning. If the discussion had to happen, it had to be done in a way that kept Seongje far away from the truth of how Baekjin had once tuned his brain to alter and mute certain parts of his fighting skills.

They walked out of Midnight Scene, passing a group of men in identical black jackets. On the side, barely visible, was a white circle-within-a-circle logo. Seongje smirked as they climbed to the third floor, but Baekjin pulled him and Beomseok away quickly.

“Those guys you see there? Those wankers tried to beat me,” Seongje said, shaking his head.

Gyeol glanced back briefly. His face stiffened as he caught the faint logo.

“Hwalhak,” he muttered under his breath.

“What?” the other three asked.

“Nothing. I’ll tell you tomorrow. Let’s get out of here,” Gyeol said.

Seongje scanned the floor one last time. Sieun and his little pest gang were nowhere to be seen. They had already left.

Not that Seongje cared, but it was still relieving.

━━━━━━━━━

The room was quiet except for the low hum of his laptop, its pale glow bouncing against the walls while the warm, dim lamp on the far end of the room softened his own shadow. Past midnight and wide awake, Sieun sat cross-legged on his bed with a half-used mint pain patches beside him. He dabbed antiseptic on his arms and ribs, muttering under his breath about how ridiculous some of the bruises looked because hell, none of them were even on his face. Not one. Not even a scratch on the jaw. He hadn’t taken a single hit worth remembering. It almost felt like cheating.

He set the first aid box aside, then swung his legs off the bed and strode straight to the table where his laptop glowed in the dim light. Sitting down, he opened the notes app, scrolling through the two experiment entries he had already written, before leaning forward to add another.

셋— #3 (Y.S’s exp)

The cuts on my arms sting just a little like paper cuts because of the antiseptic, they will be fine in a day or two, though none of them are actually impressive enough to brag about. Honestly, I look more like someone who tripped into a thorn bush than someone who just survived or participated in a fight. Not a single hit to the face. This is either proof that my reflexes are still really good, or that everyone was too busy aiming at Seongje to bother with me. Probably both.

Emotional Analysis:
There is no particular word or emotion I can use to describe the way Seongje fights because it is continuously changing.

“What do I even write?” Sieun muttered, pushing his hands away from the laptop as if the screen itself had betrayed him. He slid his chair back and stood, pacing around his room with his hands running through his hair, trying to collect his thoughts.

He stopped at one corner, staring at the glowing laptop like it might answer him if he stared long enough. “Keum Seongje you psychopath… what the hell do I even write for you?”

Turning back, he planted himself behind the chair, letting his hands hover over the keyboard. He exhaled slowly, trying to focus as he continued typing.

That parasite Seongje — fuck, that motherfucking psychopath, he moves like he’s fucking choreographing a murder ballet, and somehow I decided to be a part of it, goddammit.
My brain insists on remembering each and every fine detail of the fight, I have a good memory but this not what my retention should be used for.
Our movements sync in ways that make no sense, sliding around like we’re partners in some sick, violent tango. It’s erotic in the worst way possible.

“No, no, no, this is getting unprofessional. This is an experiment entry, not a diary entry,” Sieun muttered, as he paced again before returning to the chair. He deleted the word "erotic" and replaced it with "surprising", trying to rein in his thoughts.

He leaned back and stared at the six pathetic lines he had written so far, shaking his head. “The point of this experiment is to track my emotions, to see what I actually feel in different situations. I can’t lie to myself like this.”

With a sigh, he deleted surprising, leaving the space blank. Then, as if in some desperate attempt to justify the whirlwind in his mind, he opened another tab and typed in erotic to read the definition, muttering, “Maybe I just need the right word…”

"Concupiscent, Salacious, Licentious, Venereal , Prurient....". Each suggestion was worse than the previous, it was ridiculous.

Sieun went back to blank space as he retyped "erotic" as he put brackets next to it, typing further.

Our movements sync in ways that make no sense, sliding around like we’re partners in some sick, violent tango. It’s erotic in the worst way possible. ("Stimulating" is a better word to describe the feeling but I have decided to keep the original word for my "REFERENCE" only.

Seongje is a goddamn menace. He doesn’t fight, he seems to enjoy the entire process as I have mentioned before. I should’ve been focused on not getting hurt in anyway myself, but my brain kept filing it away, a better way to describe the fight alongside is, "This is choreography with blood for confetti." That being said fighting alongside him was ridiculous - 

“Lies, lies, lies,” his mind repeated like a broken record.

“Maybe if I have some water, I’ll feel better,” Sieun muttered, getting up and pacing the room again, a glass of water in his hand. He had drunk more than he probably should in frustration, and now he set the glass down, folding his hands as he stared at the laptop.

“This is my experiment. I can write whatever I want. It’s not like anyone’s going to see it,” he huffed, trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

He began typing again, enough of joking around.

Fighting alongside Seongje was… different. Normally, I approach a fight as a problem to be solved, technique, timing, efficiency. With him, it wasn’t just problem-solving; it was a rhythm, a push-and-pull that made my body react before my mind could even process it. Each strike, each dodge, felt like part of a larger pattern, a conversation conducted in muscle memory and reflex. I noticed the way he moved beside me and it was fluid, precise, almost teasing. I could feel the brush of his arms, the weight of his presence, and it amplified my own awareness in ways I haven’t quantified before.

There was adrenaline, of course, sharp and insistent, but it wasn’t blind panic. It was a controlled rush. The exhilaration was tempered by calculation. Every time I anticipated his moves, mirrored him, countered through him, the thrill sharpened. The danger wasn’t theoretical; it was immediate, visceral, but I was in control. I was observing, noting my pulse, my breathing, the way my focus narrowed and expanded simultaneously.

Fighting alongside him is obviously a better experience than fighting against him.

Sieun moved away from the keyboard again, still standing, reading what he had written. “Okay, now I am being honest, which is necessary,” he muttered. He paced around the room—thrice this time, as if that would delay what he had to type next in any way.

He slammed his hand on his bed, annoyed, and looked at the laptop. He could keep his thoughts in his head and not write them at all.

“Perfect idea,” Sieun mumbled to himself as he shut his laptop with a thud and sat on his bed.

A few seconds passed as he stared at the curtains. The booth had curtains. A fight had happened in the booth. He was in the fight, which meant he had to write about it.

“What the hell,” he groaned, pulling a strand of his hair as he looked at the laptop. He got up and opened the writing tab again.

I cannot ignore the fact that part of me… enjoyed it. The way his body moved, the way we fell into a rhythm it was ridiculous, almost obscene how synchronized we were. (It is stupid that I am mentioning this again)

I caught myself thinking about the feel of him next to me, the heat, the force, the way his elbows brushed mine at just the right angles. It made me simultaneously want to curse and laugh. Fuck, this is not professional, yet here I am, cataloging it anyway. ( I am repeating things again, this does not make sense Yeon Sieun)* (I hate Keum Seongje - for reference only)*

“I can’t do this,” Sieun said, getting up with a sigh. He walked into the bathroom connected to the bedroom and stared at himself in the mirror.

“You are an adult, Yeon Sieun. All adults feel like this. If you fight in synchronization with Suho, you will feel the same. It is an exciting feeling. It has nothing to do with anything else. Keum Seongje is a crazy guy,” he muttered, to himself as it seemed to work, it was new to him, the way this felt, it had not happened to him before.

He went back to his desk and sat down, preparing to type again.

There is an undeniable thrill in danger, yes, but there is also a perverse satisfaction in the intimacy of movement, even amidst violence. The other men, the fight and chaos of it, the punches, I barely registered them except as background noise. Every motion with him felt like a conversation without words, a teasing or mocking exchange if that is the best way to describe it. My pulse raced, my hands shook, not from fear, but from the adrenaline and the sheer audacity of it all.

“This is turning out better than I expected. I should finish this and sleep, and not read it again. New day, new observation. Nobody else is going to get to read these, I have repeated the same nonsense again and again in it anyways,” Sieun said to himself.

His phone buzzed unexpectedly, pulling him out of his focus. Odd hour, odd messages from odd people it was a classic. He glanced at the screen. Of course, it was him, the very guy he was writing about.

Parasite — 

You are so fucking stingy 😣
I said I was hungry and you just walked away?

Sieun — 

I had to go back to my friends.

Parasite — 

Yes, your beloved gang of pests.

Sieun — 

Don’t call them that.
Did you go and fight the guys again like at the tunnel?

Parasite — 

No.
It was getting boring 🥱

Sieun — 

Did you come with Dr. Gyeol?

Parasite — 

Yes. Why? Jealous?

Sieun sighed, exasperated. Where does he even get these ideas from?

Sieun — 

No.
I saw him with Baku and the others, so I assumed.
When do you plan to tell me who those people were?

Parasite — 

We’ll see.

Sieun — 

What do you mean, “we’ll see”?
We had a deal.

Parasite — 

A deal you propositioned yourself.
Nosy fucker 😒

Sieun — 

Deal is a deal.

Parasite — 

Fine. I’ll tell you.

Sieun — 

Tomorrow?
At university, you’ll come?

Sieun leaned back in his chair comfortably, knowing Seongje was injured and wouldn’t show up but there was harm in asking.

Parasite — 

Already waiting for our fifth date? 😉😏

Sieun shook his head. Why is he like this?

Sieun — 

Can you respond normally for once?

Parasite — 

We did not get to continue our fourth date.

Sieun — 

It wasn’t a date.

Parasite — 

I’m taking a nap.

“Wait—what? He won’t respond? He’s just going to sleep like that?” Sieun muttered, refreshing the chat. No luck. Seongje was offline.

He slammed his phone down on the table with a thud and turned back to his laptop. His observational note still needed finishing.

After a moment’s thought, he started typing, then abruptly stopped. He went to his side table, rifled through his pen box, noting eight left, two already used, both in situations involving Seongje. He closed the box and set it aside, just as his phone beeped again.

New message? He immediately got up to check, No, just Seongje reacting to the previous message with a string of ridiculous emojis. What the hell?

Sieun shook his head, exhaled, and returned to his typing, determination reasserting itself.

I must record this. Objectively, clinically… but also honestly. I am aware that this is inappropriate, unprofessional, and yet, the truth is that I do not regret a single moment of the fight or anything else today. The exhilaration, the closeness, the danger all of it is a controlled chaos I never expected to find. And I cannot stop smiling at how ridiculous that makes me feel.

It wasn’t a lie. Sieun had smiled. Just a teeny, barely-there smile, the kind that didn’t even reach the rest of his face, but his eyes showed it. Not for Seongje. Not for the fight he had just fought. But because his experiment was working. It made him feel, in the smallest of ways, more normal.

He sat there for a few moments, staring at nothing in particular, holding onto that invisible smile no one else could see.

The sudden beep of his phone startled him, his hand jerking so much he nearly dropped it. He unlocked the screen quickly, scanning the message, his eyes darting around the quiet of his room before returning to the glow of his phone.

A single smiling emoji from Seongje.

Parasite — 

😊

His chest tightened. Heart thumping slighly faster than usual.

How did he know?

Sieun thought for a few seconds before typing back.

Sieun — 

?

Parasite — 

Nothing.
Just had something to say.

His stomach dropped the second he saw Seongje’s typing bubble.

“Oh my god. What the fuck is he going to say now?” Sieun muttered, throwing his phone on the table like it burned him. He was already on his feet, pacing the room in quick jerks, pulling at the hem of his shirt and his hair, his eyes snapping back to the glowing bubble every few seconds.

There was no reason to react like this. It was Keum Seongje. The psychopathic parasite. He wasn’t supposed to matter. He wasn’t supposed to get under his skin like this.

"Of course what he says will matter from now on, there are two people in my experiment", Sieun sighed.

Sieun grabbed the pillow off his bed and clutched it against his chest, walking in semi circles around the table, his gaze snagging back to the phone like a moth to flame.

“What the hell could possibly take so long to type? He doesn’t even look like someone who sends long texts. He doesn’t even look like he thinks that much—”

He cut himself off, scoffing. “Now how the hell would you know that, Yeon Sieun?” Sieun said, lifting his phone and putting it down just as fast, the chat bubble still active.

“There’s a chance it could be something else. Or maybe he’s doing this on purpose. He knows I’m online. What if I go offline? Will he send it then? Or will he—” Sieun’s voice cracked, and he shut his mouth.

He hovered over the app, thumb still up as he considered closing it. But his chest tightened, panic and curiosity swallowing him whole for a second, and he snapped it back open. He couldn’t. He could not.

He waited, not very patiently. He kept pressing his tongue to the back of his teeth so hard it hurt.

A whole five minutes later, a message came as Sieun was pacing around for the possible fiftieth time.

“Okay, it’s here,” Sieun said as he stepped in front of his phone, placing his pillow on the chair as he looked at the message.

Parasite —

I think Baku and Juntae are fucking, you know, like this 👉🏻👌🏻😜

Sieun couldn't believe what he was reading for a moment, he clutched his pillow as he looked down at his phone for a minute.
All this restlessness for this message? Why was he expecting something different? It was Keum Seongje.

Sieun blinked once. Twice. Then he stabbed at the call button.

The second Seongje picked up, he didn’t even say hello.

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!” he whispered loudly into the speaker, loud enough to wake Juntae just incase he was roaming around at the odd hour.

Sieun cut the call before Seongje could respond.

He pressed Seongje's contact name till the little red word appeared, "Block".

Another message popped up before he could click the button.

Parasite —

You sound hot when you are angry 🔥😏
See u tomorrow or whenever 😉✌️
#Date5 😈

“What—WHAT?!” he whispered yelled into the empty room, nearly dropping his phone for the second time that night.

He considered calling Seongje just to scream into the receiver again, but the sheer audacity of the emojis made his blood pressure spike. Instead, he tapped at the block button with full intent and then unblocked him immediately, then blocked him again, then hurled the phone across the bed like it was cursed.

Sieun buried his face in his pillow on his chair and let out a muffled scream, he got up and threw his pillow as he went and lied down quitely.

"Suho-ya, what is happening to me, all of this, I don't know what it is but is it wrong that it gives me hope, I don't even know for what"

Another table was abandoned for night, the last table. Sieun's.

Table for None.

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💌 - The phrase of "Table of None", is not only presented as a street omen, some people see beauty in it as well.

A saying for when someone sits down but can’t stay, because love has just knocked at the door of their heart.
The table goes cold, the meal untouched, as they leave mid-sit, drawn to the spark of a person new or old. In street talk, it means a beginning: when love arrives, no table can hold you still.

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