[North Busan]
Rain started mid-afternoon—fine, insistent drops that turned neon signs into blurred color bleeding down glass. Samuel, Jace, Seojun, and Shin Hyuk stood on the rooftop of Jace's apartment block. No music, only the city's hazy roar.
Samuel leaned against a rusted railing, one foot on the concrete ledge. He tested his ribs—sharp pain. He closed his eyes.
The others watched him. Their breaths were visible in the cool air.
Jace (quiet): "You know, when you said 'test me,' I didn't think I'd feel… tested just standing next to you."
Seojun paced, knuckles white. He paused.
Seojun: "We did what we had to do. Felt right at the time. But… it was quick."
Samuel opened his eyes—distant, detached.
Samuel (coldly calm): "Quick isn't the problem. It's blind."
Silence. Above, rain slid off the rustclad roof like thin crystal threads.
Shin flicked cigarette ash into the darkness.
Shin: "You're shaking now. Thinking so damn much."
Samuel craned his head to see the city, streetlights dissolving in mist.
Samuel: "It's not fear."
Shin: "Then what's sharper than knives, but no one sees it?"
Samuel's voice cracked—more from exhaustion than anxiety.
Samuel: "Doubt."
He paused, looking at his hands—torn flesh on knuckles. Twilight masked the wounds but couldn't hide the tremor in his fingers.
Samuel (softly): "All I know to do now… is push forward."
The rain stilled. That moment weighed like lead.
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Back inside, Jace's apartment smelled like wet jacket and machine oil. Neon from the alley pool cast purple on the floor.
Samuel's phone buzzed. Was it Gilwoo or Taejin? Gilwoo's name flashed. Call answered.
Gilwoo (voice flat): "You're bleeding gas."
Samuel exhaled sharply.
Samuel: "We made the raid. We showed them."
Gilwoo: "You broke into their den. That's not showing—it's screaming."
Samuel bit back a retort. He rubbed a knuckle against his ribs.
Samuel: "They knew one strike wouldn't cut deep. I made it count."
Gilwoo's voice picked up steel.
Gilwoo: "I lent you two warriors. What you spent felt bigger than what you earned."
He paused—each word measured.
Gilwoo: "If you can't tell me why it matters… you come home alone."
Call ended. It left the phone hissing.
Jace grabbed it.
Jace (quiet disbelief): "He just… ghosted us."
Seojun slammed his fist on the table.
Seojun: "We're all twisted up over this. But we're doing it for something!"
Shin opened the door, eyes cold.
Shin: "If you're going deeper, you better show me what's real."
Seojun: "He said tomorrow's another strike."
Shin stared at Samuel. The tension was electric, charged by doubt and conviction.
Samuel straightened.
Samuel (steady): "We don't stop. Not yet."
Shin turned away.
Shin (under his breath): "Then show me why you think there's anything worth saving."
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Night fell quicker than usual. They gathered at Shin's gym—thankfully empty now, smell of chalk and sweat still thick on the floor.
Seojun and Jace were prepping gear; Samuel retrieved medical wipes and bandages.
The back door opened. Shin and Min-soo, 14, walked in. His face was swollen, bruised, unmatched by his previously bright eyes. He trembled under the harsh gym lights.
Samuel dropped to one knee in front of him.
Samuel: "Min-soo. It's okay."
But he didn't escape Jace's watchful stare.
Shin spoke gently.
Shin: "They took him two nights ago—no one moved. He asked about Samuel."
Min-soo choked out a raspy whisper.
Min-soo: "They… said if we hit back, they'd come back harder. So they tagged me."
He pulled up his collar. On the back of his neck, crudely stenciled in black ink: a QR code. Strange and threatening.
Seojun scanned it. Silence followed.
Seojun (voice low): "Ten hour timer."
Samuel looked at the code under the phone's light. Anger raged behind his eyes.
Samuel: "Ten hours to strike back. Or he dies."
Jace flung a chair against the wall.
Jace: "They're not warning us—they're flaying us alive in shadows."
Samuel gazed at Min‑soo—teenager's spine stiff but face wet.
Samuel (quiet): "We're not getting out. Not if one of ours pays the price."
Shin's eyes caught Samuel's.
Shin: "Then what do you do?"
Samuel pressed Min-soo's head gently.
Samuel: "We end this."
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Seojun closed the door behind them. The gym lights dimmed. Only one bulb hummed.
Samuel walked to the storage locker, hands over face. He pulled out the worn photo of Min Joon‑Ki—two boys, fists raised, smiles in the sun.
His breath hitched.
Flash memories:
A younger Samuel learning to throw punches under Joon‑Ki's instruction.
Joon‑Ki taking a shot in training, smiling through it.
Hospital bleeps: Joon‑Ki unconscious.
Samuel telling himself he'd fix everything next time. He didn't.
Now, the gym floor smelled like blood and chalk. He looked at the photo again—then slammed it onto the table.
He paced, hands clawed into sweatshirt.
Samuel (voiced anguish): "I told him we'd win. I failed."
Jace emerged from shadows.
Jace: "Stop it."
Samuel: "No. You don't get to tell me what to feel."
Jace placed a hand on his shoulder.
Jace: "I lost someone too. You know why I kept going? Not because I was strong. I knew I was weak. But I did it because I wasn't him, not yet."
Tears glistened on Jace's face.
Samuel lowered his head.
Samuel (quiet): "He's part of me—so when they kill him by inches… I'm bleeding too."
Seojun stepped forward.
Seojun: "Let's make them hurt for it."
Shin remained silent—just watched.
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[Unknown North Busan Facility — Basement Training Hall]
The room was concrete and quiet. No lights, just oil lamps and the smell of wet mats.
Three boys stood in the center, shirtless, eyes half-closed. Their backs bore matching scars — not ink, not art. Punishment marks.
A man in a long coat paced behind them. His voice was low, like a teacher's just before violence.
Instructor: "He beat Dae-sik. Didn't hesitate. And now he thinks he's earned revenge."
He stopped behind the youngest one — maybe 17. Gaunt face. Hollow stare. Scar over one temple.
Instructor: "You three were bred for silence. But I'll say this once."
He pointed to a photo taped to the wall — Samuel, bloodied, caught mid-strike.
Instructor: "This one abandoned the system. Make sure he learns what it costs."
He walked out.
Behind him, the boys never spoke. They only lowered their stances.
And began to move.
Not in sync.
But with purpose.