Underbelly

by thinkerbello

Summary:

❝Only thing we agree on is that we don’t agree.❞
❝Not true — we both know you sound better when you’re under me.❞

The plan was to survive life and move on, not get dumped into a buffer zone breeding the next wave of organized crime.
Sieun doesn’t trust Seongje. Seongje doesn’t listen to Sieun. Unfortunately for them, the Underbelly doesn’t take sides — it drags them all under, some burning, some smiling.

🔞 — the work will contain themes marked with warnings as appropriate in the later chapters.

Chapter 1: Two Things

Notes:

just putting the first chapter out there. I honestly had a huge jumble of ideas and decided to put them in this

❝Not one word, not one gesture of yours shall I, could I ever forget❞
— Leo Tolstoy

[....]

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.

 

━━━━━━━━━

 

[...] 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.

 

━━━━━━━━━

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.

 

━━━━━━━━━

 

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.

 

 

Notes:

**Thank you for reading Underbelly, if you have just started then I'd like to mention that the upcoming chapters will be much longer.

Chapter 2: 2.C.K.A.S.I.1.T.I.D.

Notes:

did I plan to add a crossover character? absolutely not.
did I do it anyway? yes 😌
it is necessary to go back into the past to see Seongje's view on what happened 🫡✨ (I am getting somewhere - it will make sense, please trust me lol)

❝Everything comes back circling again, do you see it ? Once again once again❞

[....]

Seongje didn’t believe in loyalty. Loyalty was for idiots who didn’t know when to cut and run.

It annoyed him. He believed opportunism was better — yes, it coincided with the act of being loyal, but it was beneficial. Plain loyalty to someone or anyone was just stupid.

“Fucking useless,” he muttered, slamming his fist into the bag.

Thud.
Another one. Harder.
The chain creaked.

Till where did “loyalty” even go? Where do people draw a line?

Was the line the now ex-Union members still looking out for him to bring the band back together — stronger this time?

Was the line getting beaten up, bullied, and abused like Seo Juntae did just to keep a secret?

Was the line risking yourself and your life to get into fights for everyone like Yeon Sieun did for his “friends” again — and the coma boy?

Was the line proving loyalty and control over oneself but almost killing someone for it like Beom Seok did?

CRACK.
The leather split a little. His knuckles burned, blood probably blooming under the tape.

“Shit,” he hissed, hitting again. “Fucking piece of—”

“Language. It is just morning, man.”

Seongje didn’t even look. He threw a punch where the voice came from.

“Missed me,” the voice sing-songed.

The punching bag swayed violently as the doctor ducked behind it and popped up on the other side with a smug grin.
Seongje threw an attempt to punch again.

“Swing and a miss. You really are off your game,” the voice teased as the doctor peeked out from behind the punching bag, holding his nose dramatically. “Holy shit — what is this, a fucking distillery? It smells like an ashtray had sex with a bar counter in here.”

Seongje rolled his eyes, annoyed, as he muttered a curse under his breath.

“You want me dead?” he asked.

“I want you gone,” Seongje growled, swinging again. “Fucking ghost-ass Park Humin clone.”

“I prefer ‘doctor.’ Or ‘lifesaver.’” The doctor leaned just close enough for Seongje to nearly clip him with a left hook before darting back. “Also, why do you call me his clone? I am older than him. I got the genes first. My mother is older. If anything, he is my clone.”

“Try parasite.”

“You’re crankier than usual. Low on nicotine, or you have something on your mind?”

That hit a nerve. Seongje did not like people interfering in his personal business.

Seongje stopped, panting. “Why the hell are you here?”

The doctor just smiled and tossed him a cold bottle of water. “His Highness is summoning you.”

“Oh, fuck off. Is he holding royal court upstairs? What, couldn’t text like a normal bastard?”

“Can’t. He’s too busy not eating. Again. So I hooked him up to a drip and now I’m playing fetch.”

“Why do you keep checking on him? He hates your guts.”

“He tolerates me.”

“He hates you.”

“Maybe. But at least I show up.” The doctor gestured around Seongje’s apartment — smoke hanging in the air, ashtray overflowing, empty bottles stacked like trophies. “You live two floors down and haven’t checked in once.”

“Oh, fuck right off. I’m not your errand bitch, neither am I his fucking babysitter.”

“No, just the guy who smokes himself into a stupor and screams at punching bags instead.”

“Get. The fuck. Out.”

The doctor raised his hands, grinning. “Relax, princess. I’m just the messenger. Are you coming, or should I sedate you?”

Seongje ripped the tape off his hands, barely flinching when the skin tugged. “You’re fucking insufferable.”

“And yet here I am, charming as ever.” The doctor slipped past him, deliberately knocking shoulders. “I’ll take the lift.”

“I’ll take the stairs. Faster.”

“Of course. Gotta protect that unshakable image, right? See you upstairs, Princess.”

The apartment upstairs was irritatingly clean.
Minimalist. Spotless. Clinical, almost.

Seongje rolled his eyes the moment he reached the corridor. The doctor had already beaten him there, of course, grinning like he was proud of it.

Seongje didn’t knock. He shoved the door open with the force of every grudge he was carrying.

“The fuck is wrong with you? Why do you keep sending this pest downstairs to bark orders at me—”
He stopped.

Not because of the familiar man sitting calmly on the couch — glasses perched neatly on his nose, arms folded, expression unreadable. But because of the boy next to him. Meek. Smaller than he remembered. His face a strange mix of surprise, shame, and something almost like hope.

Oh Beom Seok.

“Sit down, Seongje,” the man in the glasses said evenly.

Seongje didn’t move. He was staring at Beom Seok like he was trying to convince himself he was awake.

“How—? When—?” he blinked. “You were supposed to come tonight. It’s morning now, right? What the fuck is the time? Where’s the damn clock in this place?”

All three in the room just looked at him. Seongje could practically hear the hangover in his own voice.

“My flight landed an hour ago at 8:30 AM. Dr. Gyeol picked me up,” Beom Seok said, pointing at the grinning doctor behind him.

Seongje was still stuck on the morning part. He didn’t know what time he passed out, what time he woke up, where his phone was, or why his head was pulsing like a jackhammer.

“Why aren’t you at university playing God among the freshers? Isn’t SNU all about punctuality and timings?” he snapped, directing it at the man in the glasses.

“The drip won’t let me,” Baekjin said flatly. He reached out, patted Beom Seok’s shoulder, and turned back to Seongje. “I’ll send him downstairs in a bit. You have one hour.”

“One hour to do what?” Seongje groaned, rubbing his temple. He needed caffeine and enough painkillers to tranquilize a bear.

“To clean your place up, you fucking disaster,” Dr. Gyeol muttered behind him with a loud sniff, still offended by the air quality in Seongje’s apartment.

“…Okay,” Seongje said automatically after he realised that Beom Seok was to stay with him — for now. Like his body gave up before his mind could argue. He turned toward the door.

And then —

“Hyung,” Beom Seok said softly. “It’s… been a while.”

The sting of that sentence hit harder than the hangover. He paused mid-step and looked back.

The man in the glasses was smirking.

The audacity.

“You think bringing Beom Seok from the airport here is doing me a favor?” Seongje snapped, his voice ice. “You’re alive because of me, Baekjin. So wipe that fucking smile off your face.”

Baekjin tilted his head slightly, almost amused. “It’s nice to see you too, Seongje. I’m feeling better — thanks for asking.”

Seongje slammed the door behind him as hard as he could before he walked out.

━━━━━━━━━

It was an entirely different experience — starting the first day of university without having to worry about being bullied, mocked, or dealing with anyone who might ruin his mood before noon. Sieun liked this feeling. He welcomed it. He wasn’t usually optimistic, and even though the last few months of high school had been surprisingly decent, he still kept his pen tucked safely in his pant pocket. One could never be too careful.

His first class was over, and he had about thirty minutes before the next one. Calculus I, he had written in his diary beneath a neatly drawn timetable, carefully crafted using his new set of pens. Sieun tried not to like them — but they were good. Still, the credit went to the people who designed them, not to Seongje, he told himself as he pulled out his phone and tapped it open, eyes flicking down to avoid making unnecessary eye contact with anyone in the library he’d decided to explore.

He had wanted to talk to Juntae. That much was clear. But after what he’d said the night before, they had both landed in that frustrating space between wanting the other person to speak and dreading what they might say. When Juntae looked at him that morning—just a glance as he got up—it wasn’t cold. It wasn’t confrontational either. It was something softer, more complicated. Like a silent acknowledgment: I’m here when you’re ready.

Still, neither of them said anything.

Sieun hadn’t checked the group chat, though he was certain it was flooded with messages from Gotak and Baku—likely betting on the street fights they’d been watching from their side of the apartment again. Juntae had been right about that.

It was the first day of university for all of them, each at different campuses, each now orbiting separate schedules. But earlier that morning, their kitchen had felt like Sieun had been thrown back into cram school.

Sieun had sat at the counter, quietly running through his checklist as he sipped his coffee. He wasn’t hungry. He was listening, listening to Juntae repeat the same things again and again.

“You have to take the Gyeongui–Jungang Line, transfer at Cheongnyangni, then Line 6. I sent the map in the group chat too,” Juntae said calmly, directing his instructions at Baku who nodded.

Then, turning to Gotak, he added, “Line 2. Transfer at Jamsil. Take Line 9.”

Gotak raised an eyebrow. “Awww, that’s it? No step-by-step for me?”

“You’re an athlete. You’ll survive,” Juntae deadpanned.

“Ouch,” Baku muttered, half-laughing.

Sieun didn’t look up from his bag but asked, “What’s going on with them?”

“You’d know if you read the group chat,” Baku said pointedly. “Or replied. Just once.”

“Line 2,” Juntae cut in, looking at Sieun now. “Transfer at SNU Station. That’s your route.”

“Thanks,” Sieun had said simply.

He diverted his attention from his thoughts back to his phone.

A message blinked from Suho:

“Best of luck, bookworm. You’ll do well. Call me when you’re free. I’ll drop by with some sweet buns. I heard the SNU cafeteria’s good?”

Sieun smiled faintly, typing back:

“Sweet buns sound good. Don’t know about the cafeteria yet. Not hungry.”

The reply was instant.

"Same old, same old. Eat something."

Then he checked the group chat and immediately regretted it. 63 unread messages. Mostly from Baku and Gotak. Gotak had apparently spotted twelve cute girls at KNSU already and was now ranking them with the seriousness of a talent agency recruiter.

Sieun made a mental note to circle back and find out what weird tension had brewed between Juntae and Gotak.

Switching out of the chat, he texted Juntae directly.

Sieun ―
So… cute girls at KNSU?

Juntae ―
I’m going to pretend I didn’t just read that. TWICE. Once here, once on the group chat. I will mute you if you repeat it as well. You’re on thin ice.

Sieun ―
Why don’t you just tell him?

Sieun had known about Juntae’s not-so-platonic feelings for Gotak for a while now. It was subtle.

Juntae ―
   Are you high on caffeine? No. Absolutely not. I like having friends. I’m not blowing this up just because my heart is an idiot.

Sieun ―
What about Baku? He will listen.

Juntae ―
Would YOU tell him that you and Seongje kissed?

Sieun frowned at the screen.

Sieun ―
He kissed me.

Juntae ―
And your lips just sat there? No reaction? You statue-d?

Unless... It was your first kiss?

Sieun ―
It was sudden

Juntae ―
Your response answers none of my questions actually. But considering the information I have gathered from you – Seongje was probably your first. 

You can still defend yourself in a '"yes" or "no"?

HELLOOO??? SO AM I RIGHT?

Sieun was mid-sentence, fingers flying over the screen, already composing a scathing rebuttal when the whispers started.

They came from the far end of the library — hushed at first, then rising in pitch with unmistakable excitement. Curious, Sieun looked up.

A group of four girls, who looked a year or two older than him, were making their way down the aisle. Three of them carried oversized baskets filled with small, ribboned snack hampers. The fourth was holding a checklist and calling out names with quiet efficiency. Around them, several students were already murmuring in confusion and surprise, their eyes locked onto the approaching group.

Sieun watched, eyebrows slightly raised, as the girls stopped at the row in front of him. One of them leaned toward a student seated a few desks ahead and handed him a hamper with a bright smile.

Then they turned to him.

“You’re Yeon Sieun?” one of the girls asked.

“Yes,” Sieun said, instinctively — and without looking — as he simultaneously hit send on the reply he was typing to Juntae.

He blinked, suddenly aware of what he'd done, and cursed inwardly. Shit. Did I just send that to—

“Why?” he asked aloud, a beat too late.

He regretted the question the moment it left his mouth. Obviously, he could see why . There were literal hampers in their hands. He winced at himself.

“Welcome to SNU,” the girl said warmly, unfazed. “And you’re in the Engineering faculty, right? This is a little gift from Nado to all the freshers.”

Sieun glanced down at the hamper now placed in front of him. It was surprisingly well put together — the packaging was sleek, and the contents inside looked… expensive. The snacks were clearly imported; Sieun could pinpoint a few at a glance. A Belgian chocolate bar he’d only ever seen once when his mother returned from a business trip. A tin of butter cookies with Danish writing. Japanese matcha candy. Even a tiny bottle of Italian sparkling juice and a few more things from the country itself.

On top sat a crisp white card, tied neatly with silver thread waiting to be opened. The minimalist SNU crest embossed in one corner, and in the center an inverted 'N'.

“Nado?” he asked, lifting the card.

“Yes. N-A-D-O. Nado,” another girl chimed in. “That’s what everyone calls him. He sends his regards to the new batch. And if you need anything, feel free to reach out to any of your seniors.”

Sieun gave a polite nod as the girls moved on, weaving down the row behind him.

He looked down at the hamper again, then picked up his phone.

The screen lit up with his last sent message:

Sieun —
Yes

Beneath it, Juntae’s response:

Juntae —

 Wow. Good for you, I wasn't entirely correct though I'll admit.

Sieun —

“NO. That was a typo. I meant ‘No.’

Juntae —

I thought Suho was your first kiss

Also weak excuse, and late response lol..

How did Suho even come to into this entire situation? What was Juntae thinking? 

Sieun did not understand why he was getting anxious at the situation – it was just a kiss ? No big deal.

“…God,” Sieun muttered, resisting the urge to slam his head against the table. He looked at the hamper again as he plucked the note out to read the note leaning his head on his arm.

“Don’t waste effort where logic will do.
Move the variable. Watch what shifts with it”

Sieun read the note aloud as he immediately sat up straight, staring at it like his eyes were deceiving him. He set the card down on the table, then picked it up again.

"But he’s...no more... and I told him something similar. It was just the two of us in the room," Sieun muttered, remembering the problem-solving suggestion he had once given Baekjin. No one else had heard that moment.

Baekjin was dead—so what was this?

In a few seconds, it struck him: Seongje. He was the one who had brought him to the bowling alley that day, brought him to meet Baekjin. But even then, Sieun thought, the music had been too loud. No one could’ve heard the exchange from outside the room.

Then who was this Nado?

Sieun doubted Seongje would go to such elaborate lengths just to annoy him. He wasn’t that important. To him?
Sieun also believed Seongje had limits, even if he looked like the type to splurge his dirt money on dramatic gestures.

But Baekjin was dead. They had gone to his funeral. Baku cried—
Not just cried. Sieun had seen Baku break after it was over. Baku who had challenged - fought and won against Baekjin had lived but a part of Park Humin had died with Na Baekjin as well.
Sieun remembered times when Baku wasn’t as loud, when something dimmed behind his usual spark. He blamed himself—Sieun could tell.

Without thinking, Sieun grabbed his phone and dialed Baku. The call connected within a few rings.

“Hello?” came Baku’s voice on the other end.

“Are you okay?” Sieun asked abruptly. He had to know.

“I’m fine. Why? Are you okay? Did someone piss you off? Want me to come and beat them up?” Baku asked, firing off questions without pause.

Baku was fine. That in itself felt strange looking at the note.
For a second, Sieun had felt like someone—or something—was coming for them – again.
But Baekjin was dead.

“I’m fine. Uh—it’s nothing. I just called because I got a hamper on the first day. Snacks. Should I save some for you?”

“What? Seriously? Damn, Sieun, you lucky guy. And not some—I want all,” Baku said, instantly sounding happier. Sieun promised and ended the call.

Baku was fine.
Juntae was fine.
Gotak was active in the group chat, so he was fine too.
And Baekjin was dead.

Sieun repeated that to himself like a mantra as he looked at the time, quickly rising for his next class.
He passed a group of boys standing by the shelves, unaware that they had been watching him the entire time.

━━━━━━━━━

Seongje had often categorized himself as a free bird. He never really got attached to anyone or anything anymore—had no obligations or compulsions. People around him seemed to disagree with his line of thought, because Seongje had done rounds for the Union when asked to. They didn’t see that he didn’t do them as a job but because they were fun.

He wondered if Beom Seok was fun to have around. He looked a little better from the pictures Seongje had seen of him a few days ago—but looked a lot worse at the same time as well.

“There are some rules that you will follow till the time you stay here. And listen properly, because I don’t like to repeat myself twice,” Seongje said as he internally chuckled. Who was he to put laws on someone, when his own self was lawless? But still, he had to if he was taking responsibility – partial responsibility.

“Don’t go out anywhere with Baekjin. Don’t allow that stupid doctor back inside this place, no matter what he offers you—I don’t like him, so you don’t have to either. You will go to university and come back—no stopovers unless you inform me. I have no intentions of tying you up, but I don’t think you’re capable of fighting if you get into trouble.

“Just in case you do get into trouble, you call me.

“I better not see any blades or any of that crazy shit with you—I don’t like that stuff. I’ve seen the marks on your arms, and I’ll break your hands if they increase.

“You must eat every day. I can’t have you going around looking like a ghost,” Seongje concluded.

“Okay, I understand,” Beom Seok said.

“Do you want your security protocol back? I know you had one in middle school—but they definitely sucked,” Seongje asked.

“No. I don’t want to meet anyone…” Beom Seok paused, “that my father had employed.”

“Okay, that’s fine. The spare key card is kept near the door. And as for the money—” Seongje was cut off when Beom Seok started talking again.

“Thank you for saving me, hyung,” he said.

That word—hyung—stung Seongje again, like it had an hour ago, because that itself tied him to Beom Seok. And as far as Seongje knew, he wasn’t tied, connected, or answerable to anyone. He wasn’t responsible for anyone but himself. And yet—he was confused.

“First, don’t interrupt me while I’m speaking. Second, I did not save you—I had no intention to. I had my reasons to do what I did. I’m not a criminal, as far as I think, and I don’t go around killing people. This was an exception. Don’t think much of it,” Seongje said.

“I see. It may not be a big deal for you, but it was for me. So thank you. I don’t need money—even if I did, I know you’ve set up an account for me linked to my dad’s funds. I’m aware. Mr. Choi told me everything you had done,” Beom Seok said.

He looked grateful.

Seongje sighed in disbelief. That fucking secretary couldn’t keep anything in his stomach.

“Don’t be sappy. If you know everything, you must know about the lawyers and the papers I’ve had made?” Seongje asked.

“Yes, I’ll sign them. You can have a share too, I—”

Seongje cut him off, looking both offended and vaguely amused.

“Here’s where you’re wrong. I did what I did for my mother. That’s as far as I’ll tell you. And you should be grateful that I did. I have no interest in your properties, estates, or whatever piles of cash your dad left lying around,” Seongje said. He continued, “And you’re free to move out as and when you get possession of the estates.”

“I don’t want to live alone,” Beom Seok said quietly. Worry washed over his face all of a sudden, and Seongje noticed it in a flash.

“Then stay here. But follow the fucking rules I mentioned,” Seongje sighed.

“Thank you. I’ll eventually get an apartment here… this place looks nice,” Beom Seok added. Seongje didn’t think it was a bad idea either.

Beom Seok continued, “I have a question. Why? I understand you have personal reasons for what you did… but why go through all the hassle for someone you barely know? You say we’re family but then act like you don’t care. And my dad didn’t have a will. So how did you magically show up with one?”

“You’re too nosy,” Seongje muttered, rubbing his temple. “But to answer your question—I did it for my mother. And I also did it because this is what she would’ve wanted…” he paused, then added, “...and it’s what your mom would’ve wanted too. So yeah. It is what it is. We’re family—in the most fucked-up, weird-ass way. I don’t do family, so don’t have any expectations from me.”

There weren’t many times Seongje felt like he was the asshole in a situation. This was one of the few times he did.

“Thanks.”

Seongje usually had quick reflexes, but he didn’t have time to react when Beom Seok came around the kitchen island and pulled him into a half-loopy hug that made absolutely no sense to Seongje, nor did he know how to return it.

“Okay—okay, go back and sit the fuck down,” Seongje said, scrunching his face as he slowly pried one of Beom Seok’s arms off him and pointed toward the chair again.

“I have one more question,” Beom Seok said as he settled down.

“Of course you do,” Seongje snorted, voice thick with sarcasm.

“Did you find out everything about me? Like… do you know that I—”

“…got a boy beat up by some brats so bad he ended up in a coma?” Seongje finished for him, coldly. “Gave him a few last kicks just for decoration because you couldn’t actually do shit yourself? Yeah. I know about Ahn Suho. I like to call him coma boy.”

He said it with a smile, and Beom Seok’s face didn’t move an inch.

“I regret it. He was my friend—he saved me before, and we had our trio... me, him, and Sieun and—” Beom Seok looked like he was about to break into a sob.

Seongje didn’t like crying people. The only time he tolerated tears was when he was the one beating them out of someone pathetic. And right now, he was in no mood to see Beom Seok cry.

He sighed, got up, and opened the fridge. Seongje took quiet pride in that fridge—no one had to know that. It was neat, cold, clean. Just the way he liked it. He pulled out a glass bottle of water and handed it to Beom Seok.

“Look,” Seongje said, leaning casually on the counter, “what you did to your dumb little band of ‘friends’ can’t be reversed. Although, I gotta say, that whole sob story almost makes you sound like you weren’t a complete loser.”

He paused, tilting his head. “But that would’ve only worked if Ahn Suho was still rotting in that hospital bed. Unfortunately, I regret to inform you—very fucking sorrowfully—that he got up.”

That last part came out laced with clear annoyance. He had enjoyed that hospital visit. Watching Sieun glued to someone who, by all odds, should’ve stayed comatose. And yet... miracle boy woke up.

He watched the color drain from Beom Seok’s face.

“He’s... he’s a good fighter. He fought seven people. He’ll come for me if he finds out I’m here,” Beom Seok stammered, rising from his seat.

Seongje grabbed his arm and yanked him back into the chair.

“Sit down, you fucking wuss. He’s not gonna do anything. And if he does, I’ll deal with him.”

He didn’t know why he said that. Maybe it was the itch. The idea of going toe-to-toe with Suho—just once—intrigued him.

“You’ll fight him?” Beom Seok asked.

Seongje nodded without hesitation. “Sure. And if needed, I’ll take on his pretty little boyfriend Sieun too.”

He pulled a folded photo from his pocket and slid it across the island counter.

It was a photo of Beom Seok, Suho, and Sieun.

“You... you know them? Sieun too?” Beom Seok asked, startled.

Seongje didn’t answer. He pulled out another picture. Four boys.

“Listen. I won’t repeat this,” he said, voice flat. “This uniform they’re wearing? It’s Eunjang. This guy’s Go Hyeontak—they call him Gotak. This is Yeon Sieun—you know him. That’s Seo Juntae. And that’s Baku—Park Humin. The former big dog of Eunjang. They must’ve graduated by now.”

“Big dog? What’s that?” Beom Seok asked.

Of course, he didn’t know the lingo. Seongje had expected that. He’d done a little background check on Byuksan’s internal politics when Beom Seok first showed up. Just enough to prepare.

“Someone who has power in the school. Like Seok Dae or Yeong Bin. But Baku’s not a bully. You get it now?” Seongje asked.

Beom Seok nodded quickly, recognition flickering in his eyes at the names.

Seongje continued anyway. He didn’t really have a reason to—but then again, he didn’t have a reason not to. And he was bored.

He got up and walked to the drawing room, which he had cleaned up pretty decently—no leftover traces of alcohol or cigarettes. For now. He picked up a file, paused like he was considering a smoke, then decided against it and brought the file back to where Beom Seok was sitting

“What is this?” Beom Seok asked curiously.

“This is the Yeongdeungpo Union,” Seongje said as he pulled out his phone and showed Beom Seok a logo made of several school crests connected together. Actually—“this was the Union,” Seongje corrected himself with a chuckle.

“Was?” Beom Seok questioned. “What happened to it?”

“You’ll know in a while. Hold your horses,” Seongje muttered, flipping open the file and showing Beom Seok another picture as he continued.

“The Union was an alliance coalition between Daehyeon, Ganghak, Hyeongshin, Yoosun, and Yeo-Il,” he said, pointing to a photograph of five boys in their school blazers.

“That sounds interesting—oh, that’s you? Ganghak?” Beom Seok asked, pointing, earning a nod from Seongje. He moved his finger across the photo, pausing when he spotted someone familiar.

“Baekjin? The guy from upstairs?” Beom Seok asked.

“Yes,” Seongje replied. “He founded the Union back in middle school. The others in the photo are Do Seong-mok and Baek Dong-ha from Yoosun, and that’s Seoknam Gorilla—he was on and off. There were others too, but they’re not in this particular shot.”

“How do they fit in? They must be connected—that’s why you’re telling me all this,” Beom Seok said, pushing the Eunjang photo next to the Union one.

Seongje raised an eyebrow, mildly impressed. “You’re not as dumb as I thought.”

He leaned back slightly, tone dry. “Yeah, those Eunjang bastards refused to join the Union. Baku was stubborn as hell. No matter what the Union guys tried—talking nice, beating them up, nothing worked. He wouldn’t negotiate.”

“There was a fight. We beat up Baku’s sidekick—wait... or as he calls him, his best friend.” Seongje laughed a little. “Anyway, we ganged up on him. Unfair fight, but it was fun to watch.”

“Gotak, right?” Beom Seok asked.

Seongje nodded. “Yeah, him. Promising athlete—is or was, who knows. But Baekjin was pissed. He busted Gotak’s knee. Badly. And then Baku jumped in and it turned into a whole ruckus. He got suspended for, like, three weeks.”

“What about you guys?” Beom Seok asked.

“That was the fun part of the Union,” Seongje said, smirking. “Even if we got caught, it never really mattered. Nobody said shit to us.”

He looked faintly nostalgic, like someone flipping through some old pictures.

“Anyway, with Baku out of the picture, we acted fast. Replaced him with a puppet and his dumbass lackeys. Hyoman. Never liked the guy, but he got the job done. That was enough, I guess.”

He flipped to another photo—this one showing a group of eight boys, all of them looking like the worst kind of hand-me-down bullies thrown together on short notice, Beomseok understood that was Hyoman and his group.

“What kind of ‘work’?”

“Business, you know—here and there. Deals. Intel. Stuff that made a lot of good money,” Seongje said, not revealing much.

“Like the mafia?” Beom Seok asked carefully.

Seongje just chuckled and flicked Beom Seok’s forehead playfully. He didn’t know why he did that—but he did.

“You should probably get your fucking head out of dramas, if you watch them. No. It wasn’t even close to the mafia. That’s a whole different thing,” Seongje said, rolling his eyes.

“It was all going fine. Even though Eunjang wasn’t officially part of the Union, they were starting to fall in line. Kids were ditching their loyalty to Baku and joining us. That was until your good, former friend Sieun decided to act up. Wanted to play hero, stop the bullying at Eunjang.”

“Why?” Seongje scoffed. “Because he thought it was too noisy. Pathetic excuse.”

“That’s how he is,” Beom Seok said quietly. “He stands up for what’s right. He did it for me too.”

Seongje paused, looking at him carefully. “So this isn’t the first time he’s playing hero? I thought he just killed a kid in middle school and that was it.”

“No. He was much more than that. I’m afraid your sources didn’t give you the full picture of what Byuksan was like—if you say you’ve actually looked into it,” Beom Seok replied, tone respectful but firm.

Seongje smirked slightly. He appreciated the audacity. And the criticism.

“Fine. You tell me how things were after I’m done talking.”

He leaned back, still holding the photo of Sieun in one hand.

“Yeon Sieun started beating people up. Glaring at anyone who even looked at him the wrong way. Word spread fast. Because of his little justice crusade, that useless puppet Hyoman and his tiny-ass minions couldn’t even do their jobs. Sieun basically reversed all the progress we had at Eunjang by lighting a fire under Seo Juntae's ass, it was an absolute headache.”

“This one?” Beom Seok asked, pointing to Juntae’s picture. “Was he bullied?”

“Yes,” Seongje replied. “You guessed?”

“No, I just thought so. He looks a lot like me.”

Seongje nodded. “Yeah, Hyoman and his brats bullied Juntae and a few other nerds into doing collection work for them. Even though the Union paid those idiots to do it themselves.”

“And no—I don’t believe bullying is the right way to do things. I didn’t bully anyone. I was there for the beatings, sure, but I didn’t have time for the petty school politics crap.”

He continued, tone dry. “Sieun gave Seo Juntae the confidence to fight back. He did, too—unsuccessfully, but still. Messed up the Union’s work for that whole damn week.”

“Sieun beat the crap out of Hyoman. Then Baku came back.”

“Stressful week for the Union?” Beom Seok asked.

Seongje nodded, hit by the memory of a very irritated Baekjin. The guy had real talent for pretending he wasn’t pissed when he absolutely was.

“I met your guy, Sieun. Honestly thought he was all bark and no bite—but he seemed good from the first meet. Fast reflexes and all. We realized this wouldn’t do, and he had to be put in line. Baku, being the stubborn mule he was, was never going to agree to our terms. So I went and paid a little visit to his boyfriend—and the victim of your actions—Suho. That seemed to bring him in line for a while,” Seongje said.

“You can’t scare Sieun. It’s not that easy,” Beom Seok replied.

“Yes, you’re right—because that bastard acted up again. Wait, wait, I won’t curse him—it doesn’t sound nice, does it?” Seongje smirked. “Anyway, he acted up and didn’t listen. So I went and beat up his so-called friends—Juntae and Gotak. Such wimps. I would’ve flattened them if Sieun hadn’t shown up.”

He slid over a photo to Beom Seok—Gotak and Juntae injured, slumped on what looked like a rooftop.

“Sieun showed up?” Beom Seok asked.

“Yes,” Seongje clapped once. “And you know what, Beom Seok? That was the plan. Juntae and Gotak are no fun to play with. Newbie was fun. Very fun.”

“Newbie?” Beom Seok raised an eyebrow.

“My pet name for him. He deserved one,” Seongje said, grinning looking dazed momentarily.

“Did he fight you? It’s not easy to fight him,” Beom Seok asked curiously—he’d seen Sieun fight.

“You’re judging my fighting skills without even watching me? Interesting. I’ll remember this, you little fucker,” Seongje said, not even bothering to hide the fondness under his annoyance. For a moment, it sounded like he was scolding a younger brother—which, given the situation, wasn’t far off.

“I’m just stating facts. Did you lose to him? He’s very quick to stab people with that pen of his,” Beom Seok replied.

“You’re annoying me. No, I didn’t lose to him. Let’s call it a stalemate match... that leaned slightly his way. And no, he didn’t stab me with that stupid pen. I chucked it away,” Seongje said.

“You got away just like that?”

“I’m not done talking. He fought really fucking well, I’ll give him that. Broke my glasses and stabbed me with the frame—that crazy mutt. He’s innovative,” Seongje muttered, still clearly bitter.

“Glasses? Wow,” Beom Seok said, wide-eyed.

“Whatever,” Seongje huffed, waving it off.

“What happened then?”

“The Eunjang quad started snooping into our business. Baku had a bloody alley confrontation with some Union members—he nearly killed one of them with the way he flipped the dude off a bike. Shit was escalating fast. Like I told you before—I like the fun parts, not the politics. And what was happening was all politics. Disagreements, power plays, stress. I was done with their drama, so I took a break from the Union.”

“So did you know about the things that happened while you were gone?” Beom Seok asked.

“Yes, I did. I was busy with other shit, but I knew. It got messy. Some Union mutts even sort of kidnapped that wimp Juntae and beat him up, so I beat them up. They were being too noisy,” Seongje said casually.

“And you judge Sieun for stepping in when it gets ‘noisy’? Isn’t that a little hypocritical?” Beom Seok asked, smiling faintly.

“It’s not the same,” Seongje shot back.

“It is,” Beom Seok nodded.

“How about you shut your little mouth—you’re getting a bit too noisy for me, you know?” Seongje scowled. He didn’t understand why Beom Seok was being so damn informal—or why he was even entertaining it.

“Fine. Doesn’t change my opinion though. Then?” Beom Seok pushed.

“This is where it got interesting. I could’ve done anything with Juntae, to be honest. It was enough to make Baku fold—just like he did when Baekjin busted Gotak’s knee. But I take no pleasure in beating defenseless people. That’s no fun. I like a fight, not a punching bag. Plus, Juntae was loyal. He refused to speak or tell the Union where his friends were. Loyalty’s stupid, but I let him go. Called his little friends to come pick him up,” Seongje said, as if it was no big deal.

“Wouldn’t that go against the Union? Wouldn’t the guy upstairs have expected you to get information on what Baku’s group was planning?” Beom Seok asked.

“Yes—but there’s no fun in that. I was bored of the Union. And honestly, watching Baekjin suffer a little? Kinda entertaining. So I let it be. My little act of benevolence even made the Eunjang quad trust me a tiny bit,” Seongje added, pinching his fingers to show “tiny.”

“And what did you do with that trust?” Beom Seok asked.

Seongje looked at him blankly—then his expression morphed into a sly smile. “I sold out the Union. Left those ungrateful bastards to get stomped by a very pissed-off Eunjang. It was beautiful,” he laughed, clapping once.

“Why would you do that?” Beom Seok asked, visibly confused.

“Because I wanted to. The Union deserved it. They dug their own graves not listening to me all these years,” Seongje said, clicking his tongue.

“What was your suggestion?” Beom Seok asked.

“Take over Eunjang by force. What would they have done at most? Fought. Okay. If we’d caught them early, Baku could’ve been dealt with—clean and simple. But no,” Seongje rolled his eyes. “Baekjin wanted restraint, diplomacy, whatever. He spent years trying to negotiate with Baku like a fucking idiot. Honestly, it was sickening to watch.”

He slammed his hands on the island table.

“All because of Baekjin’s stupid crush on Baku. The guy was ready to get everyone fucked—including himself—just so Baku would willingly join the Union. It was insane.”

“Baekjin liked Baku?” Beomseok asked again.

“It’s—uh—well, complicated. No label, no start, no end.” Seongje shrugged. “Anyway, when Eunjang uniting openly, there were arguments every damn day. I realized Baekjin had been playing out his sick fantasy of being ‘boss’ with Baku. Made him his errand boy for a few days as well because he had his father under arrest or something like that ”

He scoffed.

“Of course, his little fantasy was shattered by none other than Saint Sieun, who got into a spat with Baekjin. Baku got pissed, cut ties with the Union and was no longer Bakejin's temporary errand boy, and challenged them to a fight. The deal was—if Eunjang won, Baekjin would have to disband the Union.”

“Did you join the fight?” Beomseok asked.

“Nope. I watched. It was entertaining as hell.” Seongje smirked, then added, “What made it better? None other than the self-righteous Sieun came to me—me—asking for help. Wanted proof of illegal transactions, dirty records, all that.”

He dramatically placed a hand over his chest. “I almost became a good guy.”

“You helped him?” Beomseok asked, surprised.

“Of course I did. With a favor in return. I don’t do shit for free.”

“What favor?”

“None of your business.” Seongje snapped. “Anyway, the Union lost. Eunjang wiped the floor with them. And yeah—Baekjin had to disband the Union. That was the deal.”

“Did he actually disband it?” Beomseok asked.

“Yeah it had to be, after Baekjin died.” Seongje grinned as Beomseok stared at him, confused.

“But—he’s upstairs? What are you saying?”

“Theoretically,” Seongje said. “Baekjin’s dead. On paper. I saved him. He was going to die—but I stepped in. Faking a death isn’t that hard if you’ve got the right people. Real funeral and all.”

He pulled out his phone and showed Beomseok photos—him, Seok Mok, and Dong Ha striking weird poses in front of Baekjin’s funeral portrait.

“This is insane. How does he live now if he’s officially dead?” Beomseok asked.

“Don’t tell him I told you, or I’ll chop your tongue off.” Seongje narrowed his eyes. “Baekjin never lived under his realname. ‘Na Baekjin’ was a parallel identity he created. His actual name’s Donald Na. Or Nado, as people call him these days.

“So this Union—will it ever regroup?” Beomseok asked.

“It might, with a new generation of kids,” Seongje replied lazily, “but I’ve got no interest in it now. It’s boring doing the same shit twice. I have better things to do—and so do you. Your university portfolios are here.” He shoved another file across the table.

“I haven’t applied yet. The semester’s already started, and I—”

“Money is a fun thing, Beomseok. Everyone wants it,” Seongje cut him off with a smirk. “I had Secretary Choi apply for you. Pick a university. We already knew your intended major—medicine. Your grades dropped, you got pulled out, shit happened. But it’s nothing a little cash can’t fix.”

“Yonsei?” Beomseok asked, flipping through the portfolios, almost like he was asking for approval.

“Good pick. Reputable. Cutthroat acceptance rate. Safe. This’ll do,” Seongje nodded.

“But I don’t know… the seniors, the people—” Beomseok trailed off, unsure.

Seongje caught on quickly. “Everyone’s gotta go through that. But if you’re worried about ragging—don’t be. The Union had some minor leverage at Yonsei. Not much, but enough. If I put in a word. They won’t mess with you.”

Beomseok let out a breath. “Thank you.”

“But,” Seongje warned, pointing a finger, “don’t go around using my name for shit.”

“What if they ask me about my dad?” Beomseok asked.

Seongje tilted his head, studying him. “Oh dear. Haven’t you heard? Two can keep a secret if one of them’s dead. Your dad’s not here. Stick to the crappy suicide story the media’s spinning. People might even be kind.”

He stood up and stretched.

“But do they forgive?” Beomseok asked quietly. “What if the one who was supposed to die… didn’t...I don't know...I didn't want anyone to suffer?” His voice trembled just a little. It wasn’t about his father.

Seongje glanced back, understanding instantly that this was about coma boy and pretty boy. “No. You won’t be forgiven.” He said it flatly. “But you can move on. That’s your only option.” He started toward his room. “I’m gonna take a nap.”

Right on cue, the doorbell rang—and with it, an annoyingly familiar sing-song voice.

“Open up! Chummy brotherhood hours are over. I need to take Beomseok with me—for his books~!” Dr. Gyeol called out from outside.

Seongje sighed and looked at Beomseok. “Yeah… forgot to mention this—uh, sorry, I have to go. Can I?”

Seongje waved him off. “Yeah, yeah. Just go to the door. Don’t let that damn doctor in. And take the spare key.”

Beomseok grabbed the key, nodding as Seongje headed off—and a second later, his phone pinged.

Baekjin ―
So how was it? How does it feel to have someone to talk to?

Seongje –
What the fuck are you on about?

Baekjin ―
Why? You don’t know how much time passed since Beomseok went downstairs?

Seongje looked at the clock, a little surprised himself – he thought only an hour had passed, but it had been a while.

Seongje ―
I’m taking a nap. If you or that pest disturb me, I’ll kill you all. Don’t test me, I haven’t hit anyone in ages.

Baekjin ―
Will you come to university tomorrow? I guess you won't, there’s a gift for you.

Seongje ―
What gift? I’m in no mood for your games. I don’t mind not coming for a few days, won’t make a damn difference to me – I’m ahead anyway, academically. 

Baekjin ―
Come tomorrow, you’ll see. You’ll like this one – I can feel it. A little prize for saving my life?

Seongje ―
I don’t need your charity, jackass. Buy yourself a personality instead, you know maybe something aside from brooding over Baku? or spending time with his look alike older cousin? You have some weird tastes.

Baekjin ―

Fuck you.
+1 image attached

Seongje opened the image and squinted, zooming in. A neatly written timetable stared back at him – he didn’t recognize the handwriting, but he sure as hell recognized the black-and-gold pen kept next to the diary.

Yeon Sieun.

Seongje ―
?

Seongje stared at the screen as the message showed seen. No reply.

That bastard.

━━━━━━━━━

“Thank you for coming along. I could have managed,” Beomseok said, glancing at Dr. Gyeol beside him as the doctor tapped the steering wheel, humming a quiet tune.

“No problem. No need to thank me. I actually wanted to do this—for my brother,” Dr. Gyeol said, his voice light but layered. “But I couldn’t, so I thought I should do it for you.”

“Baku? Park Humin, right? Hyung told me,” Beomseok said, and the man nodded.

“Yes. He’s my cousin. We do look alike in certain ways, but I’m older.”

“You don’t talk to him anymore?” Beomseok asked, watching the doctor’s expression.

“Nope, not really. We’ve had our differences. To be honest, I didn’t even know about all of this—the Union, Eunjang, Baekjin and Baku’s disagreement. The last time I saw both of them, they were in middle school. They were friends back then… but clearly, they’ve come a long way,” the doctor said, shaking his head with a faint, regretful smile.

“What about Hyung? You knew him too?” Beomseok inquired.

“Seongje? Oh, him—I’d only heard about him from Baekjin and Baku. He’s a lunatic of the first order. They weren’t lying about that,” Dr. Gyeol said with a laugh.

“He doesn’t like you very much,” Beomseok remarked.

“Seongje doesn’t like anyone, if we’re being honest. He doesn’t like attaching himself to people. Doesn’t like connections. I could tell that the moment I saw him—and I’m a doctor,” Gyeol replied, half-joking as they passed the Yonsei gates and turned onto a broader avenue.

“Hyung said Yonsei is safe. Nobody would bother me if they knew I was connected to him,” Beomseok said.

“Hmm. It could be safe ground. You could use my name too. I was an alumnus here. Didn’t finish the whole program, though—I got a better offer in the States,” the doctor said.

“Really? You must be familiar with the area, then? I heard they have lodges and living spaces nearby,” Beomseok asked.

“They do,” Dr. Gyeol said, nodding as he pressed down on the accelerator. A few minutes later, they sped past a bustling intersection. The golden evening light washed over rows of low-rise buildings and narrow streets filled with people. Laughter echoed from cafes and foot traffic buzzed across zebra crossings.

“You see that complex over there?” the doctor said, pointing toward a cluster of three mid-rise buildings just a block off the main road.

They stood taller and sharper than the buildings around them—grey stone and matte-black and transparent glass, clean and minimalistic. Neon number plates glowed faintly at their entrances. From a distance, the trio of buildings looked pristine, sleek even—each one flanked by trimmed hedges and minimalistic metal gates with an array of plants around them. But something about their quietness, their symmetry, the lack of human presence in the balconies despite the hour—it felt unnatural.

“Yeah? You lived there?” Beomseok asked, narrowing his eyes at the buildings.

“Yes. It’s pretty close to Yonsei, but I’m showing this to you for a reason. Don’t go there. If you make any friends and they live in that complex, stay away. And if, for any reason, you must go—only go after telling Seongje. Got it?” the doctor said, his tone turning suddenly serious as he locked eyes with Beomseok.

“Why?” Beomseok asked, now sitting straighter in his seat.

“It’s not a good place,” the doctor said firmly. “It may not look like it, but it’s not safe. I lived in that complex a few years ago. I know.”

“What makes it unsafe?” Beomseok asked, still staring back at the buildings as they passed.

“Beomseok, what did you think of the Union? Did you think of them as a gang?” the doctor asked instead.

“They were an alliance of school gangs… who indulged in minor illegal activities to make money. From what Hyung told me, it was nothing close to a proper criminal gang or anything related to the mafia,” Beomseok replied, his eyes still following the sleek apartment blocks fading into the background.

“Exactly,” Dr. Gyeol nodded grimly. “And that building, Beomseok—that complex is the entrance point. The edge of the real thing. The buffer between schoolboy fights and organized crime. Between classroom bullies and real mafia operations in the capital.”

He didn’t look at Beomseok when he said it—just kept his eyes on the road.

“Remember what I said.” he repeated as Beomseok nodded obediently. 

 

━━━━━━━━━

“So you don’t exactly know if you kissed Seongje or not, but you are sure that you weren’t still during the entire thing?” Juntae asked, his voice low and curious.

Sieun nodded, fiddling with the hem of his sleeve slightly embarrassed and frustated. He had finally decided to talk to Juntae. Both of them sat in low whispers out on the balcony of Baku and Gotak’s apartment while the two were inside, pestering Suho.

Yes, Suho had come over. Sieun always felt a strange sense of calm whenever Suho was around. He had shown up with sweet buns like he promised, and the three inside were now having what sounded like a very animated discussion over the snack hamper Sieun had brought home and Suho’s daily customers. Gotak was inquiring if any of the girls from KNSU ever visited his cafe. Sieun had safely tucked away the note that came with the hamper. He decided not to worry about that today.

"I don’t know… How would I know? I mean, I’ve seen how people kiss—guys and girls both—but it was so sudden. On top of that, the asshole had my wrist in an iron grip, and I didn’t even know what to focus on. I knew Baku and everyone was waiting for me at the ground on the day of the fight," Sieun said, rubbing his temples as Juntae gave his back a light pat.

“It’s kind of funny though. You kissing Seongje or Seongje kissing you while everyone else was fighting the Union. So… a kiss is what he asked for in return for turning on the Union?” Juntae asked.

Sieun nodded.

"And now you’re worried he might have recorded it? Because of that rumor you saw in my Notes app?" Juntae continued.

"Yes. I mean, I don’t think he did—it was quick, unless he had a camera recording the entire twenty-odd minutes I was there," Sieun said, looking to Juntae for reassurance.

"I don’t think so. Don’t you think he would have used it to annoy you if he had? Some time has passed since then, and there hasn’t even been a sighting of him," Juntae replied calmly.

"That does seem like a logical explanation. Thanks," Sieun said with a sigh.

"He most likely went out of the country, I think. He was good academically, had potential. I told you that before. There were rumors he had offers from universities in Korea, but he turned them down," Juntae said thoughtfully. "So the most viable explanation is that he’s overseas. Because I definitely don’t think a guy like Seongje got caught."

"Why not? Don’t you think Choi would have gone after him if he hadn’t taken up the offer to rebuild the Union? He knew about the dirty work, and the way he bailed out on the Union... he could have done the same with Choi," Sieun said.

"You’re right, but I have a theory. While the Union existed, the kids who were a part of it got away easily since the police were getting paid under the table. But in Seongje’s case, Gotak told me something odd. When he got into that fight with the Union and they ganged up on him and injured his knee, Baku tried to file a complaint. But some beat-up Union lackey misinformed Baku that it was Seongje who did it instead of Baekjin. The police refused to file it. They told Baku not to mess with some assemblyman or politician or something like that," Juntae explained. "So I think Seongje’s well connected. Family, probably. Which means it wouldn’t have been easy for Choi to touch him."

The mention of another politician reminded Sieun of Beomseok and how he got away because of his connections. How that very source of connection was now gone.

"These brats who get away because of political leverage are the worst. You know the guy who hurt Suho was also from an influential political family," Sieun muttered.

"Was? What happened to him?" Juntae asked, curious. They both turned slightly to see Baku and Suho having an arm-wrestling contest inside, while Gotak helped himself to the buns.

"The reason he got away—his political connection—it’s gone now. The person backing him passed away. But nobody will figure out what he did to Suho, because Suho won’t speak up. He’s come past that... not forgotten though. He won’t let me say anything either. The guy who was once our friend is in the Philippines now. So on his side, he’s the only one left. And you know what they say—two can keep a secret if one of them is dead. It’s unfair, but he’s safe. For now," Sieun said plainly.

They were interrupted by the roar of a loud engine. Both of them leaned forward over the balcony railing as the others inside made their way out from the mesh sliding door.

"Woah—that is a sexy car," Baku whistled, looking down at the red Ferrari pulling up in front of the building entrance.

"It’s cars," Gotak corrected, munching a bun. "Has the sugar gotten to your head?"

They all turned their attention to the line of vehicles now entering the complex—five of them, all glossy, expensive, and far too sleek for a student housing neighborhood.

"College kids have that kind of money?" Juntae whispered.

"Must be the kids of some loaded family," Sieun replied, frowning.

"What are the chances they might be our neighbors? If not neighbors, then maybe above or below us?" Baku asked Suho.

Suho was silent. Sieun noticed it. Suho liked cars—was maybe even obsessed with them—but this silence felt different. Almost tense. Maybe Suho was busy looking at the cars like Baku was.

They all stood quietly as few young men got out from the cars. The guy from the Ferrari looked up, eyes scanning the balconies. For a second, Sieun was sure he recognized the man’s silhouette, but the harsh white glare from the headlights distorted the view.

"I think I’ve seen him somewhere," Sieun murmured.

"I don’t think so—you barely socialize," Baku shrugged as he waved cheerily to the guy, who, to their surprise, waved back. Sieun was still sure he had seen the guy somewhere.

"Look, look! He waved back. We’re practically friends now," Baku grinned.

"I’ll go now. It’s getting late," Suho said suddenly, and they all turned to him. A quiet notification pinged from Suho’s phone—Sieun and Juntae both heard it.

"Come on, man. You just came two hours ago! Stay over, we can help you with the deliveries," Gotak said, nudging Sieun to say something.

"Yes… uh, you should stay. Please? I’ll tell you about my day?" Sieun added hopefully.

Suho narrowed his eyes and flicked Sieun’s forehead.

"You already told me how your day was—the first thing when I came, all of you in fact. And thanks for the offer, but I have work to do. I’ll come for a longer time next time," Suho said, glancing down at his phone before slipping it into his pocket.

"Go carefully. Text me when you reach," Sieun said quietly.

"All of us! Hello? Message all four of us," Baku added, thumping Suho on the back.

Sieun followed Suho to the door to see him off.

"Bye. You go inside now, and please eat—you already look like you’ve lost weight," Suho said with a soft smile. He waved as Sieun shut the door.

Something stirred in Sieun. He paused, tilted his head, then turned and reopened the door.

No one was there.

It was strange. Sieun had good hearing, and he could swear he’d heard someone head up the stairs instead of down. He checked, cautiously stepping out. No one. Just the lingering, recent stench of cigarette smoke from the fire exit staircase—and Suho’s cologne. Not a strong presence, just the ghost of it, maybe Sieun was imagining it but it felt as if it was coming on the way to the floor above theirs.

“Sieun- ah??? What are you doing at the door? Suho’s here, come and wave!” Baku called from inside.

Sieun quickly shut the door and rushed to the balcony, just in time to see Suho waving one last time before mounting his bike and riding off.

"He always makes the mood better when he comes around. Good thing you gave him your windbreaker—it gets chilly," Baku said as he and Gotak faded back inside.

Sieun and Juntae remained outside.

"Wasn’t Suho wearing one when he came here?" Juntae asked.

"He was, right? I couldn’t help but notice… but he walked out wearing the same one he came in?" Sieun frowned.

"Maybe he and Gotak have the same one? You know they used to hang out at the local gym during Suho’s physical therapy," Juntae offered, adjusting his glasses before heading back inside.

Sieun stayed a moment longer, eyes narrowed.

Something didn’t sit right.

Something was off.

There was something he wasn’t seeing—and he didn’t like that feeling at all.

━━━━━━━━━

Chapter 3: You. Again?

Notes:

FINALLY SIEUN AND SEONGJE !!!! 🫂⚡️⛈️🤭

❝Well, look who I ran into,❞ crowed Coincidence.
❝Please,❞ flirted Fate, ❝this was meant to be❞
— Jeff who Lived at Home.

[....]

Sieun should’ve brought an umbrella. Maybe even just checked the damn weather forecast.

It wasn’t exactly raining—just drizzling , the kind that didn’t warrant an umbrella but still made him regret not bringing one as raindrops splattered his phone screen making it glitch. It was windy too, Sieun’s hair looked freshly electrocuted, strands flying in every direction, some slapping into his eyes as he trudged from one building to another.

To make matters worse, he was already in a foul mood thanks to the demonic pigeons of SNU—territorial, vengeful, suspiciously well-fed beasts he’d read about on the student forums. He hadn’t expected a personal encounter so soon.

One of them almost half-shat on his head. A near miss. A hit-and-run poop attempt from the skies. Sieun had spent the next ten minutes in the restroom furiously scrubbing his hair like he’d been cursed. When he looked up, his reflection resembled a soggy mop.

Gotak, of course, had the audacity to say:

“Bird shit’s good luck. It’s basically a baptism.”

Sieun wasn’t sure where that superstition came from, but he was very sure Gotak wouldn’t have said it if he’d been the one nearly violated by those avian assassins.

He checked the time on his phone. He still had 5 minutes for the Engineering Mathematics lecture. Going towards Room 302, he checked his timetable once more in his diary and walked. The corridor to the room looked a little too crowded—too many people, too much chatter, too many people talking—as he ended up hearing a few conversations. He was the last person to eavesdrop, but it was impossible not to overhear in the unusually bustling corridor.

“Listen, I know we have just met and you look like you sit in the front row, but let me sit there today.”

“Why are you looking at me like that? You’re in time. I messaged everyone in the group chat—we might still get a seat if you move, you asshole,” he heard a group of guys arguing.

“Is it true that the professor and TA both didn't come for the EM lecture today? Has it started, or is there some time left?”

“I heard KS sunbae is a temp for the class in  FLR 302 today… wait, is he already there?” a girl asked, tapping on some guy’s shoulder to look.

FLR 302. That was the one Sieun was supposed to go to.

“Not just today, but at least for 2–3 days,” a guy said.

“No way. My sister told me that it is difficult to find him around the university because he is always busy,” a guy said.

“Look, I have Physics, but I can skip that and sit here instead.  

Sieun reached the door of the lecture hall. He had people in front of him and behind him as he went inside, momentarily surprised to see kids already sitting there and others squeezing past him, filling in the rows. He checked his watch—this was weird. There were 2 minutes still left for the room to be this packed.

He quickly put his books on the last seat of the first row as he saw another guy trying to sit there, a soft glare to tell him to back off. He sat down, only to finally notice a man who had almost filled up half the board with neat writing, his back facing the room, as he signaled a student entering in a hurry to shut the door. Sieun could still hear murmurs from behind him—some anxious, some excited—saying all sorts of things. Sieun frowned, cocking his head a little as he heard some rather inappropriate ones from the right side of the row behind him. The entire hall was packed—not a single seat, not a single row left vacant.

Sieun looked up from arranging his books neatly out of habit as he looked at the guy carefully. He had always been quick at observing people, out of habit. The guy’s hair was slightly long, a hairstyle he familiarly recognized. It made his stomach twist momentarily. He wore a hoodie that looked like an extremely dark shade of green, with its sleeves rolled up, a silver chain dangling from the wrist, black pants, and what looked like mid ‘77 Vintage shoes—from what he could recognize them as. He wasn’t into fashion, but Gotak had mentioned the shoes before.

The guy turned around with his head down as he came and leaned against the front of the professor’s table, his arms folded as he looked up with a cheeky smile facing the students in the room.

“Yo,” he said.

Sieun almost felt the air knock out of his lungs when he saw the person who just spoke.

No.
No way.

“It’s KS sunbae! I told you he was here!” a girl behind him excitedly shook someone’s shoulder as everyone stood up together to greet the guy—Sieun almost a second late.

Keum Seongje was here, in front of him.
Keum Seongje of Ganghak.
Keum Seongje from the Union.

Sieun wanted the ground under his chair to open up and swallow him and was internally arguing with himself on why the guy’s presence would affect him anyway. He should ignore him. More thought on it would probably make his neurons short-circuit.

Seongje hadn’t noticed him yet. Maybe he could still leave, or sit a few rows behind.

“How disciplined! It’s just the second day—sit down, you make me feel old. I am only a year older than all of you,” Seongje suddenly said, shaking his head with a chuckle, gesturing the kids to sit.

The kids broke out into whispers but immediately stopped when Seongje slammed one of his hands on the table behind him.

“Alright, so your professor had some urgent work, and the initial TA assigned to conduct your lecture instead is busy, so I’m your temp for the next few days. I have a few rules—no chit-chatting, no doomscrolling. You will keep your phones on silent and in the front. Don’t sit like duds—if you have doubts, ask me. I will answer,” Seongje said.

“Yes,” everyone said in unison, excited.

Sieun didn’t, as Seongje continued.

“I’ll teach you what you need to be taught in a simple way. If everything goes well, you’ll definitely have some part of this time as free time where you can do what you want. I couldn’t care less. And I see many of you who aren’t supposed to be here as well,” Seongje said, tilting to look at some kids in the back row, who laughed. Seongje smirked as well.

“If you cause any disturbance, I’ll whack your heads and kick you out. Deal?” he said, as the kids nodded and he turned back to the board.

Sieun didn’t know what to think. He had questions again—questions that he needed answers for.
So Seongje was here? He hadn’t gone overseas? Juntae had said something else?!

Sieun’s mind went into sudden overdrive.

Suddenly, every sound in the room was amplified.

The sharp scratch of pens across paper, the muted click of phone screens locking, the whisper of pages turning.
The subtle shifting of bodies adjusting in their seats.

Laughter—small and nervous, low, muffled, excited.

Too excited.

Too loud. Everything was too loud.

And then—footsteps. Quick. Steady. Coming closer.
He didn’t need to look.
He knew who it was. He felt who it was—just slightly. A presence. Confident. Casual. Close.

Too close.

That cologne smell. Something he’d tried not to remember.

Don’t look up.
No, look up.
Don’t you dare look up.
Okay—just a side glance. Maybe.

The war inside his head was louder than the classroom. His neurons were on fire, pinging into chaos, lighting up old circuits he thought had been buried.

Sieun’s hand slid into his pant pocket on instinct, fingers closing around the pen tucked there like it was a lifeline. His grip tightened.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Stay neutral. Calm exterior. Poker face.

Sieun could feel the pulse on his fingertips.

Don’t react. He hasn’t seen you yet.
Oh fuck, of course he has!
It’s fine. You’re fine.

The problem was—Sieun wasn’t fine. Not when he was standing exactly one step to his left.

“Turn to page five. Functions and Limits,” Seongje said as he tapped the edge of the desk lightly with his knuckles—once, twice—right beside where Sieun sat, without even glancing down.

Then he walked back down the steps of the lecture hall, hands tucked in the pockets of his hoodie, his pace slow and unhurried. His gaze swept across the room—not urgently, but with the ease of someone who remembered faces without needing to try.

“Alright.” He stopped near the professor’s table and leaned against it, one leg crossed over the other. Casual. Effortless.

“Let’s start with this. Limits. The math version of asking, ‘What happens if I keep getting closer, but never actually touch it?’”

He paused, raising an eyebrow.

“Kind of like how some of you stalk your crushes without actually talking to them.”

The class broke into laughter. A dramatic “ooohhhh” echoed from the far left, followed by a half-choked giggle.

Sieun blinked, forcing his eyes to stay on the board, trying to ignore the sound. Of course this was why people were piling into this class. Of course he wasn’t going to use boring academic lingo. Why would he?

He could hear a girl whisper behind him, “God, I’m going to attend every lecture if sunbae keeps talking like that.”

Another voice added with a laugh, “I’d attend every lecture for that voice, no regrets.”

A third muttered, lower but just loud enough for Sieun to catch, “He’s even hotter in person, what the hell... luckily he is not a TA. You think I can ask him out?”

Sieun gritted his jaw and adjusted the edge of his notebook, the lines blurring slightly.

Focus. Just focus. It’s a lecture. A limit. A function. Just variables.

But he could feel it—every comment, every breath, every glance directed toward the front of the room. At Keum Seongje. Nobody actually seemed to focus on what was written on the board. Not Sieun himself, but for reasons different from the others in the room.

Seongje smirked, uncapped the marker, and turned to the board.

He circled an equation he had already written:
limₓ→a f(x) = L

“This is a limit. It’s just a fancy way of saying: ‘As x gets close to a, f(x) gets close to L.’ You don’t care what happens at a. You care what happens around it.”

Then he drew a curve—a smooth, clean line with a deliberate gap at x = 2.

“See this hole? Doesn’t matter if the function dips or spikes at x = 2. If it’s getting close to one specific value from both sides—that’s your limit.”

Seongje turned around again, his eyes scanning the rows. Sharp. Unreadable. But for the briefest moment, Sieun thought he saw them pause near the front row, where he sat. At him.

“You’re basically tracking behavior,” Seongje continued. “You want to know how something acts when it thinks no one’s watching.”

Sieun stiffened slightly, pen gripped tightly between his fingers. His notes looked neater than usual—more mechanical.

There is no need to write like this. He is not going to see it, Sieun said, trying a harsher writing stroke, but his handwriting stayed the same. He didn't know what he was doing.

His ears were still catching voices that refused to be blocked out.

“Did you see his hands?”

“Bro, his handwriting is hot. I didn’t know that was a thing.”

“I think I’m learning just so he notices me. No joke.”

He exhaled quietly, forcing himself to underline a term on the page. He heard Seongje clear his throat in an attempt to dismiss the noise from the rows at the back. Sieun’s handwriting slipped.

Someone in the back called out, “But what if both sides go to different numbers?”

Seongje nodded and clicked the cap back on the marker.

“Good. Then the limit doesn’t exist. Just like mutual understanding in group projects.”

More laughter, this time genuine. Someone clapped softly.

Sieun stared at the curve on the board, wondering if it was possible for the fluorescent lights above him to burst and give him an excuse to leave.

“Write this down,” Seongje added, tapping the whiteboard.

A limit exists only if the left-hand limit equals the right-hand limit.

“This is rule one. Limits are about consistency, not perfection.”

Sieun scribbled the line down slowly, word for word, but his thoughts weren’t with the math.

His jaw was clenched, and his heartbeat drummed loud in his ears.

Seongje continued to teach, continued to answer questions. Sieun had questions as well—for Seongje and for the topic he was teaching—yet he asked none. He just kept his head down and wrote whatever, trying his best not to look up. And somehow an hour passed like that, when he finally heard Seongje shut the book on his table with a slam.

“Okay, you brats, that’s it for today. Take the rest… how much time is left? 30 minutes? Free time. Do what you want—but if anyone has questions regarding what I taught, you can still ask me. I will not answer you if you chase me around the campus after this,” Seongje said, as some giggled with plans to hunt him down the campus anyway.

Sieun had very well learned in the last one hour that everyone in the lecture hall was interested in getting Seongje’s attention for some reason or the other. But he didn’t expect them to group up quickly and hoard the professor’s desk where Seongje sat, to understand bits and pieces of what he had explained in the last one hour—again.

Were they shameless, or was Sieun too judgmental?

Sieun watched as 5 minutes passed. Several small groups of girls went, in duos—trios, groups—a lot of them amongst the section of kids who weren't supposed to attend this lecture.

Sieun watched as 10 minutes passed—more girls. Some guys came as well. Some tried a fist bump with Seongje too.

Sieun looked amused at that for a moment as well. Keum Seongje from Ganghak High would not have fist-bumped random guys. He would have punched them .

Sieun watched as 15 minutes went by—more guys came around. The girls had settled at the back. Sieun could hear some of them talking about Seongje.

Sieun watched as 20 minutes went by. Some kids who looked genuine—the ones who actually wanted to clear their doubts—approached Seongje. To Sieun’s surprise, Seongje explained things to them more than once.

21, 22, 23, 24—Sieun didn’t know why he was tracking the minutes of the free time given to them on a stopwatch of all things, but by 25 minutes, he was the only one in the lecture hall who hadn’t paid a visit to the professor’s desk. He watched as Seongje stretched his arms and took out his phone.

Sieun had doubts, and he spent the last 25 minutes watching everyone do what they wanted. Who cares if it was Keum Seongje? He was here to study, so he had to ask. He could also use the internet to figure it out.

Sieun stopped his stopwatch as he put his phone in his pocket and got up and went to where Seongje was sitting.

“Ask him the question, get the answer, go back and sit down,” Sieun reiterated to himself as he sighed, looking at Seongje within a second.

Seongje glanced up, one arm draped over the backrest, the other lazily tapping the marker against his thigh, scrolling on his phone.

“Doubts” Sieun said, his lips pressed, tapping his book which he set on the table.

“Well, well,” he drawled, head tilting just enough to make it look like a smirk in motion.

“What’s up, newbie?”

Sieun’s eyes twitched. “I heard you went overseas.”

A flash of amusement crossed Seongje’s face, but it didn’t touch his eyes. Sieun wanted to smack the glasses off his face, but he stood still.

“Oh?” He leaned forward slightly. “Didn’t take you for someone who read gossip about me.”

He set the marker down, slow and precise.
“Miss me?”

Sieun scoffed. “Shut the fuck up.”

Seongje chuckled low, like he was enjoying this too much. “Language, princess. There are other kids in the room.”

“I have a question.”

“Oh? Suddenly studious.” He stretched his legs, completely unbothered. “Ask away.”

Sieun flicked his fingers at the page. “If a function isn't defined at x = a, but the left and right-hand limits are equal, the limit still exists, right?”

Seongje raised an eyebrow. “Correct. The function itself can be dumb as hell at x = a, but if it behaves on both sides? That’s your limit.”

“And if one side diverges?”

“Limit doesn’t exist. Simple.” He leaned closer, eyes locking with Sieun’s. “Something similar to what happened that day at the gaming arcade. One side kept moving. The other—” he gestured vaguely, “ran.”

Sieun clenched his jaw. “Stick to the math.”

Seongje’s smirk sharpened. “Sure.”

Sieun stood still, but Seongje suddenly moved fast—closing the gap between them in a second. His hand pressed against Sieun’s shoulder as he shifted him to the front from his side, spinning him slightly so that his back faced the rest of the classroom. The entire movement looked casual. Barely noticed. The professor’s table now putting a slight space between them again.

“What the fuck are you doing? Are you crazy?” Sieun said, turning his head a little to see if anyone was looking at them.

“Now, now,” Seongje murmured, voice low that would only reach Sieun's ear, “You wouldn’t want the others knowing you're talking to me like you know me.”

Sieun’s pulse spiked.
“Like you kissed me.”

Sieun’s head snapped back toward him—his hand already near his pocket where his pen sat ready to be used, to attack—but Seongje was already sitting back in the professor’s chair again, spinning the marker between his fingers like none of it meant anything.

Sieun spoke through his teeth. “You said the limit isn’t about the actual value. Just where it’s headed. So if a function jumps—like literally jumps—how do we graph it?”

Seongje looked pleased. “With an open circle. You mark where it should’ve been. Doesn’t mean it ever got there.”

He leaned forward again, fingers steepled, gaze dead on Sieun.

“Kind of like the way you agreed to come back for a kiss when the fight was over, but you never came—went to a party instead. I almost killed the people outside the diner that came to attack you. You disappoint me, Yeon Sieun.”

Sieun’s breath hitched—barely—but his face didn’t move. He stood still. Too still.
It had been a while since he heard his full name being called out, especially by Seongje of all people, who had only used it the first time they had met in the washroom.

“You done?” Sieun asked quietly.

“You?” Seongje countered.

30 minutes. Sieun knew the lecture was over when he heard people behind them getting up, waving and smiling at Seongje, who did the same, looking past Sieun who stood right in front of him.

What was Sieun even expecting?

Sieun turned around quickly as he collected his stuff, almost pushed past someone, and got out of the lecture hall.

He needed some time to think.

The library sounded like a good idea.
Sieun had liked it there.

━━━━━━━━━

Seongje had no interest in teaching a random group of students for an hour and half and that too for more than a day, those who were tasked with the job should have been there to do it. He did it anyway. 

He didn’t want to go to university anyways, he wanted to sleep in. He went anyway. 

He had expected something unusual to happen today considering Bakejin’s message from the previous day - what Seongje did not expect was Yeon Sieun walk right into the class he was teaching, a moment of recalling reminded him of the timetable with no name , a handwriting that Seongje didnt recognise but a pen that he did. That had been Yeon Seiun’s timetable.

This was interesting.

Seongje didn’t have the habit of noticing people anymore.
He used to—back when he still believed that people revealed something worth knowing if you paid enough attention. But somewhere along the way, their patterns became predictable, their tells dull. He’d stopped looking.
Stopped caring.

But today—today was different.
Because today, Yeon Sieun was sitting in the front row.
And Seongje watched him.

Longer than he should have.

He noticed everything. Every minor shift in posture. Every tick of unease that flickered across his face, even if only for a second.

He watched how Sieun kept clenching and unclenching his fists—subtle, repetitive, unconscious. Every few minutes, his hand would shift toward his right pocket, fingers curling lightly around whatever sat there. Seongje knew what it was. His pen. Always the same one. Always there. The one that wrote like a dying cockroach, not the ones Seongje had given him. The motion wasn’t casual—it was ritualistic. Like a lifeline. As if he needed to feel its weight to stay grounded.

He watched how Sieun barely looked at him during the entire lecture. Every time Seongje turned to face the lecture hall, Sieun’s head would duck, his gaze snapping back to his notebook like it had never strayed. But Seongje had seen it, that flicker of hesitation before each retreat.

He caught the way Sieun’s pen would pause mid-sentence, the way his posture would tilt ever so slightly, chin angled toward the whispering behind him. His shoulders would shift, an ear half-turned—listening. Measuring. Trying to decipher what was being said without drawing attention to himself.

He noticed how attentively Sieun listened to the lecture. Not just passively, but with real intent. Every point, every term—Sieun wrote it all down. Neatly. Deliberately. The handwriting tight, sharp, unshaken and was better than anyone else's in the room. Seongje had noticed it when he took a slow round of the lecture hall, lingering just a little too long near the first row.

He watched the way Sieun placed a hand protectively over his notebook as he wrote, head lowered, legs crossed tightly beneath the desk. Like he was folding into himself. Like he was trying to vanish. 

But his eyes—they kept moving. Backward, sideways, across the rows behind him, scanning, calculating. As if he was weighing the possibility of escape.

Seongje could see it—the quiet desperation to get out of that seat. To be anywhere else....

An entire hour passed, and Sieun hadn’t spoken once. Not a question. Not a word to the students around him. He sat like he existed in a different dimension entirely

And yet when the free time he had given the students began, Seongje saw it:

Every few minutes, Sieun glanced at him. Not obvious. Not long. But consistently. Enough to be noticeable.

Each glance timed. Like he was counting something. Watching for a pattern. Studying him. Like he was waiting. Or checking. Or maybe just trying to confirm something that hadn’t settled in his mind yet.

Seongje had thought it would irritate him. But instead, he had found himself hoping that Sieun would eventually stand up. Come forward. Say something

Sieun did. Seongje did not see this as a defeat of the resilience that Sieun had shown the entire lecture.
It was a different feeling, seeing the guy after a while. He looked like he had lost some weight. His face still looked the same—no, there was a little difference.

Sieun’s eyes weren’t sad anymore.

They no longer looked borrowed from someone half-alive, half-gone.

Now they were angry — sharp, restless, active with questions.

Not a wanderer’s gaze anymore.

Sieun’s eyes were unmistakably alive.

Seongje yawned as he wandered deeper into the library, aimless and mildly annoyed now snapped out of his thoughts about what he had seen in the lecture hall. He definitely needed coffee and could use a book to read later if he had the time to. Seongje used to be an avid reader once.

His finger drifted across the spines.
“Norwegian Wood… too melancholic,” he mumbled.
“The Catcher in the Rye… angsty, but honest.”
“The Stranger… detached psychopath.”
“No Longer Human… fuck, that one cuts deep.”
“The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle… worth it, but no way I’m sitting through that again.”
“The Mezzanine… weirdly brilliant, I guess.”

He paused mid-step, glancing at his phone as a notification popped up.

Baekjin ―
So how was it? The gift — surprised?

Seongje ―
You could’ve told me instead of making me teach for two hours straight.

Baekjin ―
That wouldn’t have been fun. Take it as revision.

Seongje ―
Don’t let me catch you, I’ll kill you.
Where are you anyway? I don’t see you here or your little gremlin juniors that orbit around you

Baekjin ―
Jealous much?
At the orphanage. Work.
I’ll come tomorrow. Don't miss me.

Seongje scoffed and shook his head. He knew exactly what Baekjin was doing at the orphanage, even if he didn’t say much about it.

Another text buzzed in.

Beom Seok ―
Sorry if I’m disturbing you, but you won’t believe who I saw here!

Seongje sighed. He didn’t need to reply immediately, but he did anyway.

Seongje ―
Who? This better be important.

Beom Seok ―
+1 image
Seo Juntae. You told me about him — he was in those photos. I asked a senior. It’s him, right?

Seongje smirked. Two out of four. So the whole gang survived high school. He had expected so.

Seongje:
It’s him. Up to you if you want to interact. Be careful.
Any trouble otherwise?

Beom Seok ―
All good hyung. Seniors are nice.
I got excluded from some “freshers ritual” thing.
They said “This kid’s under Wolf. Leave him.”
Who’s Wolf? Is that you?

Seongje clenched his jaw. He did not like people bringing up things he no longer spoke about.

Seongje ―
It’s nobody.
As long as no one bothers you, it's fine.
I also changed my mind on one thing I said yesterday, you can go and meet Baekjin.

He clicked his phone shut with a tired exhale and reached for another book when —

CRACK.

His shoulder slammed into the side of a rollaway ladder.

“Ah — what the shit —?”

Before he could even look up properly —

THWAP.

A book smacked him square on the head.

“What the —?!”

THUMP.

A second one followed. Thicker. Angrier.

“FUCKING WHO— ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”

Seongje dropped into a crouch on instinct, glasses sliding off his face. One hand flew up to shield his head, the other fumbling along the cold floor for his frames.

Somewhere above, a panicked voice called out:

“Oh my god! Shit — are you okay?! I didn’t mean to — shit —”

But Seongje was already cursing, his scalp throbbing, hands still blindly patting the ground.
“DO I LOOK OKAY? Who the fuck — I’ll kill you seriously if you get down that ladder and try to run away.”

And then came the scraping. The unmistakable creak of the ladder shifting. Seongje had kicked the ladder leg in a sudden anger reflex trying to make sure whoever was on it wouldn't run away. Seongje had also done so without any thought and realised just a second later.

He didn’t look up — he didn’t need to. Something was falling.

No, someone.

A body. Right above him.

His brain, which hadn’t done trajectory math in a while, suddenly snapped into gear like old muscle memory. The angle. The height. The weight — about 65, maybe 70 kilos, falling from above average bookshelf height. Compact build. Roughly 164 centimeters tall. Too fast.

Before he even realized, he threw one arm out behind him to cushion the fall.

THUD.

A weight slammed into his thigh — someone’s back — while a head dropped into his open palm on the floor.

Seongje froze.

Silence.

“OW — fuck — my back —” the person groaned, twisted awkwardly across his lap in moderate shock.

Seongje blinked down as he retrieved his glasses and wore them, still trying to register what the hell had just happened.

“What the — who —” he squinted, eyes adjusting.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned. “It’s you?!”

Sieun’s face stared up at him in horror, half-laying across Seongje’s thigh, one hand clutching at his ribs.

“You kicked the ladder! Are you crazy?” Sieun almost yelled, slamming his elbow into Seongje’s chest, who caught it with his unoccupied hand.

“I got hit in the head with two fucking books, you moron! Don’t pick up things you cannot handle!”

“You kicked it!” Sieun repeated.

“It was a reflex! Because you and your aims tried to kill me! TWICE! First that stupid flower pot on the rooftop remember? and now this!” Seongje said in an accusatory tone.

“I SAID SORRY!”

“THAT DOESN’T UN-FUCK MY SKULL!”

Sieun groaned, rolling sideways a bit, still half-draped across Seongje. “God — my spine —”

“I hope it’s shattered. If not, I can do so right now,” Seongje grumbled, still rubbing his head. “There are 9 branch libraries and one central library and yet I see you in the same one as me?” Seongje said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“If you are trying to implicate that I was following you, then you wish. I could say the same for you as well.” Sieun finally sat up properly, shifting off of him. “And you didn’t catch me properly. I landed on you.”

“I was trying to find my glasses, not deliver a bridal catch. Also, you should maybe shut the fuck up. You fell like a sack of potatoes. The least you could do is say thanks I broke your fall. The ladder kick was a casual mistake. You’ll live, newbie,” Seongje said.

“Who casually kicks a fucking ladder without checking who’s on it?!”

“I didn’t know anyone was up there, dumbass!”

Seongje looked at Sieun as Sieun looked back at him as both of them could easily tell Seongje was lying.

“God. I should’ve landed on your face,” Sieun growled, glaring.

“You almost did. My life flashed before my eyes, and it was just me, getting crushed to death by an idiot,” Seongje said.

Sieun gasped, scandalized. “Did you just call me an idiot?! You’re the idiot if there is one here!”

“If the shoe fits. And by the way, you're heavier than you look.” Seongje smirked.

“You’re un-fucking-believable,” Sieun said as he realised that Seongje was definitely okay if he was able to joke around.

“And you’re ungrateful,” Seongje huffed, finally pushing himself away from Sieun. “I just saved your precious little head from smashing open on university tiles. That hand placement? Reflex, baby. Protective instinct. You’re welcome.”

Sieun gawked at him. “Ungrateful?! YOU KICKED THE LADDER. YOU MADE ME FALL.”

“And yet,” Seongje drawled, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder, “Here you are. Fully intact. Back barely bruised. Dignity only mildly shattered. And all thanks to yours truly. You can stop repeating the ladder crap now.”

Sieun narrowed his eyes. “You arrogant bastard.”

“I am kind of amazing, aren’t I?” Seongje smirked, leaning in slightly. “Got reflexes like a cat. Legs of steel. Excellent thigh cushioning, clearly.”

Sieun stared at him. “What is wrong with you?”

“Probably a concussion. Thanks to you.” Seongje chuckled.

Seongje watched how Sieun got up from the floor and collected his books, didn’t even offer Seongje a hand. “Ouch,” he thought, as Sieun looked at him with an almost expressionless face, his eyes looking right at Seongje, sharp and serious.

“I would really not like to see your face again today,” Sieun said quietly as he walked off.

Seongje got up and put his hands in his hoodie, amused.

"Awww, sweet cheeks is mad ? This is going to be fun. I like this,” he muttered to himself as he walked away, a different direction from Sieun.

Hopefully.

 

━━━━━━━━━

Sieun didn’t run into Seongje for the next few hours. Physics and his Programming lecture went well. He thought maybe if it meant just seeing Seongje for just an hour the next few days, he could manage like he did today. It was terrible .

He got out of the lecture hall, debating where he should go and eat. The group chat was alive again with Baku, Gotak, and Juntae discussing things they could order for dinner, an argument about whether there were more discounted prices on Baemin or Yogiyo and pictures of fried chicken being spammed all over.

There was a message from Suho as well. Sieun tapped on it quickly.

Suho ―

Do you want me to pick you up from university today? I have some work so I’ll be going the same way.

Sieun ―

Sure. What work? Do you need help?

Suho ―

Just some new equipment for the café. I need to go and place an order. I’ll pick you up close to 5 p.m. Will you be done by then?

Sieun ―

Yes. I don’t have a lab class today, so it’s okay.

Sieun was technically going to be free much before 5, but he did not want to disturb Suho if he was working. He sighed as he decided to go to the washroom once before heading toward the cafeteria. As he looked around, he noticed a suspicious number of kids holding colorful sticky notes. Maybe some crappy orientation event, he thought as he disappeared into the nearest washroom to wash his hands.

The water was cold. Maybe a few minutes longer and his hands would go numb. He looked up at himself in the mirror as his hands stooped under the water, suddenly looking at someone looking right at him, leaning against one of the cubicles, as if he was surprised to see Sieun there as well.

Keum Seongje. Again.

The last time they’d met in a washroom setting, it was the first time they had met. They had fought that day. Sieun looked down at his hands and looked back at Seongje, looking right at him through the mirror.

The three-second rule. Sieun remembered.

1 … Sieun didn’t look away.

2 … Seongje wasn’t leaning against the cubicle anymore.

3 … Both of them were looking at each other — Sieun out of sudden curiosity, Seongje out of mere amusement.

“You haven’t changed. You still won’t look away you asshole,” Seongje muttered, shaking his head.

“No,” Sieun said, his tone cold, his hand hovering near his pocket. His pen was safe; he could use it, he chose not to.

“Time is up. Three seconds. I have to break something now,” Seongje said, his tone mocking.

“You’re fucking deranged,” Sieun snapped. “Still on with your stupid rule—”

Seongje lunged.

Sieun barely ducked in time. The punch whistled past his jaw. He retaliated fast with a tight elbow to Seongje’s ribs, but Seongje twisted away, grabbing Sieun’s shirt collar and slamming him back-first into the tiled wall.

The impact was felt with a smack from behind the wall.

Sieun’s foot came up fast — a brutal kick to Seongje’s thigh, forcing him back with a grunt.

“Fuck,” Seongje hissed. “That actually hurt, you little bastard.”

“Get used to it if you want to pick random fights with me,” Sieun spat, already charging again.

They collided — fists flying, jabs exchanged. Seongje ducked under a punch, smirking. He grabbed Sieun by the back of the neck and threw him across the narrow space. Sieun’s shoulder smacked hard against the closed washroom door as he had tried to jab Seongje with his shoulder in retaliation but Seongje was faster this time.

“Not bad. You actually thought you could pull that stupid shoulder move on me again?”

Sieun eyes quickly went towards the first cubicle and back at Seongje who had followed his line of sight and clapped his hands slowly

“You want to throw me into that cubicle? Then do what?” Seongje said with a wild grin. “Maybe I should let you. It’s sexy when you’re violent.”

Sieun came back without hesitation — threw a sharp left hook, followed by a feint and a clean knee into Seongje’s stomach. Seongje stumbled back, hitting the edge of the sink, laughing through clenched teeth.

“God, you’re mad. This is fun, Yeon Sieun. Fighting with you. Just look at the state of you,” Seongje said, pointing at the mirror dramatically. He was enjoying this a little too much, and it annoyed Sieun.

“Shut the fuck up,” Sieun tsked, swinging again.

Seongje blocked, but the impact still knocked him sideways. He darted low, grabbing Sieun by the waist, and tackled him down to the floor. They hit the ground with a thud, limbs scrambling for control, fists grabbing sleeves, shoving elbows away.

Sieun ended up on top, knee pressed into Seongje’s abdomen, hand fisted in the collar of his shirt.

“Stay the fuck down,” Sieun snapped, panting lightly, landing a light slap across Seongje’s face.

“Damn, newbie. If you’re gonna ride me like that, at least buy me dinner first or let me take you on a date,” Seongje said, grinning up at him.

Sieun punched the tile next to his head.

“You’re disgusting.”

“You’re the one straddling me in a public washroom,” Seongje said, eyes gleaming. “Honestly? I’m kind of flattered.”

Sieun went to punch again, but Seongje caught his fist midway and rolled them over in a clean, practiced move. He was faster, heavier in the moment, pinning Sieun with a forearm across the chest.

“Imagine if someone walks in and sees this. How exciting. Do you think they’ll report us?” he asked with a smug smile.

“Reported? I’d rather get expelled than hear one more thing out of your fucked-up mouth,” Sieun snapped, teeth clenched, trying to twist out from under him.

“Aw, I think you like my mouth,” Seongje teased, lowering his voice. “You keep reacting to it. You’re no stranger to it,” he added, looking down at Sieun.

A little too close. Very close.

Sieun could feel it again — the ping-pong sensation in his head, the pulse moving right back to his fingertips, waking him up.

Sieun kneed Seongje again — a little lower this time.

A student stepped in suddenly and looked at them from the door, staring.

“What’s up? You want to join as well?” Seongje waved, still on top of Sieun.

Seongje waved. The audacity, Sieun thought.

“Nope,” the student said, turning around in surrender and quickly walking out, closing the door behind him.

Seongje hissed and rolled off with a laugh.

Sieun scrambled to his feet, panting. Face slightly flushed, he watched Seongje rolling down his sleeves. Clothes wrinkled. The energy was still thrumming like they hadn’t finished something.

There was no winner in this fight.

“This was good. Let’s do it again sometime,” Seongje chuckled, whistling as he dug his hands into his pockets.

Sieun didn’t reply as he picked up his bag and fixed his hair. He just walked out first, shoulders tight.

Lunch sounded like an even better idea now. Sieun walked with fast-paced steps toward the student centre on the first floor, heading for the main cafeteria instead of the one in the engineering building. He occasionally pressed his arm, taking out his phone and looking at his timetable again. He still had time to go to the library and check out the on-campus stores before Suho picked him up.

Sieun glanced at the cafeteria line once and then back at his phone as he joined the queue, clearing his messages. He noticed some more kids nearby with post-it notes, whispering among themselves.

“Your meal ticket?” a lady asked.

Sieun blinked at her, realizing too late that he had walked past the payment kiosk and joined the line directly.

“Sorry, I forgot. Can I do it here? I’ll tap the card,” he said, reaching into his pocket for his university card. It wasn’t there. He slung his bag off his shoulder and looked inside, the students behind him waiting impatiently.

“I’m sorry, if it’s going to take time I’ll have to ask you to step aside and rejoin the line,” the lady said.

Sieun nodded, slightly embarrassed, and began to step out of the queue. Just then, a hand lightly pressed against his back, nudging him forward again.

“Two tickets. I’ll tap here,” came the voice behind him.

Sieun didn’t need to turn around. He knew the source of the voice. Keum Seongje.

Of course.
He was close. Too close.

Sieun felt the space behind him evaporate. His spine stiffened.

Seongje tapped his S-card on the screen without hesitation and looked over the meal options.

“I don’t need you to pay for me,” Sieun said, his tone clipped.

“I’m not. I want two meals. You’re a decoy,” Seongje replied, tapping on the special meal without so much as looking at him.

That’s ₩10,000,” the lady said.

Sieun caught a glimpse of the balance being deducted from a card loaded with ₩400,000.

“That’s a lot for one card,” muttered someone behind them.

“Move ahead. You’re holding up the line, Newbie,” Seongje said. His hand landed on Sieun’s shoulder again, firm and uninvited, practically maneuvering him forward like a shopping cart.

Sieun flinched.

“Don’t touch me,” he said out loud enough for only Seongje to hear.

“Or what?” Seongje replied, voice lazy. He was so close Sieun could feel the words brush past his ear. It sent a shiver up his back. He felt a small tug at his shirt collar from behind and a crackling noise.

“I’ll scream,” Sieun said, knowing full well he couldn’t. Not here. Not with this many people around. And especially not in front of Seongje.

“Please do. I would love to hear it,” Seongje chuckled.

That laugh again.

Too close. He was always too close. Didn’t this guy believe in personal space?

“This looks good,” Seongje said, picking up a tray, still standing a little too close and nudging Sieun toward the C Corner.

“The stew set was okay,” Sieun said quietly, trying to pretend his hand didn't have light goosebumps.

“The stew set was okay,” Seongje mimicked in a high-pitched voice. “Shut up and eat properly. What the hell? After all that cardio in the washroom all you can think of is rice, stew, and fucking bibimbap? You should eat some meat.”

Seongje sounded annoyed now.

Sieun turned to leave. “I need to go find my S-card.”

“No need. It’s with me you dropped it in the washroom,” Seongje replied, maddeningly calm.

“Give it back.”

“Eat first, Newbie. Don’t piss me off or I’ll dunk your head with one of these trays. I’m serious.” His voice didn’t rise the tone still the same.

Seongje spun him forward again, gesturing at the food.

Sieun sighed. Fine.

He spotted a secluded table away from the rush. It looked safe. Quiet. He stepped toward it, only for Seongje to casually pull out the chair and sit.

“I saw it first,” Sieun said.

“I sat first. You snooze, you lose,” Seongje replied, pointing at the chair opposite him.

Sieun stayed standing.

“Fuck you,” Seongje said, not even blinking as he took out Sieun’s card from his pocket and dropped it on the table.

Sieun sat.

They sat quietly for a few minutes. It was unbearable - not sitting with Seongje but the silence that came with it.

“How long have you been assigned as the temp?” Sieun asked, barely glancing up from his tray.

“Three days. Including today,” Seongje replied, as Sieun watched him arrange things in his tray depending on what he was going to eat first. Seongje shook his head before continuing with a pointed tone. “You should ask questions like the other kids. I think I mentioned I don’t like people sitting like duds.”

I did ask. I don’t have too many doubts,” Sieun said flatly.

Do you know how difficult it is to concentrate on anything when people are constantly whispering behind you? I did my best.

Seongje chuckled in disbelief. “You’re ridiculous. You’re gonna go back and search everything up on the internet like a maniac.”

That was the truth.

“You’re mistaken,” Sieun muttered quietly. A lie, but a necessary one. Seongje looked up at him like he had caught the lie, looking at Sieun like he could communicate with him through telepathy.

There was a short silence between them. Seongje’s gaze flicked toward Sieun’s phone screen as it lit up—once, then again. Seongje was sure it was some sort of group chat.

“How’s your little band of friends? Must be around if you’re here,” Seongje said casually. Too casually.

“They’re fine. It’s none of your business,” Sieun replied, guarded, his chopsticks freezing mid-air.

“Ohhh, someone’s protective,” Seongje drawled, a glint in his eye. “You think I’ll find your little group and beat them?”

Sieun immediately put his chopsticks down, looking straight at him.

“You won’t. And if you do, it won’t be good.”

A threat. Sharp. Not a warning.

“Awww, threats and warnings. Cute,” Seongje said with a roll of his eyes, chewing on something, looking unbothered, like he had not taken what Sieun said seriously.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t easy to eat in either.

Why isn’t he saying anything? Should I say something? I should say something or he might say something that I don’t like.

“Why did you take the blame for what happened with Gotak’s knee?” Sieun asked suddenly.

Oh, that?” Seongje leaned back, not missing a beat. “I didn’t take any blame. I was falsely accused. But I handled it quietly. Not my fault your friend Baku is an idiot and thought it was me who did it instead of Baekjin. I’m still offended that he said so, because if it was me, I would’ve snapped Gotak’s leg in half. Baekjin was too kind.”

Baekjin.

Sieun froze for a second. He didn’t know if that name was still important or just history for Seongje. Baekjin was dead. And Seongje had known him.

Do you feel sad that Baekjin is gone? I didn’t see you at his funeral while everyone else was there. Weren’t you his friend?

“Do you know why Baekjin did what he did to Gotak?” Sieun asked carefully, unsure if Seongje would answer—but he did.

“There’s no real reason. Baekjin just had issues with Gotak. And vice versa. Because of… Baku.” He shrugged. “It was a mess I had no interest in, unless they were beating each other up.”

Of course he stayed out of it unless violence was involved. Classic Keum Seongje.

“How’s coma boy?” Seongje asked suddenly.

“You have no right to mention him. I hope you don’t do it again.”

Sieun’s jaw clenched. The way Seongje said it—so casually, like Suho was just a joke or a label, not someone who had lost two years of his life.

“It’s none of your business, actually. But he’s fine,” he replied, measured but cold.
He didn’t want to engage. He remembered how Seongje had shown up outside Suho’s hospital room, uninvited.

Please don’t continue on this topic.

Another pause. The air thickened around them. Sieun found himself watching how Seongje ate—not exactly messy, not polished either. He chewed a bit fast, wiped his mouth on a napkin without thinking. The silver ring on his index finger caught Sieun’s attention.

The ring. The same one some of the Ganghak kids wore—the ones who were part of the Union. Sieun remembered.

There were no bandages on his hands. No bruises, no cuts.

“Does Seongje not fight anymore?”

Has he changed? Is he different now?

Sieun had more questions piling up in his head compared to the one he decided to ask.

“Who’s Nado?” Sieun asked.

Shit. You could have asked something better, but this is important as well.

Seongje paused mid-bite, then gave him a sidelong look. “You’re being really chatty, newbie.”

“You’re the one sitting in front of me,” Sieun shot back without blinking.

"Nado’s in the same year as me. A senior, for you. An asshole with money—that’s the simplest way to describe him,” Seongje said, voice dipped in irritation.

Why does he sound annoyed? Does he not like this Nado?

Seongje could’ve spun a whole dramatic lie about Baekjin but chose not to.

Sieun decided to ask him another question.

“Why were those people outside the diner that day?” Sieun asked.

"There’s no need to say thank you. All of us inside the diner could’ve fought those ten men anyway."

“To kill you. Not literally. Just… put you in a state,” Seongje said, as if that was obvious.

"I know that, you fucking idiot. But why were you around? Why did you come? Do you know why Baekjin called Baku so many times that night?"

“And why did you beat them?”

"It’s not easy to take on ten men together. Did he get hurt? Why didn’t he come upstairs?"

“Because I didn’t like them either. And I was bored,” Seongje said matter-of-factly. “Everyone threw punches that day except me. And that’s no fun.”

"Of course. Violence is a hobby."

Sieun still wondered how bad things between Seongje and Baekjin were that Seongje didn’t join the fight from the Union’s side.

“Plus, I wanted to see if your techniques actually work. Surprise, surprise—they do,” Seongje added, sipping his drink. “But they’re lame. All that effort, always looking around for a tool or object to swing.”

"They work. My techniques have always worked."

Sieun’s jaw tightened. “I still managed to beat you.”

“Yes, you managed to beat me princess,” Seongje said without flinching but his expression was smug. “But don’t gloat. If it weren’t for the spectacles, I would’ve killed you. I’m serious.”

"He’s admitting I beat him? That’s unusual. Keum Seongje of Ganghak would’ve called it a stalemate fight. Princess ? Why can't he call me by my name. This is ridiculous"

Sieun looked at him, startled.

"He is joking. He’s crazy, but not to the extent that he would kill someone."

“Do you know how much I liked that frame? I think I told you that the next time you came to meet me,” Seongje continued.

"The next time—the next time after they had met. The day Seongje kissed him."

Sieun said nothing. The memory burned the back of his throat.

He did not want to talk about this. He wasn’t ready to talk about this… yet.

They sat in silence again.

"Why isn’t he talking? Is he thinking about the… kiss? I don’t want to hear about it."

A guy approached their table with a paper bag and a sheepish look, stopping right beside Seongje.

“I got everything you said, KS sunbae,” the guy said, handing him a paper bag and what looked like a card.

"What is this? Who is he? A friend? KS sunbae sounds ridiculous."

“Good boy. Here, take this,” Seongje said, unzipping his bag and pulling out a few folded sheets. They looked like notes, maybe even mock test answers. Sieun could see the faint handwriting on them.

"Good boy? Did he call everyone like that? What were these papers?"

There was no reason why Sieun should have focused on that word out of the entire conversation Seongje seemed to have with the boy, which Sieun couldn’t quite catch.

“You’ll stay ahead in class. You deserve it,” Seongje added in the end.

The boy looked flustered.

"Was he blushing? Why? They’re just notes."

Sieun watched from the corner of his eye, trying not to look too interested, but curiosity tugged at him.

"What was this going on? Why was the guy still standing here? Did he want something else? Does he want to sit here? Will he take Seongje with him?"

Sieun, busy in his assumptions, did not notice the guy leave. As he left, Seongje snapped his fingers sharply.

“Here,” he said, sliding the paper bag toward Sieun.

Sieun looked at him, startled, and took the paper bag without a word.

"What is this? Is this for me?"

Inside the paper bag, there were Salonpas pain relief patches, analgesic cream, mini menthol herbal patches, a small sealed hot pack, and muscle relaxant pills—still in the pharmacy seal.

He liked the small scented patches.

Sieun’s fingers brushed over the packaging. The smell of menthol already leaked faintly through the plastic.

This was for him?

“You’ve fucked your back twice today,” Seongje said, his expression unreadable. “Use it if you want. Or don’t. I don’t really care.”

And with that, he stood up with his tray and walked away—hands in his pockets.

"Wait—is he just going to leave like that? Shouldn’t I pay him?"

Sieun sat there, staring into the bag, unsure if he wanted to scream or laugh or throw the bag at Seongje. His back did hurt.

I should use these. I shouldn’t use these. I should use these.

Sieun’s brain went back into the state of throwing things back and forth. This was the second or third time this was happening that day. This was wrong.

"I won’t say thank you. Maybe I’ll ask him a question in class tomorrow instead."

Just as Sieun was about to get up, two kids came up to him. One was holding a string of post-it notes, the other a bundle of ruled pages. Sieun had seen a few kids roaming around earlier with the same setup—he had figured it was some ridiculous activity for first-years.

“First year?” one of the guys asked.

Sieun nodded slowly, rising to his feet.

“Pick one or two,” the other said, glancing at his watch like he was running out of patience.

“I don’t want to,” Sieun replied, polite but firm.

The two looked up from their sheets. “You don’t have an option,” they said in unison.

Sieun let out a short sigh. Maybe picking one would make them leave.

“Option two,” he said flatly.

The guy immediately checked something off on his page and handed Sieun a yellow post-it with a time scribbled on it.

“Excuse me?” Sieun asked, brow furrowed.

“Option one is getting signatures from thirty seniors. Option two is a dare,” the guy said, matter-of-fact. “You picked two. Report at the time on the back stairwell of 301.”

“I’m not doing this,” Sieun said, voice harder now.

“Don’t care. You’re fucked if you refuse. Take it up with the seniors if you have an issue or want to change your option,” the second guy replied without looking at him again.

They walked away before he could say anything else.

Sieun looked down at the sticky note in his hand. 4:30 p.m.

What the hell was this crap?

He slipped the note into his pocket, exhaling sharply as he glanced at the time. There was still some time left. He wasn’t going to be part of this idiocy. He just wanted to go home. Suho was going to pick him up later, and then he could eat something, pass out, and forget the entire day happened.

━━━━━━━━━

Seongje, after moving slightly away from the ever-chaotic high school life and the Union, realized that he didn’t mind spending a small part of his time with like-minded people—academically like-minded people.

It felt different at first, just focusing on books and other things. Things not related to fighting. But surprisingly, Seongje seemed to fit in well. He even liked it a little. He kept to himself most of the time, did things on his own, got back to books, leaned into competition, and relished not being disturbed. It was a sharp contrast from his final years in Ganghak. Back then, he had somehow managed to keep his grades excellent, but he was never able to study the way he used to before the Union had consumed him.

Now, he welcomed peaceful situations. Quiet days where no one pissed him off. And even when someone did, he didn’t lash out like before. Well, maybe once or twice during the first year, but that was it.

In some strange way, it felt like he and Baekjin had swapped lives. Or at least settled into routines they would’ve liked back in high school if the Union hadn't wrecked everything. Seongje now had his own space, unnoticed and unbothered. Baekjin, on the other hand, had people in his space, still at a distance but constantly around him. They asked for help, struck up conversation, and tried to connect. The roles had flipped, and it worked.

It was weird at first, looking at himself in the mirror doing something so different. Seongje from Ganghak would’ve laughed his ass off. Probably would’ve called him a pussy for this. People don’t change overnight, though. Seongje had lived off adrenaline rushes and street fights since middle school. Dropping all of that wasn’t easy. So instead, he redirected it. Choose to learn something new. Something that, if needed, could enhance his fighting in theory. But only in theory.

He threw himself into things like hackathons. He liked the atmosphere and the built-in tension. Once, he’d even won as a ghost under someone else’s name. Winning on behalf of someone else wasn’t a bad deal when you were bored. He participated in gaming tournaments too. He enjoyed it more than he expected. Not just the games, but rewriting backend code, messing with ping balancing, and rigging the system to give certain teams an advantage for fun or for cash. Sometimes, he planted bugs in the systems just to piss people off... and then fixed them like a hero. Classic.

He still went to bars. Still drifted once in a while. Anything to feel the rush. In the beginning, it was a regular thing — a fix. But slowly, he began pulling back. Some months, he was so deep into his studies, so consumed by credits and lectures and outpacing the curve, that he didn’t need the adrenaline anymore.

What surprised him most were the other things. The things he did were good. Not just different, but decent. Things he wouldn't have expected from himself. Not even a year ago.

And yet, in his own defense, he had legitimate reasons. It wasn’t softness, like Baekjin occasionally teased him about. 

Seongje yawned, stretching his arm slightly as he slouched in his chair, eyes dull from hours of code.

He spent part of his week at the SNU GameDev Club. It was something he had picked up during first year and decided to continue in his second. No, he didn’t really talk much with the other kids. Only when he had to.

Unfortunately, he was now very close to breaking that cycle.

He glanced up at the three guys seated nearby, who were doing everything except working on the code they were supposed to test. The guy directly in front of him had been stifling his laughter for several minutes now, phone screen hidden behind his palm.

Seongje exhaled flatly.

“What’s so funny?”

The guy jumped slightly, caught off guard, and then grinned as the guy next to him leaned over.

“Oh, I thought you’d know. Why aren’t you watching this? Everyone is.”

He pointed to a few other club members across the room, all hunched over their phones instead of their laptops.

“They’re broadcasting a hazing ritual in one of the Kakao group chats. You have to pay to get in. Here, look.”

He tilted his phone so Seongje could see.

Hazing ritual.

It wasn’t officially allowed on campus, but it still happened — just under new branding.

“Senior-junior bonding time,” they called it.

Bullshit, all of it.

Seongje clicked his tongue.

“Second years of which department are being hazed? I assume it’s the third or fourth years doing it?”

He went back to typing on his laptop, already bored, but he could feel the guy staring at him.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” he sighed.

The guy blinked.

“What are you even saying? You’re always in your own busy world. Do you even keep up with anything? It’s the first years being hazed by the third years. Obviously. You know—just some fun with the new batch of kids.”

Seongje stopped typing.

First years? Today?

Third years? That to alone? 

He whipped his head up, snatched the guy’s phone out of his hand, and looked at the broadcast.

First years. He recognized a few faces from the lecture he had taught that morning.

Where the fuck is Yeon Sieun?

It was a question Seongje immediately had, yes he had seen the guy enough number of times already in the last few hours but he was still curious.

“We were supposed to do this with the third years,” he muttered. “That was the deal, wasn’t it? And a week later at that. It’s only day two.”

The guy shrugged.

“Look, man, I don’t know. All I’m saying is, they’re not going hard on the kids. Just some teasing. Chill, yeah?”

But Seongje was already closing his laptop with a sharp slam. He got up and walked out, ignoring whatever the guys behind him were still saying.

He tapped at his phone and dialed Baekjin.

“What?” came the voice on the other end.

“You didn’t tell me the hazing ritual was today.”

“I didn’t know either,” Baekjin replied lazily. “I just saw the broadcast in some group chat. Relax, they’re doing it during the day, so they won’t go hard. Just some teasing.”

“You’re ridiculous, you know,” Seongje said, leaning against a corridor wall.

“I’m not. You are. You’ve changed a little too much.” Baekjin chuckled. “Go and watch. Enjoy. It’s good entertainment. Anyway, lucky for you, thanks to me , we didn’t get hazed last year.”

"Because of you? It was because of me", Seongje retorted

There was a pause.

Then Baekjin spoke again, his voice sly,

“You’re bothered that you didn’t get to haze Eunjang, or you’re worried that he’s going to get hazed?”

“Oh, fuck off, you—” Seongje growled, dragging a hand down his face.

He looked around the hallway, irritated at himself. He didn’t even know why he got up and left in the first place. He wasn’t bothered . This wasn’t his business. It wasn’t funny, either. He knew how this worked.

It’s always brushed off as jokes and games. Until someone ends up getting messed up.

He remembered his first year. How the other kids got hazed, that to after university hours, cornered everywhere - it wasn't even remotely friendly. Neither him or Baekjin had gotten hazed though. Nobody also said anything about those who did.

Because it was tradition.

Yeah, he was disappointed. Because second years should’ve been involved. This is what was agreed upon.

But that wasn’t the whole reason.

He was curious .

To see if Sieun would give in.

And strangely — fuck, this was getting annoying — he was also worried .

Because this isn’t like Eunjang or the Union street fights.

This is a university with cameras . You don’t get to stab someone with a pen and walk away here.

You get expelled. Or arrested.

And that would be no fun. Who the hell would he fight with and annoy, then? Had Yeon Sieun already found the chit he had stuck with his number under his collar in the cafeteria queue?

Seongje looked at a video being circulated in a close group chat as he paid to view it and recognized the location even though the video was taken in a less light setting on purpose. It was the back staircase of the older engineering building 301, the stairwell was susually used by seniors to loiter around no many knew of it though unless they were told. 

"Should I have some fun with these old brats?", Seongje mumbled to himself as he tapped his fingers against the wall - the pulsing sensation of adrenaline creeping in slowly. 

━━━━━━━━━

The stairwell next to the old annex at the back of 301 felt like it belonged in another era. Its gray concrete walls were chipped, the emergency lights flickered overhead, and the metal railing shook under your grip. The building would go under renovation soon. Students rarely used it unless they were sneaking between buildings or cutting across unnoticed—something Sieun had read when he’d done his research on the university.

Sieun stepped onto the landing between the second and third floors, his hands shoved into his pockets. The air was damp, and the murmur of voices drifted from the narrow hallway to the right, toward the small room no one talked about but everyone seemed to know existed. This was where he had been told to come.

He turned the corner. It looked like shit—an old storage space turned into a makeshift den.

Inside the room, several third-year seniors were lounging around. Two sat on upturned boxes. Another leaned against an old metal filing cabinet. A couple sat off to the side, looking smug. Someone had drawn a smiley face on the door with correction tape—half of it was peeled off. Some seniors leaned against the wall. One rolled a cigarette. Two snickered while scrolling through their phones. A girl was trying to play some ridiculous autotune song through a speaker.

In front of them stood a line of first-years. Some held crumpled instruction sheets. Others clutched lists of names. These were the ones who had chosen “Option 1”—get signatures from third-years by running errands, answering late-night calls, or just doing humiliating tasks for a week. Sieun figured that much from a quick glance.

A guy chewing gum like a cow squinted at him. “You— you here for Option 1 or Option 2?”

Sieun stared blankly. “Neither.”

The room fell quiet for a second. Then someone snorted.

“What?” A guy scrolling on his phone looked up.

“Listen, you,” another guy said coolly, pushing up his round glasses with one finger, “either you run around like a good little puppy and collect signatures, or you take a dare like you’ve actually got a spine. And you’re fucking standing here for what now? Neither? You lost, kid?”

“I said neither. I’m not here to collect autographs or eat dirt for your entertainment. You can call it bonding or tradition or whatever the fuck, but it’s a waste of my time,” Sieun replied, still standing his ground.

A few snorts followed. One of the girls—a sharp-faced one with a chain necklace—muttered, “Oh, he’s got a mouth on him.”

“Ohhh, we got a tough guy.” A senior stood up from behind, walked straight toward him, and tapped him on the forehead, his chains clinking as he did. “You think you’re too good to play along, kid?”

“Don’t touch me,” Sieun said, glaring at the guy.

“Or what? Try not to bruise your ego, baby freshman. We’re all friends here. Just pick one—”

He poked him again, harder this time.

Sieun didn’t flinch or glare the second time. Instead, he calmly pulled a sticky note from his back pocket—the exact same yellow one they’d been sticking on first-years to assign their roles—and smacked it right on the guy’s forehead, shoving him slightly in the process.

Everyone was looking at him now, first- and third-years alike.

“Congratulations,” Sieun said dryly, pointing at the post-it on the guy’s forehead. “Another accessory for you. It suits you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” someone shouted. “You little prick! You think this is a fucking joke?”

Two guys moved forward toward the exit, shoving the plastic table between them aside. The guy with the sticky note ripped it off and crumpled it in his hand, his face red.

“You don’t get to talk like that here, junior.” Before anyone could react, another senior came stomping over and tried to lower himself onto a box next to Sieun like he was about to “have a word.”

Sieun didn’t wait. He kicked the box out from under him with a single sharp jab of his foot.

CRASH.

The guy landed flat on his ass, groaning, while a couple of first-years stifled their laughter.

“Get the fuck up, dumbass!” someone yelled.

“You little bastard,” the guy hissed, starting to get up.

From the left side, a balled-up ramen menu came flying toward Sieun’s face.

Without flinching, Sieun snatched it mid-air, stepped over to the guy who threw it—and shoved it right into his mouth.

“You like throwing shit? Here. Eat it.”

A chorus of chaos erupted amongst the first years standing there as they whispered amongst each other but stopped when the seniors looked at them.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Sieun. That’s my name. I hope you remember it. And please don’t trouble me. Let’s stay out of each other’s way,” Sieun said, trying to be as calm as he could.

“Motherfucker,” someone growled, slamming their hand on the desk. “Every year there’s always one—one little fuck who thinks he’s invincible.”

“Yeah, like that jackass from last year,” a senior added. “What was his name? Seongje?”

At that, the entire room went still.

A couple of them exchanged glances.

The name landed heavy.

“Keum Seongje,” someone finally muttered.

Sieun tilted his head.

"Why would they mention him? Did he do something? Why are they so quite now?

Nobody said anything else. Nobody wanted to. The silence was loud.

“Well,” one of the girls sneered, “guess we’ve got another legend wannabe.”

Then one of the main seniors leaned forward, grinning like the devil. “Alright. You want to act like a smartass? Then prove it. Finish the dare we give you. Just one. You do it, and nobody here touches you again. Full immunity. You get to walk around like your balls are made of gold.”

Sieun looked at him with a bland expression. “I’m not interested. You’re still offering me a challenge? Are you really that desperate to feel important?”

“Take it or fuck off. But we’ll be around,” the guy snapped.

Sieun stayed quiet for a minute, then shrugged his shoulders. He lifted the cardboard box he had kicked and sat on it, looking at the seniors.

“Fine. Let’s do it.”

 [....]

Seongje knew a few things. Not because he cared, but because he remembered shit he thought he’d never need. Useless trivia—the kind of crap he’d figured out out of boredom. Information he thought he would never use. Guess the time finally fucking came.

Seongje also knew a few other things.

1. He needed a good smoke.
2. The university worked on a zone-based fire and smoke alarm system. The stairwell hadn’t been renovated, so it still had standalone alarms from 2018 that would definitely gush out water since they were connected to the old pipelines.
3. There were no CCTV cameras here, not even a blind corner lens.
4. He hated the smell of sandalwood. It clung onto his clothes.
5. Those idiots calling themselves seniors were absolute amateurs and assholes. Seongje pitied them and their ways. 
6. Yeon Sieun was doing a good job at annoying them back. It was kind of sexy. Seongje had to bite his cheek so as not to laugh out loud. Sieun had guts. Bad attitude. Pretty hands.

Not that he’d ever say the last one out loud.

The best seat in the house wasn’t a seat at all.

Seongje crouched behind a rusted utility panel, just a floor up and wedged into a narrow space between the old maintenance walkway and a half-abandoned AC shaft. Pipes ran alongside him like twisted metal intestines, warm from residual heat, and the smell of mildew hit hard. A dead pigeon lay a few feet away, stiff as plastic.

Good. No one sane came up here.

He leaned his elbows on the crumbling ledge in front of him. Below, through the thick mesh of a busted floor vent that opened directly into the landing outside the 301 annex stairwell, he had a perfect view. The grille wasn’t supposed to be open, but nothing in this section had been touched for a while. The stairwell still had fire alarms running on the old analog system. Real water. No cameras. Plenty of shadows.

Exactly why he’d picked it.

Seongje lit the end of the sandalwood incense stick, watching the flame hiss before fading to smoke. He held it to his nose and flinched.

“Ugh. Fuck sandalwood,” he muttered, rolling his eyes.

He hovered the incense over the broken vent slit. A soft curl of smoke drifted down into the stairwell as he looked down to see a bunch of kids who had grouped up to discuss, whispering viciously to one another.

“Tunnel,” one of them said.

“Too easy,” said another.

"What do you mean "easy"? Don't you remember what happened last year?"

"Let's send him to the rooftop"

"No, that is not good enough we need to punish the guy, creating a scene of him isn't enough"

“We send him in the tunnel, then send people behind him from the other side of the Humanities building. Trap the fucker. Give him a real taste.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Let’s remind this punk what it means to be a junior.”

Seongje nearly gagged.

He shifted his weight, holding the incense a little lower. Smoke flowed like lazy grey ribbons, sliding past the jagged metal lip of the vent. The detector was down there. He could just barely see the crusty red outline of the 2018-era sensor on the ceiling outside the storage room. The thing blinked once. Then again.

He took out a second incense stick from the pocket of his hoodie, already snapped in half, and lit both ends with his lighter.

“Double it,” he muttered. “Let’s see if your pissy little hideout’s sensor still got life in it.”

He looked down again through the vent. He couldn’t see Sieun’s expression, but he was quiet. He had not yet reacted to anything that was being said to him while the dare was narrated. Seongje also heard some of them mock Sieun again.

He waved both sticks through the opening. Smoke began to billow now, swirling faster, catching the upward airflow. The vent almost sighed.

Then, it happened.

Beep.

A red blink.

Beep. Beep.

And then—

WHEEEEEE-WHOP. WHEEEEEE-WHOP. WHEEEEEE-WHOP.

The stairwell erupted in fire alarm shrieks one alarm triggering the other. The old kind. The kind that made your ears ring.

Seongje grinned. “There it is.”

And right after, the real party started.

From the ceiling, the ancient sprinkler system let out a mechanical cough, then exploded.

A solid fucking downpour hit the storage room like God flipped a water bottle. Someone screamed. Phones flew. One of the seniors actually slipped on the cardboard Sieun had been sitting on which collapsed and hit the ground like a sack of kimchi taking Sieun and the senior tripping down on the floor with it.

Seongje bit his knuckle to keep from laughing at the scene.

“Oh my god,” he whispered. “You clowns are fucking soaked.”

Sieun stood up. Seongje still couldn’t see his face through the haze of smoke and water, but he saw the posture. The way he turned slightly, slow, calm, like he already knew it was time to walk the hell out stepping over the cardboard.

Seongje leaned back from the vent, dropped the incense sticks into a paper cup, crushed them with a single twist of his fingers, and shoved them back into his hoodie pocket.

He also saw Sieun look up once at the vent before walking out, his signature expressionless face showing he was trying to figure something out.

Seongje cracked his neck.

“Enjoy the fucking shower,” he muttered looking at the third year students scrambling in panic, he hopped down from the ledge. His shoes hit the floor of the maintenance level with a soft thud as he took the corridor stairs to two floors above, taking the building bridge back into Building 302.

Seongje looked out from the glass window as he saw people from 301 running out, looking at each other, confused as the campus security guards rushed toward the area.

Seongje sighed as he laughed again. It had been a while since he had really laughed at something that had been the result of his own actions.

 

━━━━━━━━━

Sieun was tired. It had been a long day — a long day of too many things that should not have happened.

He wanted to go and sleep. His back was a little better because of the painkillers, but he still needed rest. 

Sieun was glad Suho had come, he was already there infront of the university gates sharp at 5pm, Sieun coming in a few minutes late his shirt slightly wet as Suho looked towards him for an explanation. Suho was angry about the ragging but laughed at the fire alarms anyway. Suho didn't come back upstairs with Sieun - he had "work".

When Sieun got back home, he wasn’t surprised to hear voices from inside the apartment. He was curious, though, to hear a new voice in the house. When he went inside and was warmly greeted by the others, he looked at his watch — 6:30 p.m. — and saw that all of them were sitting in his and Juntae’s apartment.

“Sieun-ah, come sit with us,” Juntae said, as a boy wearing an Eunjang uniform greeted him.

“We were just hearing about what’s going on these days,” Baku said, waving his beer can and calling Sieun over, as Gotak pulled a chair for him.

Sieun nodded and gestured that he would come in a few minutes after freshening up. He disappeared into his room, freshened up, put his phone on charge, and came out quickly, sitting mid-conversation.

“There are a few fights here and there, but it’s manageable.”

“Are they trying to regroup back into the Union?” Baku asked, a slight wave of concern and interest flashing on his face, which Sieun immediately noticed as he caught up on the conversation. Obviously, nobody wanted a repeat of what had happened.

“Not really. There are too many different factions now amongst the schools, which are against each other. Nobody seems to follow the orders that Baekjin left before he—”

The sentence was not completed. Baku set down his beer with a slight slam, not that he meant to. Juntae and Gotak exchanged a look.

Baekjin was still a sensitive topic for Baku to talk about.

“Who was supposed to manage things next?” Gotak asked.

“Hwangmo. Nobody knows where he is. So basically, the new factions that have come up per school are acting on their own will, including us. But Eunjang is keeping a watch on the drama for now.”

“Which school among the five from the disbanded Union has the strongest faction right now?” Juntae asked politely.

"Hyeongshin.”

“What fucking bullshit? Hyeongshin? No way. They can’t be the strongest faction with Yeo Il and Ganghak being there,” Baku said suddenly.

“It’s true. Yeo Il is caught up in internal politics, and Ganghak has been shunned aside. Yoosun is practically useless, and Daehyon no longer listens to Yeo Il.”

“How long has this been happening? That’s surprising,” Gotak said curiously.

“Wasn’t Hyeongshin the school that was cornered by the other schools in the Union after they lost to Eunjang?” Sieun asked, remembering what he had heard and what Juntae had told him about the Union’s politics.

“That’s true. When Humin hyung defeated Hyeongshin, at that time Baekjin — uh, I mean the Union — put Hyeongshin under Ganghak, under Keum Seongje. But apparently, from what has come out after the Union disbanded, that was all Seongje’s plan.”

Sieun, who had been looking down at the table, immediately looked up at the mention of Seongje’s name and found Juntae looking right at him.

“What plan? Everything Hyeongshin did with Eunjang was decided by Baekjin and followed out by Ju Seungjin first. That idiot got kicked out because of whatever he did with Manwol, and then I won against Lee Sehan — gosh, that bastard. What has Keum got to do with this?” Baku asked. Sieun wondered if he was slightly drunk or just suprised to suddenly pick up names of some Union members he barely mentioned.

“Keum Seongje was the one who convinced the Union to use Hyeongshin against Eunjang. He had his personal reasons for it, is what the rumours say.”

“What reasons? I haven’t heard anything like that. We were there too when Ganghak took over Hyeongshin,” Gotak said.

Sieun was slightly more interested in the conversation now than before.

“Lee Gongsam.”

There was silence for almost a minute. Sieun noticed how Baku, Juntae, and Gotak exchanged quick looks with each other, then looked at him, and then at Baku again.

“Oh. I wasn’t aware,” Baku said, nodding.

Sieun found it weird how they were suddenly so quiet. He was also sure he had heard that name before, but he couldn’t remember where.

“Who is that?” Sieun asked suddenly.

“He used to be someone Keum Seongje knew. They went to the same middle school. He’s also called Sam Lee — a name Seongje gave him, which he hates. He said Seongje used to bully him. The rumour is that Seongje suggested Hyeongshin because he knew they wouldn’t win against Eunjang and he could use that opportunity to deal with whatever Gongsam had to say.”

“Oh. I haven’t heard this part before,” Sieun said. “Neither have I met this guy. Wasn’t he there in the final fight?” he asked.

“He was there. You probably didn’t notice,” Gotak said.

“But there were rumours that Gongsam knew you. Everyone had heard about the fight you and Seongje had on the rooftop. They say Keum Seongje disliked you because you reminded him of Lee Gongsam.”

“That’s enough,” Baku said.

“Wait. Let him complete. I want to know,” Sieun said suddenly.

“It’s nothing much worth knowing. Seongje hated people who broke his stupid three-second rule, especially by challenging him to a stare-down when they themselves were slightly scared and unsure of what he would do. You did the same thing. So did Lee Gongsam in some way. That’s it,” Gotak said.

“Anyway, what now?” Juntae asked.

“Everyone initially thought Seongje would take over. Or Hwangmo. Now both are out of the picture. Hwangmo looked like he had no interest in all of this anymore when he was last spotted. And Seongje has been missing since a few days after the big fight. It’s been quite a while. Ganghak assumed Seongje would stay — some of them are still waiting for him.”

“So they don’t know that Seongje is in university? He didn’t tell anyone? He didn’t go back and meet anyone?” Sieun thought.

“Ganghak has been the loyal side, that’s true,” Baku said.

“Ganghak wasn’t able to control Hyeongshin once the Union disbanded and Keum Seongje wasn’t around. He had everything tight and in control when it came to Hyeongshin. But Hyeongshin saw their chance and started revolting and spreading out, gathering more support from their own school. They even ganged up on the Ganghak kids, raided their hideouts and all as well.”

“Ganghak didn’t fight back? Nobody came to help?” Gotak asked.

“No, they did. But it wasn’t enough. Everyone’s separated after the Union broke, and now Hyeongshin wants to prove their dominance. They’ve even taken over the Union’s old information networks.”

“Is Eunjang interfering?” Juntae asked.

“Not really. They don’t trouble us, so we’re not getting into it for now. The chances of the Union forming again look very low because of the separation and the lack of a leader — plus Hyeongshin’s rebellion. The only small outside chance is if Hyeongshin teams up with Choi and his gang, but I don’t think they have it in them.”

“That’s okay. It’s better if Eunjang doesn’t get involved. We chose to be peaceful. We’ll stay that way. There’s no need to help the Ganghak kids — it’s not your fight.”

“Are you sure? What if they are getting — you know — bullied?” Gotak asked, slightly surprised at what Baku was saying. Maybe it was the alcohol.

“You can’t bully Ganghak like that. These must be normal brawls,” Juntae said. Baku agreed.

Keum Seongje of Ganghak would have never allowed the Ganghak kids to be cornered, Sieun thought for a moment.

“Okay, thank you. You’re welcome to come next month and tell me what’s going on if you’re free,” Baku smiled as he got up and guided the boy to the door of the apartment. He waved, showing him the directions to go back downstairs.

“Shit, can you believe Ganghak fell off like that?” Gotak asked in a whisper.

“It is surprising. But what’s even more surprising is that Baku doesn’t want to help them,” Juntae said.

“It is. Eunjang’s whole policy for fighting the Union was to stop the bullying,” Sieun said quietly.

“It’s obvious Baku doesn’t want anything to do with the Union. If Eunjang goes and helps Ganghak, then Baku will be tempted to go and check. And if Hyeongshin has raided the hideouts that even the Union used, then Baku might have to go there as well. He doesn’t want to. He still isn’t over what happened with you-know-who,” Gotak said quickly in a warning tone as he saw Baku coming back.

“You know I can still hear you,” Baku said, crushing his beer can as he went to throw it in the bin.

“I’m going for a walk,” Baku announced.

Sieun suddenly jumped up from his seat as well.

“I’ll go with you. It’s windy outside. It’s a good time to walk,” Sieun said, as Baku nodded.

He looked at Gotak, who was on his phone, and at Juntae, who looked back at him as if he didn’t know what to do with Gotak all alone.

Sieun just smiled — just a little — as he followed Baku out.

“There is a park nearby outside this complex. Let's go there,” Baku said once they reached downstairs.

“Okay, as you say,” Sieun nodded quietly.

“Why did you come along?” Baku asked, looking at Sieun as they walked.

“I had a feeling it wasn’t right to leave you alone right now, and I know I am right,” Sieun said.

“Hmmm,” Baku hummed as they walked towards the complex exit.

“You know, you can say what you want—at times—it’s okay. It’s what Suho says. Keeping everything inside you will kill you. It’ll either consume you or fill so many parts of you that you’ll inflate like a balloon and burst one day or fly away,” Sieun said as he heard Baku chuckle.

“You remember everything Suho says, don’t you?” Baku asked.

“Yes, mostly. Why?” Sieun asked.

“You should have brought him upstairs. He came yesterday as well. He is always welcome, you know?” Baku said, indicating that he had seen Suho drop Sieun off.

“He had work. He said he would come over the weekend if he had time,” Sieun said as he pointed towards a small park that they could see at a close distance. Baku nodded.

“You like him? Suho?” Baku asked, tone direct as he looked at Sieun.

“What—what are you saying? Why would you say so?” Sieun asked, surprised at the question but trying not to overreact.

“I don’t know. He is a nice guy. You care for him, obviously. I, of all people, am no stranger to your concern for him. And he cares too. You both would look good together,” Baku said as they walked into the park.

“I care about him because I know him. He saved me, and I saved him. Well, I tried my best,” Sieun said, pausing.

“He is fine now, and it wasn’t your fault,” Baku said. “He is no longer on the hospital bed. You can actually pursue him,” Baku smiled.

“But I—” Sieun was cut off when Baku spoke again. “I know it is rude to assume, but I don’t think you’re into girls, Sieun. Feel free to correct me or punch me if I am wrong,” Baku said, his tone soft.

They walked in silence for a minute.

“So, you like Suho?” Baku asked again.

“No—I don’t know. I don’t know for now,” Sieun said.

“And about what I said earlier?” Baku asked.

“Yes, about that you are right,” Sieun said as he sighed. Baku brought out his hand and patted his shoulder.

“That is very brave of you to admit, and it’s perfectly normal to like guys. We are all with you. I hope you know that,” Baku said. Sieun had already told Gotak and Juntae at separate times about this. Baku was the last one to know. It felt like a heavy weight had rolled off him.

“How long have you known?” Sieun asked.

“I think I was the first to notice. You barely looked at the girls, never came with me to look out for numbers when I asked you. Neither did you seem interested in the girls I tried to set you up with, so I figured. I also know that you preferred telling Gotak and Juntae first,” Baku said calmly.

“I am sorry. I just thought you were going through a lot,” Sieun said.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind,” Baku said, chuckling.

“What about you?” Sieun asked.

“Me? I haven’t thought much about it, you know? I like being like a free bird, so I have had fun with girls and been interested in a guy too,” Baku said, grinning.

“A guy?” Sieun asked. He already knew the answer to the question.

“Yes, a guy. Only one guy, no more,” Baku said, his voice slightly low.

“Never again?” Sieun asked.

“Never again. There is nobody like him, so no,” Baku said.

"Do you miss him?", Sieun asked 

"I do, is it obvious? It's empty at times you know? The realization that someone who was a part of your life is no more - just gone like the wind", Baku said and Sieun could swear he heard a soft sniffle

“It wasn’t your fault either, you know,” Sieun said. He had already mentioned this to Baku several times.

“I could have saved him,” Baku said, looking down.

“Do you think he wanted to be saved?” Sieun asked as Baku stopped.

“Yes, I am sure. But I ignored it. I was angry,” he paused as he looked at Sieun. “I don’t think I can forgive myself for that. I don't think I had another option either at that time”

“I understand,” Sieun said as they continued walking, Baku walking slightly more closer to him, Sieun allowed it he knew Baku needed to feel someone around him.

“You know, when we were younger, I used to think the orphanage building was his house. He used to get happy when he heard that. Even though I eventually realized, I never told him that I did, I am glad that I didn't,” Baku said.

Sieun had heard that Baekjin had a complicated family history before, but not the entire thing. 

“His father was an abusive asshole, and his mother was hospitalized and on life support. He came to Yeowon—that is where I met him. I thought he was weird at first. Then I heard what some kids used to say about him. He never brought lunch and barely ate. Obviously, Dad has a restaurant, which was operational back then as well, so I used to bring him things to eat. He really didn’t talk to me at first,” Baku said.

“How did he end up at the orphanage?” Sieun asked calmly.

“His mother died and his bastard of a father ran away with the insurance money, so he was left all alone. Then he was registered in the orphanage. I had never seen his house, which is why I thought the orphanage building was his house at first, I saw him the day after his mother died – we were kids but it hurt me as well, seeing someone like that” Baku said, his voice still low.

“That’s sad,” Sieun said.

“Baekjin got bullied really badly at school, you know,” Baku said. Sieun was slightly surprised but registered the information quickly. He had always had the thought that Baekjin had some reason behind being the person he was.

“He was very smart—like very smart—but the teachers at Yeowon messed with him and troubled him, made him do things other than assignments. The kids bullied him after his mom died. They tore up all the notes his mom left him and said really wrong things about him,” Baku said, his voice slightly trembling. Sieun could understand that Baku could probably visualize whatever had happened.

“Did he fight back?” Sieun asked.

“Yes, he was very angry but it wasn’t successful. I taught him to fight after that, you know that part. And then he beat the crap out of those bullies. They went and reported Baekjin and later me to the teachers. The teachers wanted to expel Baekjin,” Baku said.

“That’s too harsh,” Sieun said as he urged Baku to continue.

“He even got expelled, he took the blame for me as well. For three years he was homeschooled at the orphanage. He was very good academically, but he was angry and wanted revenge,” Baku said.

“That is when he got the idea to make the Union?” Sieun asked, and Baku nodded.

“I didn’t say much to him back then because I thought he deserved revenge. He even joined Yeo Il middle school after that, tracked down his abusive father—beat him. I was there as well. He reported him to the police, and I helped him. Then he found his teacher who got him expelled and beat him and got his wedding crashed by some of his new Yeo Il friends and exposed his teacher with a lot of proof he had been collecting. That included the teacher taking bribes, school corruption, sleeping with other women including some students’ mothers and sexually assaulting female students,” Baku said.

“And you were not there?” Sieun asked. He knew that Baku and Baekjin had a very complicated relationship and Baku might not tell him everything but he was still willing to hear.

“No. Once he joined Yeo Il in middle school and I went to Eunjang, we didn’t meet too often. He was very busy, and I met Gotak and he—”

“Hwangmo?” Sieun cut in, and Baku nodded as Sieun watched him scowl lightly.

“You really hate Hwangmo,” Sieun chuckled a little, punching Baku’s shoulder slightly.

“Hmmm. Never liked the guy. An absolute kiss-ass. He is one of the reasons Baekjin kept falling deeper into the Union crap. Hwangmo was an enabler,” Baku said.

“Did you ever try to stop him?” Sieun asked.

“Yes. Before he decided to challenge Manwol, I tried stopping him. But again, that Hwangmo had to butt in and tell Baekjin that just because he had defeated some seniors and had Yeo Il’s backing, he could take down Manwol. And then, obviously, Baekjin took down Manwol and established the Union formally,” Baku said.

“You didn’t talk to him after that?” Sieun asked.

“He did come to me the day they took down Manwol. I was the first person he came to,” Baku said as he smiled a little. Sieun thought maybe somewhere, secretly, Baku was proud of what Baekjin had done. “But I sent him away. I did not want to be a part of his little play-pretend gang. That has always been my stance. You know that,” Baku said, and Sieun nodded in affirmation.

"And you never felt like joining them, I mean joining Baekjin? Not even once - like officially? I am not talking about the few days you did errands for them before the fight" Sieun asked.

"Well, once maybe I did. That was before I heard about their stupid rank fighting system. I'm sure you remember—Hwangmo made Baekjin challenge me to a fight in front of everyone so that he couldn't refuse," Baku said, still sounding bitter.

"And Baekjin won," Sieun said, earning a gasp from Baku. "You are certainly something, you asshole. You didn't even think for a moment? I'm not that fragile of a fighter," Baku said, offended, as he playfully shoved Sieun off the walking footpath but caught him by his sleeve on time. Baku looked at Sieun as his hand was still on his shoulder he looked back momentarily as he pulled out a small paper stuck under Sieun's collar, un - noticed as he closed his fist and retrieved his hand

"So?" Sieun asked.

"Yes, I lost to him. He hurt my arm. His little group of minions cheered for him, everyone was delighted. They left me there. And then Baekjin showed up at the restaurant at night with all kinds of weird medicine," Baku said, rolling his eyes.

Hearing this reminded Sieun of what Seongje had done that morning. It was eerily the same. You don't bring medicine for someone you fight with. You don't help people you fight with.

"Did he visit after that?" Sieun asked.

"He did. I ignored him. Gotak has always been a treat to be around. Gotak told me that I should talk to Baekjin. I did consider, but then he did what he did to Gotak and I just couldn't tolerate him and his ridiculous antics anymore, If I am being honest I couldn't even recognize him, it was weird but I always wondered how he just kept rotting up even more and more and turned out to be the way he was. The change in him from middle school to high school was drastic" Baku said.

"Baekjin really didn't like Gotak till the end," Sieun said, as Baku nodded.

"He tried hurting him at every chance possible, but somewhere I think it was my fault that I fought back with him instead of clearing his misunderstanding," Baku sighed.

"And what was that?" Sieun asked.

"He thought me and Go Hyuntak were dating or something like that. Crazy, isn't it? How does it even make sense?" Baku chuckled.

"So he did this out of jealousy? Is that what you're saying?" Sieun shrugged. He somehow couldn't imagine how a jealous Baekjin was like and jealousy for what exactly? Losing a friend or someone much more – Sieun did not want to make assumptions but he was sure it was the later.

"No. He was provoked actually," Baku snorted. "So smart and yet he fell for stupid tales."

"By who? Hwangmo?" Sieun said, as if he was already expecting the name.

"Keum Seongje," Baku said as he looked at Sieun.

"What? Seriously?" Sieun whipped his head, surprised. Baku himself seemed to have noted his reaction, amused.

"Yes, that lunatic. He turned everything upside down for everyone when he came into the scene," Baku said.

"But why?" Sieun asked. He had already heard a lot but he wasn't still aware of everything.

"Because he was a strong challenger to Baekjin. You know the shutterpatch system the Union had? Seongje wasn't always at fifth," Baku said.

"Then was he at the bottom?" Sieun asked. He had not really paid attention to the shutterpatch system initially when he had joined Eunjang.

"He was number one actually," Baku said. "For a very short period of time, and not many know, but it did happen. Baekjin did everything to make sure he fell off and that nobody came to know of this."

"Why would he do that?" Sieun said. He wasn't offended but he felt bad momentarily. He did not like people being removed from things they had earned just because someone had the power to do it. That applied to anyone, even Seongje.

"Because he could. Seongje came out like a surprise—like a joker in the pack, a dark horse. Baekjin didn't really have time to plan for him at first," Baku said, as Sieun thought that he would ask Juntae about this. Baku stopped walking when his phone rang. Gotak.

"When are you guys coming up? I am hungry. I want to watch the street fight after that. If you come late, I'll lock you outside," Gotak said.

"Lock us—you—just you wait," Baku said, suddenly hyper. Hyper was happy, and happy was normal. Baku was better.

"Whatever. Tell Sieun to come up too. There was a call on your phone from the student desk—there was a voice break. Juntae! Student desk, that is what they said, right?" they heard a yes from Juntae when Baku put the phone on speaker.

"Yes, yes. We are coming," Baku said as he cut the phone. He tugged Sieun’s arm. "Let's go up now."

"You know you can talk to me like this again. I know you have told me this before as well, in bits and pieces, but I will listen," Sieun said. He meant it.

"Thanks. Look at you, making me emotional. You're smart. You too. Don’t hide things from me," Baku said, ruffling Sieun’s hair. Sieun didn’t mind it anymore, as he did before.

They walked back into the complex as Baku spoke about how they should go do more grocery shopping over the weekend. Most of it went over Sieun’s head. He tried to listen but he was also thinking about what Gotak said—student desk? Why would he get a call from them?

Baku stopped, pressed the lift button, and looked back at Sieun.

"You’re not hiding anything from me, are you?" Baku asked, looking down at Sieun as he was taller. Baku still held the piece of paper he retrieved from Sieun's collar, his hands in his pockets.

"No—uh, no," Sieun said quickly, making a cross sign with his hands as Baku grinned and gave him a thumbs up as they got into the lift.

Sieun got out on their floor quickly. He rang the bell to the apartment, and Gotak opened, already holding a piece of fried chicken as he mouthed, "Finally."

"You—why didn't you wait for us?" Baku barged in, tackling Gotak and taking the chicken piece from him. Sieun shut the apartment door behind him as he went towards his room. He already saw Juntae standing there, hands folded, almost as if he had been waiting there.

"Who called—" Sieun asked, as Juntae pulled him by the hand inside his room.

"Come inside," he said, as he looked at Baku and Gotak still arguing and shut the room door slightly behind him.

"Student desk?" Sieun asked, as Juntae handed him his phone but pulled it back as soon as Sieun touched it.

"Keum Seongje," Juntae said, looking at Sieun. Sieun just stood there for a moment as Juntae handed him his phone.

He looked at the phone and saw it:

Missed call from Keum Seongje (1)
Keum Seongje - they might come after you tomorrow don't do what they say and eat the painkiller you look like shit


It took Sieun a moment to realize that Seongje somehow knew about his confrontation with the seniors, they had mentioned him but he wasn't there - so someone either told him or there was something else that was going on which he had to figure out.

"So?" Juntae asked.

Sieun didn't find the need to explain, but again, this was Juntae—his friend—and obviously, if he wanted to know something, he had to tell him what he wanted to.

"IdidntknowbutSeongjegoestoSNUaswell," Sieun said with a huff, as Juntae looked at him confused.

"What did you say? Slow down," he said.

"Keum Seongje is my senior at SNU by a year," Sieun said, as he and Juntae looked at each other dead in the eye. Juntae still looked like he was processing.

There were a few seconds of silence.

"Okay," Juntae said.

"You’re not going to say anything else? Ask me why I didn’t say that I saw Seongje earlier when we were discussing what was going on in Yeongdeungpo?" Sieun asked.

"No. You will tell me on your own when you need to ask me something." Juntae knew him well. Juntae had figured him out.

"Let’s go eat. And student desk—remember, you got a phone call from the student desk," Juntae said, ushering Sieun out of the room.

"All good? Are you in trouble already?" Gotak asked Sieun.

"No, they thought I had misplaced my university card. It wasn't me, it was someone else," Sieun said casually, as he sat down to eat. Gotak nodded and continued talking about a fight he saw at the subway.

Sieun ate. Juntae listened to Gotak with much interest, as always. And Baku watched.

Baku just watched Sieun. He had a chance to see what was written on the small paper chit, a number, the ink slightly smudged but the name still there - a handwriting he vaguely recognized.

Keum Seongje's number. Keum Seongje was around - he didn't know where he was and that made Baku uncomfortable.

"Liar," he mumbled to himself at Sieun's response, helping himself to another fried chicken piece.

━━━━━━━━━

Chapter 4: Margin of Error

Notes:

━ TW : Blood, Death, Gore🩸
━ mentions of characters from the webcomic (added in a way in which non webcomic readers would understand as well). Some parts of the webcomic lore have been edited to match the story plot as well. 💌⚡️
━ I thought it was important to show that Sieun gets scared to at times and all the complex emotions that come with it, he is human after all. 🔓

━ a long chapter (almost 25k? I think.) 🥁

❝No one ever tells you that bravery feels like fear❞
— Mary Kate Teske

[....]

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. Bamjiri 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 Bamjiri? 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.

━━━━━━━━━

Chapter 5: Dingleberry Dipshit

Summary:

━TW - blood, drug overdose, suicide, emotional hysteria. 👻
━ A surprise Juntae side because that is important for the plot. 🤫🔐
let's bring that emotion in 🥲

Notes:

Sorry for the late update. I fell for a tourist scam and some lunatic guy tried to steal my laptop. We scuffled, I hit him with the laptop, and then he threw soda on it and the screen was bust even AppleCare couldn’t save that mess, so I bought a new one.

I honestly don't have much motivation to complete this fanfic even though there is a lot I want to write because people don't seem happy with it ? some said some pretty hurtful things in the comments that I removed for my own good I guess.
But I will still do it since I love writing and it's fun.

Anyways, enjoy the chapter update! 😈🤩
It's around 29.3K words 🥁

❝But I do feel strange – almost unearthly. I'll never get used to being alive. It's a mystery. Always startled to find I survived.❞
— John Steinbeck, Journal of a Novel : The East of Eden Letters.

[....]

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 slighly 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 slighly 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 frustated 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 speedbreaker 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 Soengje 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.

━━━━━━━━━

 

Notes:

That was looooong, I'm glad I could write it again because the draft wasn't saved when the guy tried stealing my laptop.
I don't think the chapter can get longer than this, I initially thought I would split it into two but that would just be weird and break the flow.
The next chapter is going to be fun (I'll split it into two if I can and do a double update on the same day quickly.

For reference – (the concepts)
↳ Bamui Jiri (Bamjiri) - "Geography of the Night", an organised crime group that does dirt jobs and gas several divisions under them.
Such as,
↳ Hwalhak - a recommendation, recruitment based hidden gym made for training fighters professionally or to do dirty jobs or fight for money. Suho goes here secretly and only Juntae knows about it.
↳ Geumhwa - the property scamming and loan shark division that is trying to take Oh Hyun Tae's estate that Beomseok owns now by scamming them into believing that the assemblyman had put it as a collateral asset (Seongje is smart lol)
↳ Bumi - The division that handles drug shipments (You'll see that in the next chapter)
↳ Gorae Bae - "Whale's Belly" An elite fighting rink with high stake fights and bets - the main money earning outlet of Bamui Jiri
↳ Bokhyeol - "belly blood/gut" a vulgar term used for a buffer complex where illegal activities are carried out on different floors while people are made to stay in the floors in between as buffers to avoid raids and suspicions, Juntae - Sieun - Gotak and Baku stay here. The complex isn't actually called "Bokhyeol".

Chapter 6: Table for None

Summary:

━ TW : Blood, Gore, Drugs,🩸

THE SLOW TRANSITION OF FULL BLOWN SJSE STARTS IN THIS CHAPTER 💟
(of course there are comparisons in between, it is slow burn I know, but it will be worth it, I promise I have like 20k just sjse chs in my drafts)

Notes:

OMG 100+ kudos? This was surprising but thank you so much to all the wonderful people who want to read this fic and commented, I am really grateful 🥹🩷
Also special thanks to user @seongjesieun on twt for promoting the fic 💜 (I would literally gift you a chapter if I knew who you were on ao3)

25.8k words ! 🥁
Happy 100k+ words to this ff I guess 🐸
(plot twist ahead :))

— 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐒𝐢𝐞𝐮𝐧'𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭. 😈🥲

❝If you think of someone enough, you're sure to meet them again❞
— Haruki Murakami, Samsa in Love

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 agiain.

“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 sprawled 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 hatered, 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, harsher, 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 garbageprobably 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 slighly 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.

━━━━━━━━━

💌 - 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.

━━━━━━━━━

Notes:

Random TMI, but I wrote this entire thing with, like, five songs on loop:
1. Undressed – Sombr
2. Gabriela – Katseye
3. Can’t Remember to Forget You – Shakira & Rihanna
4. Right Around – Florida & Kesha
5. Heartbeat – Childish Gambino

Chapter 7: Re: Re: Re: Disaster

Summary:

━TW - Blood, Drugs, Suicide 🩸
━ The previous chapter ended on a Saturday (the following chapter shows a timeline of few days)
━ Certain webtoon charecters will be included (it is written in a way that non wb readers can also understand) ✌️
━ Also I am aware that Sieun's parts are more in depth in certain areas, but please trust me that will eventually transition to Seongje and then both of them ❤️

Notes:

41K words ! 🥁 (yes it is a plot building chapter and I seriously didn't know where to split it)
enjoy !!!! 💜

❝— so loved, so absent, so cruelly dead❞
— A.S Byatt, from Possession : A Romance

[....]

Sunday, 3 a.m
──────────

“You go and talk to him”
“Why are you pushing me ahead asshole? You go?”
“Why is he fucking training at this odd hour?”
“He is crazy, he does what he wants, whenever he wants”
“Privlidged bastard has no restrictions on him, no rules”
“Is he on the pill?”
“I think he takes that before the fight?”

Pathetic shadows, four grown men were gawking through glass at another man’s midnight war with metallic weights, their breath fogging little clouds on the pane.

“What the fuck are you idiots doing? I had sent you all to get him, not stand here drooling.”

The four men immediately spun around at the source of the voice. Standing behind them was a fairly tall, almost lanky man. His square glasses were perched perfectly on his nose, dressed casually in black, and his expression was unreadable as he stared down at them.

“Uh… KK, you’re here? We were about to go in and grab him,” one of them said, nudging the guy next to him for backup.

“Yeah… as you can see, he looks busy,” the second man said, pointing at the lone occupant on the other side of the glass door. “We thought we’d let this song finish and then go in.”

“It’s… not good to disturb him, right? He seems… engrossed?” the third said, uncertain, while the fourth guy flailed his hands toward the glass partition, silently begging the man who had sent them here to go in instead of them.

“Can’t do one thing properly. You’ll always stay as lowlifes,” the man in the square glasses said, shaking his head as he walked past them. He opened the glass door, took in the scene for a brief moment, and strode straight to the source of the music. With a swift motion, he switched it off, as the four men watched curiously, mouths slightly open.

“He’s done for.”
“Who? KK?”
“Are you crazy? That guy may not speak much, but people don’t mess with him.”
“People don’t mess with the mutt inside either.”

“What the fuck?”

The guy lifting weights, as if there were no tomorrow, slammed them onto the floor, his body slick with sweat. He glared at the new entrant with pure annoyance.

“You need to step outside. There’s something you need to see,” the man in square glasses said almost bored.

“And? I’m busy. I’ll see what I want later—oh, and who the hell are you? I mean, I know who you are, but what’s your name?” the weightlifter snapped, tossing his hand grips aside.

“Manager, receptionist, patroller, whatever fits. Seokhyeon. That’s my name. You can call me KK,” the man in glasses replied evenly, folding his arms.

“Okay, Seokhyeon. Here’s what you do—”

“You see that door over there? Go outside, close it, and fuck off,” the guy smirked.

Seokhyeon just rolled his eyes, arms still crossed, unbothered.

“Lights go off in five. Come out, Kang Wooyoung. I won’t repeat myself,” he said, turning on his heel and ducking a boxing glove that came flying at his head. 

“What could be so important that you had to disturb me? Can’t you see I’m training? Unlike you, always ass stuck on a table and chair, the entire day—pathetic,” Wooyoung grunted, following Seokhyeon as he collected his stuff. Seokhyeon signaled to the four men to wrap up the gym for the night, maybe morning. It was an odd hour, somewhere in between.

“You’ll know in just a moment,” Seokhyeon said as both men stepped into a lift at the end of the corridor, passing several changing rooms and locked doors.

“Orders from the top?” Wooyoung asked.

“Yes,” Seokhyeon replied, his voice flat, almost robotic.

The lift opened a few seconds later, and a room full of red light blared into their eyes. Neither of them looked down, they were used to it.

Every surface, every shadow, every bead of sweat on Wooyoung's skin and the frames of Seokhyeon's glasses seemed to glow like molten metal. The room was compact and layered, rows of seats hugged the ring at the center, while leather chairs and low couches sat slightly further back, as if the space had been designed for both spectators and conspirators.

Air conditioners hummed overhead, cutting through the heavy scent of sweat, chalk, and fading adrenaline. The canvas of the ring gleamed under the lights, taut and unyielding, ropes taut, echoing faintly with the memory of countless blows.

Behind a dark counter, the bartender moved silently, polishing glasses and rearranging bottles as he looked up at the duo and pointed towards the centre of the ring.

These kind of meetings at Gorae Bae were unusual, the communication from Bamui Jiri to it's arms was usually more singled out rather than holding discussions and meets.

Three men stood leaning against the elastic straps of one of the fighting rings. The bald one was arguing with the smoker, eyes flashing behind his glasses, while the thug-looking man in his colorful shirt stared down at two bodies sprawled on the rubber mat and a pile of twenty, maybe more, lying unconscious to the side.

“Fuck, what happened to you?” Wooyoung asked, glancing at Seokdae. He just shook his head from where he lay on the mat. Beside him, Seoknam groaned, rolling weakly, clearly not in his senses. His stomach had been disinfected and bandaged, but the injuries were obvious to Seokhyeon, who poked his belly.

“What was the damage?”

“See for yourself, KK. All these bastards got fucked by one guy. Imagine,” Gil Soo said.

“Who?”

“You should know who.” Choi snorted, pointing at the heap of men in the corner. He pulled out his phone and showed him a shaky recording: the blur of fists and bodies, until the lens cracked mid-footage.

It was Seongje. Only he could do something like this, he recognized his face in the video. He took pleasure in people’s pain. It had been a while since Seokhyeon had heard his name, even longer since he’d seen him—last time was at Baekjin’s funeral.

“Why was he here? I told you to keep the shipments coming from Oh Hyun Tae’s son.”

“He’s related to him. Brother, cousin, something. This fucker Seongje—he’s seriously messed up in the head. He doesn’t budge. Do you know how much I tried to get him to sell the assemblyman’s house? Nothing. Never happened to me, not once in all my years at Geumwha.” The bald man waved his file, irritated and insulted.

“He didn’t do this alone,” Seokdae croaked, holding his head.

“Who else was there?”

“This fucker is good. Who is he?” Wooyoung asked from behind, replaying the video on Choi’s phone.

“Keum Seongje. He used to be second in line to the Yeongdeungpo Union. If lunacy had a face, it’d be this fucker.” Choi tsked.

“I passed out in the middle, but Seongje called him his ‘boyfriend’? I know who the other guy was—Yeon Sieun. We went to the same middle school.”

At the mention of Sieun’s name, Seokhyeon, Gil Soo, Choi, and Wooyoung all turned, each recognizing it with a different weight. Seokhyeon remembered him for the fall of the Union. Choi remembered him for beating his men to dust when he’d sent them after him at the diner. Wooyoung remembered him for practically smashing his ankle and leaving his leg half-useless. Gil Soo remembered him for almost sending him to jail.

“Both of them are insane. They fought everyone, and I think Seongje took the pills too, the samples Seoknam showed him,” Seokdae said.

Seokhyeon kicked Seoknam’s stomach for the slip, making him groan louder.

“Fucking idiots, all of you,” Gil Soo muttered, then looked at Seokhyeon. “I don’t care what you do, but the drugs need to move from that warehouse to Bumi. My boys need it. If you want us to keep getting recruits from outside for daily fights into Gorae Bae, they need pills to fight and bring them in, they're not doing this sober.”

“I need my pills as well. Not that I can’t fight the shitheads he brings without them, but still, don't know what would happen to the other Gorae Bae fighters ranked below me.” Wooyoung pointed at Gil Soo, then glanced at Seokhyeon, who was staring at Choi.

"What is Bamui Jiri's stance on this? You're closest to the bosses amongst all of us", Seokhyeon asked 

"Those managing and their funders have been informed of the altercation at Midnight Scene, they don't think much of it at the moment, but they will intervene if the drug supply stops so I have come to look into the matter beforehand", Choi said.

"Look Yeon Sieun is still grabbing people's legs to attack them, he did this to me as well, you too right? - I have a counterattack for this now", Wooyoung said as he swiped the footage forward showing Sieun fighting.

“Do we bring Keum in?” Choi asked Seokhyeon.

“Seongje is not the type of person you can just drag in. He comes and goes wherever he wants, as he wishes, and if he’s covering for Oh Beomseok, it’s natural that he’ll eventually get curious about other things,” Seokhyeon said.

“So?” Choi pressed.

He muttered to himself, his gaze fixed on the bald broker from Geumwha. "Seongje’s a nosy bastard. If he found out about Bumi, he’ll want to know about the other hands of Bamui Jiri. That’s not a problem. But if he needs to be made to fall in line, he has to come to us. He won’t—he’ll try figuring it out through other sources. Which is why we have to eliminate the source itself, because attacking people near him isn't a good idea to bring him in.".

“You have a list of all the tenants living in Bokhyeol, right?”

“Yes. Geumwha keeps records. Why?”

“Last I checked, maybe a year ago, I asked you to rent out a flat for a guy I knew, right?”

“Yes. He’s still there from what I know. What does that have to do with anything?”

“It has everything to do with this,” Seokhyeon said, looking at Choi and the bald broker. “The guy staying at Bokhyeol was one of Seongje’s classmates at Ganghak. He was in charge of Shuttle Patch and managed Seongje’s information network as well. That network is the source line that has to be cut. Seongje will try to figure out Bamui Jiri and more on Bumi through it. We have to snipe it out.”

"Go and make preparations to clear out traces of his tenancy at that apartment, also put someone on watch behind him from Geumwha for a day or two", Seokhyeon said telling the bald broker to go.

“How do you want to do that? Snipe him out?” Choi asked, his eyes darkening as if he already knew what Seokhyeon would say.

“Send one of your thugs, or someone at Hwalhak, to snipe him out. Do whatever you want—just don’t make it messy. He has the pendrive to Seongje’s information network. Get me that,” Seokhyeon said, glancing at Gil Soo, who smiled and looked at Seokdae.

“Can we involve the police? It would look more natural on record,” Gil Soo smirked. Seokhyeon nodded.

“Suicide,” Gil Soo said, looking at Seokdae. “Go map out the area at Bokhyeol for the orchestration.

“Can I pick who gets to do the job, I mean if it is suicide someone has to push him or something, unless you have other ideas?” Wooyoung asked, leaning against the chains, bored.

“Pick a number, not a name. The guys at Hwalhak are tagged by numbers, not names. You know that,” Gil Soo said.

Wooyoung sighed as he saw Gil Soo chuckling over an unconscious body not really listening to him. “So many assholes I’d like to get back at, and you want me to pick numbers? Fine. Send number 9 whoever he is.”

“The pills?” Choi asked.

“Seongje will restart them. He’s very unpredictable, but if he’s sheltering that Beomseok boy, he’ll know better not to risk him and resume the pills.”

“He better do as you say, or I’ll squash you on this mat like pulp,” Wooyoung cackled in Seokhyeon’s ear.

“No need,” Seokhyeon said, pushing his face back, annoyed as he glared at him.

“You should practice, boy. Gorae Bae isn’t meant for meets like this often, like we’re doing right now. But I have a piece of information that may interest you,” Gil Soo said, smirking.

“That is?” Wooyoung asked.

“Word going around is that Bamui Jiri wants to reopen the ‘Baetjang’ Just rumors, but serious ones,” Gil Soo said.

“Why would Baetjang be reopened? Gorae Bae is still here. One fighting avenue arm is enough,” Seokhyeon asked.

“To start the Pi-ssaum and Jukjon, of course,” Choi said, discarding his cigarette, his words coming out casually, as if it were normal.

“Hey, you! What did you say? Want me to punch your face?” Wooyoung stepped toward Choi, but Seokhyeon shoved him back.

“It’s true. It might happen. Bamui Jiri wants to change the format this time. As you all know, Pi-ssaum used to be one versus a relay of opponents—jumping into the ring to fight one fighter after another. They want to increase the stakes. And as for Jukjon, it used to be fight-to-kill between the winner of Pi-ssaum and the best at Gorae Bae, but now they want three people instead of two, to make things more interesting.”

“You’re spewing bullshit. I’ve been at Hwalhak for a year and at Gorae Bae for almost two, and nobody has spoken of Baetjang since the bosses at Bamui Jiri knew videos from inside had been leaked,” Wooyoung spat. “And besides, I’m the best fighter at Gorae Bae, highest in the fucking ranks, and I haven’t been informed?”

“They want it to be a surprise, from what I’ve heard. Bring in more money, more crowds—the who’s who in Seoul, maybe other districts too of the country as well, the police and politicians will follow, elections are coming up. A little blood for them is nothing,” Choi chuckled.

“Look at you, ungrateful brat. You’re getting a kickstart and advantage, and you’re cribbing. Buckle up. One of my boys told me that Hwalhak has a new prodigy who might come into Gorae Bae. You won’t be sitting on your shiny throne for too long if you’re lax,” Gil Soo chuckled, waving at Seokhyeon and Choi as he took Seokdae with him.

“I’ll fuck this bastard up if he shows his face in front of me again,” Wooyoung hissed. “Also, who is he talking about at Hwalhak? Which fucker is a prodigy for them?”

“You’ll know when he comes. I have to go see anyway to bring him here. You better not go yourself—you’re a part of Gorae Bae now. Have some dignity. The rats at Hwalhak are below you,” Seokhyeon said, dismissing Wooyoung, who walked off grumbling.

“Yeon Sieun and Keum Seongje is not a combination I could imagine happening, "boyfriends" that too” Choi said, the two of them standing alone in the ring, with a passed-out Seoknam and other unconscious men scattered to the side, oblivious.

“It is funny indeed,” Seokhyeon replied. “They were at loggerheads, both good fighters. I would have dragged Seongje in here, we work for Bamui Jiri, for fuck’s sake, and we have the resources—but we can’t. The others would like to, but they don’t know him. He’s crazy. He can do anything. He is not afraid of anyone or anything.”

“Would have made a good leader for the Union. I even gave him the offer. Had he taken it, he would have stayed in line,” Choi said, his tone smug. Seokhyeon glared at him, eyes fixed.

“There was, is, and will always be one leader for the Union, and that is Na Baekjin. Don’t even try saying that again,” Seokhyeon ground out, teeth clenched.

“Too bad you’re still such a loyal dog to a dead boy, even being part of something bigger now. Yes, we have bigger dogs above us and the bosses of Bamui Jiri, but still—you’re stuck in the past. I almost pity how mediocre you are. No wonder Baekjin always picked that Humin, even when he was about to die, always over you” Choi mocked, letting out a disgusted laugh leaving Seokhyeon stood frustrated in the middle of the ring.

“He took Baekjin from me, and I’ll make him pay for that. Baku’s time will come as well,” Seokhyeon muttered, clenching his fists.

He was mediocre in everything—except in the way he loved. There, he was catastrophic.

━━━━━━━━━

Sunday, 4 a.m
──────────

Seongje looked at the worn down warehouse building as he looked back at the piece of torn carton in his hands. He was at the correct address. He had found the warehouse address stamped at the back of the carton box of pills he had picked up from Midnight Scene. It wasn’t very clear, but he had spent about two hours to figure it out alongside a few location searches. There was nothing about the place on the net, but he had managed to figure it out somehow.

His injuries had been patched up for the day. Though it was pointless, the medicine, ointments, bandages—for him none of it mattered. Pain didn’t touch him. He wasn’t an insomniac, nor did wounds keep him awake. His mind, however, was elsewhere, locked onto a puzzle that wasn’t his to solve. It was as if he had wrenched it from someone else’s hands, or perhaps it had been thrust upon him, demanding to be looked at. Which is why he decided to do some looking into the situation himself. He did not have the patience to wait till morning for things to be explained to him by Eun Gyeol.

Seongje had managed to walk out quietly in the early morning hues after he checked upon Beomseok for what he counted as the seventh time since they had returned the previous night. He didn’t care for people—not in the usual sense. Seongje wasn’t a narcissist; concern, when it existed, was measured, precise, and only extended as far as he deemed necessary. The drug’s side effects and withdrawals had hit hard, and Beomseok was barely able to withstand the pain. He cried, nearly screamed, muscles trembling, and had to be forced into sleep. Seongje watched, calm, detached, ensuring the boy survived, but nothing more. Sympathy, he decided, was wasted on weakness.

The warehouse stood behind a corroded metal gate, its surface blotched with patches of peeling paint, dirt marks and stains and streaks of grime that time had carved in. A few dim bulbs flickered inside, casting jaundiced pools of light across the concrete and gate railings, hinting at life and work within. Outside, a security guard slumped in his chair, head tilted, chest rising in the slow rhythm of sleep. In a small cubicle to the side, another guard sat half-awake, eyelids heavy, his chin bobbing as he fought off exhaustion. Heavy chains locked the gates from the inside, their dull clink echoing whenever the wind brushed past. Off to one side still inside and behind the gate, the garage shutter was left a few inches open, revealing the dim outlines of small delivery tempos parked in a row.

He looked at the metallic board outside the warehouse gate; the letters were scratched off. It was obvious something shady was going on inside, because the place did not look like an industrial warehouse—just a normal one, the kind primarily used for storing raw materials, finished goods, inventory, and for the distribution process.

The walls adjoining the gate had vines curling over the bricks, brittle in places but enough to catch a grip. Seongje quietly moved toward the side, fingers tugging at one of them to test its hold. They weren’t strong, not really, but he could manage. He’d done things like this back in high school to slip out unseen; this was just another wall.

He started climbing, steady and slow, the rough surface scraping at his palms. His shoes pressed into gaps between bricks, each movement careful to not make any noise. Halfway up, a chair creaked in the guard booth.

Seongje froze, pressed close to the wall, grip tightening on the vine. The guard muttered something under his breath, keys clinking faintly as he shifted in his seat. For a moment, it seemed he might stand.

Seongje’s breathing stayed even, eyes fixed on the booth. If the man stepped out, he already knew which way to drop, how to vanish. But the chair groaned again and the guard settled back.

Without hesitation, Seongje resumed climbing, pulling himself higher until his fingers hooked the edge of the wall. With one practiced motion, he swung a leg over and crouched over the edge of the wall. Getting down was the harder part. The ground farther than he’d like for a silent landing. He tested the vines, lowering himself slow. He exhaled silently and kept moving, arms burning as he eased himself lower. When the wall finally ended, he let go, dropping the last stretch with bent knees, absorbing the impact into the earth without a sound.

Seongje walked towards the warehouse, noting immediately that the front doors were locked. He scanned the area quickly and made his way toward the garage section, slipping inside through the narrow gap of the partially open shed. He moved silently between the lined-up vehicles, until he found a back door. He rapped on it sharply—once, twice, thrice.

A man peeked out a few seconds later, brow furrowed in confusion.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?”

Seongje shoved his hands into his pockets and produced the scrap of carton and a single pill from the box. He held them up casually as he looked the man in the eye.

“You make these pills here, don’t you?”

The door slammed shut almost immediately.

“Ah, these bastards,” Seongje muttered under his breath. He knocked again, harder this time, and the door opened to reveal three or four workers, faces skeptical.

“Who are you?” they demanded.

Without hesitation, Seongje pulled out Beomseok’s ID, which he had slipped from his wallet while the boy slept, and held it up.

“You know him, don’t you? Oh Hyun Tae’s son—Oh Beomseok? I’m his brother. He’s in charge of this place, as far as I know.”

He handed the ID to one of them. The men exchanged quick, hushed whispers before finally opening the door. They motioned for him to enter, roughly guiding him inside, and shut it sharply behind him in a hurry.

“Come inside”, one of them said as two of them walked behind Seongje, two of them leading in front as they took him inside.

At first, all he could see were rows of carton boxes being cut, folded, and shifted from one place to another. Workers moved methodically behind counters, stacking and labeling quietly at the early hour giving the space the deceptive appearance of a mundane packaging operation.

The workers guided him past the outer area, keeping him close as they approached a section tucked behind the counters. A plain white curtain hung there, swaying slightly. One of them pulled it aside, revealing a mechanical grated lift, partially hidden from the casual eye. They gestured for him to step in, then followed, shutting the grill behind them with a metallic clang.

The lift rattled softly as it descended, and when it reached the bottom, the grated doors slid open to reveal a narrow corridor lit by harsh fluorescent lights. At the end of the corridor was a metallic door. One of the men unlocked it and pushed it open, motioning for Seongje to enter first.

As soon as Seongje stepped inside the space, the warehouse facade melted away. The space was slightly expansive across a floor and meticulously organized. Rows of stainless steel tables gleamed under the overhead lights, cluttered with pill presses, mixers, and scales. Powdered substances in jars lined the shelves, labeled with neat handwriting, while conveyor belts hummed softly as trays of pills moved along them. Vials were capped, sealed, and prepared for packaging, the machinery working in a silent, relentless rhythm. Workers in gloves and masks moved like they had been doing what they were for a long time on surfaces that were coated in a faint sheen of residue—white, powdery, and sticky.

Seongje smirked, half in disgust, half in fucked-up amusement. He had braced for some pathetic corner stash, not a lower-level shitpit turned into a full-blown, pill-spewing drug factory.

Seongje looked at the four workers who brought him here and then turned his head and took a full round of the place, looking at the counters. The workers, both men and women, looked at him, even stopped what they were doing to let him see, and went back to work when he walked away. He came back to where he was initially standing after a few minutes.

He really did not want to be involved in this. He had just come to look around, but he had to admit that this was impressive.

“Quite a business you have got down here, so what’s the situation with it right now?” he asked, looking back at the four workers.

At his question, from the corner of his eye, he noticed that several workers stopped working at their stations, looking at him.

“Restricted. We were instructed by the previous— I mean the late factory owner not to give out the pills unless instructed to. So some stocks are ready, but not all. We need the signatures to use the formulas. They are password-protected,” one of the workers from the station behind where he stood spoke as she pointed towards a transparent glass cooler with locked vials inside it, which itself was inside a protected metallic box.

Seongje looked at the vials from afar as he joined the dots in his head. The day they had found the dead secretary in Oh Hyun Tae’s house, he had picked up all the files from the assemblyman’s office, which he hadn’t bothered to read at that time, but decided to a few hours ago before he came here. He had decoded the passcodes amongst the pages, and he knew them— all three of them.

“There are three, why?” he said as he held out the pale pill he had shown at the back door earlier.

“Each for one drug, three of them in total,” someone said as Seongje tilted his head curiously.

“There are more pills?” he asked as one of the men who led him here brought out a petri dish with three pills and showed it to him. Another worker from a station further away walked forward to explain it to him.

“The one you have in your hand is called ‘Bultang,’ the market name is ‘Raze,’” the worker said, pointing at the pale-colored pill. “If you have it, then you know what it does.” Seongje nodded as he continued.

“The pink one is called ‘Simsim,’ which means ‘heart to heart.’ The market name is ‘Abyss.’ It’s designed to spike sexual desire, intensify arousal, and prolong the experience,” the man said, waving a gloved hand over a pink pill that glimmered faintly under the lights. “It reduces pain perception during intercourse, dulls any discomfort, and heightens pleasure simultaneously, almost immediately if mixed in any kind of liquid. It has better results than any PDE5 inhibitors or aphrodisiacs sold in the market currently because it is not entirely chemical-based. It has extracts of maca root, ginseng, horny goat weed, and l-arginine as well.”

“A chemical thrill ride for horny morons. Of course, someone would make this shit,” Seongje muttered under his breath, eyeing the tiny pills like they were concentrated trouble wrapped in sugar. “Candy for cucks, basically.”

“And what is the green one?” Seongje asked.

“It’s a nootropic, called ‘Chimjak,’ market name ‘Nerve.’ It has been made to boost memory and retention for temporary periods in pulse mode, stops nosebleeds or stress nausea, provides energy jolts like stimulants if one doesn’t want to have caffeine. It is trending amongst school and university students.”

“So you’re telling me this shit turns idiots into zombies with perfect recall? Fucking hell, I’ve seen some stupid shit, but this… this takes the cake.”

“They sell well in the market, all three. The exports have been curbed highly at the moment,” the guy said, stepping away from the counter.

“Aren’t you people afraid of the law?” The question sounded ridiculous to Seongje the second it left his mouth. He had literally killed someone, even if it had been in self-defense.

“The police don’t care. The drug laws in this country have double standards—meant only for the weak, not for those with money. The business itself makes good money. The problem is the buyer…” one of the workers muttered, her voice trailing off.

“Bumi?” Seongje asked suddenly, the name jolting back into his head from the night before.

“Please don’t call them here.”
“We don’t want to work for them.”
“You can shut this place down, but not them.”
“No… not them, please. We’ll work overtime instead.”

The sudden eruption caught Seongje off guard. The workers looked visibly distressed at the mere mention of the name. So the shitty little gang name actually had some weight to it, he thought.

He remembered what Eun Gyeol had once said to Baekjin. "Bumi was the group they had wanted to make back then. They never did, because the drug laws were too strict. Looks like they have found a way now".

“Alright, alright. Keep quiet, all of you,” Seongje said, pressing his hand down on one of the tables as he leaned against it. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’ll ask questions, you’ll answer them, and then I’ll decide what comes next.”

The workers nodded.

“What is this Bumi?” he asked.

“They’re a division of Bamui Jiri. From the way you sound, you don’t know how things work around here, kid. Bamui Jiri runs plenty of things—dirty jobs, political strings, extortion. Bumi is their drug arm. The previous owner of this warehouse used to sell these pills to them at higher prices in exchange for… power, money, intel. We don’t know much beyond that,” one of the men explained. He looked young, like a university student, but older than Seongje by a few years.

“Alright,” Seongje said thoughtfully. “So why did this Bumi—this gutter crew—take pills only from here?”

“The pills are highly effective, and the drug market values consistent supply above anything else. Oh Hyun Tae, that bastard, had stable channels. And with professional-grade machinery, the quality stayed high as you can see,” a woman answered. The disgust in her voice when she mentioned the late assemblyman didn’t escape Seongje. He didn’t like the man either, but it was almost gratifying to hear others thought he was trash too.

“You don’t seem to have much good to say about your old boss or this Bumi group. Why?” Seongje pressed.

“That assemblyman never paid us properly. It’s sad his secretary is no longer here, he at least paid on time. But Bumi? And the crooks tied to them? They treat people like livestock. No respect. They even tried asking for… favors.”

Seongje frowned. He’d done his share of bad shit, messed up with plenty of people, men and women alike. But harassment? uncalled for and un-consensual favors ? That was a line even he didn’t cross. He wasn’t a saint by any stretch, but there were still fragments of his dead mother’s morals etched into his bones.

“Why do you still work here? He’s dead, the secretary’s gone,” Seongje asked, keeping the truth about the secretary to himself.

“Several reasons. Everyone needs money. Some of us have no choice. Some were threatened by the assemblyman—debts, loans, other hooks,” one worker sighed from the back.

For a moment, Seongje almost felt bad for them.

“How are you tied to the new owner of this place? He’s the assemblyman’s son, isn’t he?” a worker asked.

“He’s my brother. I’m Seongje. Keum Seongje. I’ll be handling this instead of him. I don’t want him caught up in this,” Seongje said flatly, glancing at the pills again before turning his gaze back to the workers who looked at him like their fate sat hanging from the tip of his tongue.

“You’re not selling to Bumi anymore,” Seongje said. A few looked genuinely surprised.

“That’s not how the market works. We’ll end up drowning in excess supply,” someone said.

Seongje thought of Seoknam’s audacity—thinking Seongje was someone who’d ever fall in line was almost funny. Almost. Seongje had his pride, which he fed on his own terms. He wasn’t part of any organization, wasn’t some dog in a pack playing gang, not even the Union anymore. He’d torn all that off his skin, but he sure as hell hadn’t built himself just to sit still and watch.

“These drugs are sold through other channels too, aren’t they?” he asked, pointing at a map covered in circles. A worker standing nearby nodded.

“Then the pills will only move through those channels and to everyone who doesn't buy them from Bumi"

“They, the people from Bumi, parade their thugs outside the place. They are lurking at weird hours. It makes it difficult for some of us to go back as well at times,” a woman said.

“I will increase the security around the warehouse. That is my responsibility. But the drugs won’t be given to Bumi,” Seongje said firmly. He knew that Beomseok had several, now unemployed staffers and guards who would be willing to patrol the place.

“What if they threaten us?” someone asked.

Seongje leaned over the map again, a low chuckle escaping him before he straightened, his grin stretched too wide to be sane. It was the kind of smile that promised trouble. He snapped his fingers and the hum of machines faltered as workers abandoned their stations, gathering in an uneasy half-circle.

“This place,” Seongje began, tapping the map with a deliberate thud, “is mine now. New management. That means every damn thing that moves in or out of here bends to my word.” His eyes roved over each face, sharp and hungry, pausing long enough to make the weaker ones glance away.

"Another asshole like the previous one", Seongje heard one of the men mutter as he snapped his head to look at him, his eyes glittered through his glasses with the kind of hunger that could eat a room whole.

“You don’t see it yet, do you?” he murmured, voice smooth. “This factory… these pills… they’re chains. They keep you working, keep you breaking your backs while someone else fattens themselves. You’re nothing more than their hands.”

He let the words sink, then stopped leaning against the map as he circled around the group of workers.

“But under me?” His tone sharpened, every syllable striking like a promise. “You’re not just workers. You’re the gatekeepers. The people who decide what flows, what doesn’t. Imagine that—being the hand that starves giants.”

He stopped, looking at one man too long, then a woman, then all of them. His smile turned inviting, dangerous. “I don’t want slaves because that is no fun. I want accomplices. Partners. You follow me, and suddenly you’re not trapped here like rats, I’ll make it so.”

Seongje folded his arms as he smirked, his time at the Union had taught him that greed and need was a string pull that always worked.

The workers looked at each other and nodded. Some interested, some merely curious, all leaning closer without realizing it. One of them, braver or perhaps hungrier than the rest, lifted his head toward Seongje.

“What do you want us to do?”

Seongje’s smirk deepened, the kind that never reached his eyes. He unfolded his arms with a lazy grace, like a man already certain of the answer.

“We are going to have some fun with Bumi, because I like having fun. I am a fun person,” Seongje said, pointing to himself as he grinned. “So let’s spice things up a little.”

“How?” one of the workers asked, wary.

“We will sell drugs to Bumi,” Seongje replied, tapping the table slowly.

“You just said we won’t,” another worker said, his voice sharp with confusion.

“Yes,” Seongje leaned forward, his smile turning sly. “The drugs will go to Bumi, just not the ones you’re making now. These three pills—Raze, Abyss, and Nerve, you know the recipe. We have the original formula. And Bumi swears by it. They trust the machines. Whatever this place pipes out, they gobble it up and push it further without even thinking right?.”

“Yes, that’s true,” a woman said.

“Perfect. So how long will it take you to make a decoy formulation of these three pills? A fake?” Seongje asked, watching the workers glance at each other.

“You’re going to sell sets of fake pills?” one of them asked, half-shocked.

“Not one set, two,” Seongje clarified, “I need two decoy pills for each of these three drugs. One completely inert, no effect whatsoever and the other high potency, unpredictable, maybe even stronger than they expect.”

“So two pills each for Bultang, Simsim, and Chimjak, different from the originals but the same color and texture?” a worker from the back asked, scratching his head. “That would take about a week.”

“Good. Step one of the plan is decoys. The real pills you’re currently making remain in the market for everyone else. On the side, you’ll craft the two decoy sets: the overpowered ones, which go straight to Bumi’s crew, and the dud versions for their customers,” Seongje said, eyes glinting with mischief. A few of them scribbled notes eagerly, nodding along.

“That would make sure we don’t have surplus, sure… but won’t that hurt Bumi’s customer base if they see the drug isn’t working?” the same worker asked, brow furrowed.

“Exactly, but Bumi will believe the drug works because they don’t get the decoys for themselves. You will give them the higher potencies, so they might just think their bodies aren’t equipped to handle it after some time.”

“What next?”

“Second is distraction. Bumi might eventually figure out the market patterns because of the first step, and the goal is to throw them off before they do. So they have to be distracted,” Seongje said, pulling a folded paper from his pocket and handing it to one of the workers standing nearby.

“Do you know what this is?” Seongje asked. The guy nodded, showing it to the others.

“This was a cheaper smoke roll that circulated in the market temporarily about two years ago. Bumi stopped it because it was low-priced and people bought it in bulk, and they lost their customer base. Some even said it was better than nicotine.”

“I need you to make a variant similar to this, at the same cost, and flood the markets with it anonymously. It will start chatter, teens and adults alike,” Seongje said, recalling the whispers in the Union when some guys had gotten a hold of these but didn’t circulate them because they thought Baekjin would figure it out.

“And then?”

“Third is displacement. Every group has crooks in it, those who want more than they can get. I am not aware of Bumi’s full architecture, but it is impossible that they don’t have people who want to skip the line. I’m sure you’re familiar with them. Are there any such people in there, preferably among those who come to take the deliveries?”

“Yes, there are a few, especially this guy called Seoknam,” a woman said, and Seongje’s grin widened as he recognized the name.

“Okay, if that’s the case, then Bumi will be made to believe that some of their lackeys are displacing shipments to sell things at a higher profit. I’ll inform you all how and when that needs to be done,” Seongje said, pulling out his phone and handing it to one of them, asking them to feed their numbers into a group.

“That is dangerous,” someone murmured, uncertainty lacing their voice.

“I know. That is why I’m doing it. They won’t expect it,” Seongje said, his smirk sharp, a glint of thrill in his eyes.

“Anything else?” someone else asked, voice tinged with curiosity and excitement.

They really want in on this. They are obedient, Seongje thought, and that thought made him almost laugh quietly to himself, savoring the control.

“Yes, but do this for now, this week and the next,” he said, taking his phone back and walking toward the glass cooler, glancing at the numeric keypad and then back at the workers.

“I’ll give you access. You don’t need any signatures,” he chuckled, punching in the three, four-digit codes. The cooler hissed open, revealing vials, formula sheets, and trays as the employees gathered around, some taking them to their stations.

Seongje watched them silently for a moment. They already looked like they were discussing what they had written in their notebooks.

“I’ll stay in touch, maybe come in a few days,” Seongje said, walking toward the metallic door. Some nodded, the others already returning to their work. He knew that some of them were uncertain, but what he had planned had to be done.

He looked down at his phone as he walked out and let out an exaggerated sigh. Sieun still had him blocked.

That petty little bastard.

Really. What was so terrible about him casually saying that Juntae and Baku were probably screwing?

He saw the cardboard warriors on the top floor give him smiles as he passed by. Going out, he noticed some of the people who had been with him downstairs coming from behind, gathering together and discussing something, almost excited, as if their spineless clockwork had been given a devious direction.

Seongje did not have to climb the vines again; the gates were already open for him. The guards did not say anything.

His phone beeped with a message. It was from the student council at SNU. The message flashed displaying the information he had asked for, a student email ID meant for professional purposes only— it was Sieun’s.

“Let’s see how long you keep me blocked for,” Seongje muttered under his breath.

Sieun had matched his fighting skills the previous night, no easy feat. The least he could do now was match him in banter.

Seongje grinned. Oh, the mental gymnastics Sieun would go through, trying to figure out if he was serious, joking, or slowly losing his mind. Perfectly petty, perfectly satisfying.

━━━━━━━━━

Sunday, 7 a.m
──────────

Sieun expected to wake up to the monotonous ring of his alarm clock, not Suho’s voice near his bedside. He jolted up, immediately sitting straight as he found Suho scanning his face.

“Sorry, sorry—gosh, you wake up with such a jerk. I just wanted to say bye before I left,” Suho said, motioning for him to calm down with a hand gesture, palm pressing the air in slow up-and-down movements.

“Are you okay?” Sieun asked, blinking away the grogginess still clinging to his eyes.

“Yes, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be? I didn’t even get a hangover. You worry too much.” Suho chuckled and ruffled his hair as he looked at him. How could Sieun not worry? For two years, while Suho wasn’t awake, all he had done was worry and wait.

“Where are you going? It’s Sunday.” Sieun glanced at the time on his phone.

“The gym.” Suho grinned and flexed his arm. Sieun sighed.

“Suho…” he started, but Suho waved him off with a dismissive flick of the hand.

“Baku and Gotak are coming with me too. Juntae just left—maybe five minutes ago? Said he had some work at his university. No classes today, but apparently he’s busy. You were sleeping, so I thought I’d wake you up before I go.”

Sieun just looked at Suho for a moment. Suho was standing close to the edge of his bed, his knees practically glued to the bedside as he looked down at him. He had done this before, and it always made Sieun feel slightly elevated, unsure whether he should move closer or move back. Each time, it left Sieun suspended, as though standing beneath branches heavy with rain, unsure if the drops would fall and drench him or stay trembling on the leaves.

Juntae and Baku had called it a crush, but the word was too small, too careless, something he had not thought of very seriously over the years, he tried to keep away from it. He wasn’t sure if he had a crush on Suho or not. He wasn’t an expressive person, but Suho was probably the most important person in his life at the moment.

Can you sit down for a moment?” Sieun asked, his voice carrying a hesitance he couldn’t quite disguise. Suho only looked at him in quiet acknowledgment before lowering himself onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight as he settled in front of him.

For a moment, Sieun lingered on the sight, his chest tightening in an ache he didn’t fully understand. Then, almost timidly, he moved closer, the space between them closing until his arm curled around Suho in a tentative, looping embrace. It was clumsy, uncertain. He had not hugged Suho before like this—not on his bed and in this setting, and he had not imagined his first time doing so would be for an experimental comparison. But experiments also meant that he had to be opportunistic at every point.

“Come on, please, please, do something - anything so that i know whether i should move away or stay”

“Sieun-ah, are you okay?” Suho asked as his hand came gently up on Sieun’s back.

“Yes, I am fine. Just stay like this for a minute,” Sieun said. He knew Suho didn’t mind if he had reciprocated. He heard Suho talking.

“You know, I always think about how much you think about what I am doing, and I think it’s nice to have someone do that. But I don’t want you to keep worrying. As long as you are around, you know I will be fine. I…” Sieun tried to focus on what Suho was saying as his scent wafted through his nose while he put his chin on his shoulders.

“Why won’t it come, that feeling that he gave me before, the comfort?”

Sieun stayed there for a few more seconds, still listening to Suho’s words, when he felt another arm wrap around his back, slightly lower this time. The moment it settled, a warmth spread through him, a subtle tingle that crawled along his spine. It was the sensation of being anchored, as if someone had locked him into a quiet, safe corner of the world.

But—oh.

Oh.

It wasn’t the same.

There was no sting, no ripple, no lash.

"....you know Sieun ah, I thing going to the gym after my physical therapy has done good for me, I think I am doing well...", Suho’s voice still rolled through his ears like gentle waves, lapping at him with that familiar warmth, soft and steady as it sank slowly, suddenly sinking lower into something edible, something he could almost taste, a low chuckle brushing against his eardrum, close enough to make his skin prickle just like it had felt the previous night.

“You are fighting well, Yeon Sieun, maybe you'll beat all of them, fuck,”

There was a sting, a ripple, a sharp lash in the decibels of the voice, each syllable striking through his ears like sparks along a live wire. It was a touch that wasn’t physical, vanishing almost before it landed, yet it left aftershocks that traveled deep down his spine, tracing secret currents and corners that Suho’s warm, steady embrace were not reaching.

“Oh, I think I’m interrupting something,” Sieun heard Baku’s voice. His head shot up, and he moved away from Suho, who just smiled and stretched lazily, rising to his feet. Sieun sank back into his spot, watching Baku, who's eyes darted back and forth between him and Suho.

“Nothing. You ready? I was just telling Sieun that going to work out isn’t going to kill me, and he said okay. You nodded your head—I saw it,” Suho said, tilting his head at Sieun.

When did he even nod his head? He hadn’t done any such thing. 

“Since you’re awake, we’ll go now. Gotak might take off by himself. Do you want to come?” Baku asked, and Sieun shook his head in refusal, watching them leave.

“What the hell,” Sieun groaned, leaning against his pillow and covering his eyes with his hands.

Sieun picked up his phone with a sigh and opened his observation notes tab, not even sparing a glance at the third entry he had struggled so hard to make the previous night. Maybe he could pretend it didn’t exist.

넷 — #4 (Y.S’s exp)

I hugged Suho today. I have done so before but not on my bed, not that it changes anything. For the sake of SCIENCE. To TEST. To get RESULTS. And the result was… well… different. Unsettlingly different. Too nice, honestly. His hug was steady, grounding, like pressing your back to a wall that won’t let you fall.

Maybe it’s because I just woke up. Maybe my body’s still half-asleep, and that’s why the feeling of elevation was THERE but REDUCED, like someone turned down the volume on purpose.

Suho = hug.
Simple. Steady. Human blanket. Comfortable. Safe. 100% reliable.

Seongje = not a hug. Definitely not. Just his hand on my arm, for two seconds, maybe less. A shove. A grab. A stupid correction in the middle of a fight. That’s all.

…Except my ribs did this stupid jump thing when his voice randomly respawned back in my ears.
No. Scratch that.
It felt NOTHING felt.

But it was different.
Like—like my ribs hiccupped? My blood leaned forward?? WHO EVEN WRITES THAT??

Erase that.
It was NOTHING.

Because Suho = anchor, my bestfriend and above everyone else as always.
Seongje = static. Sparks. Firecracker? Wrong. Wrongwrongwrong.

I didn’t like it.
(I DIDN’T.)
Did I?

No.
Shut up.
STOP THINKING ABOUT THIS.

…
Then why do I remember HIS hand clearer than Suho’s arms?

DELETE THIS NOTE. DELETE DELETE—

Fight context only. Nothing personal.
Static. No. Sparks.
Like he pressed something that wasn’t there.
Erase. Eraseeraseerase.

Anyway. Data collected. Identical results.
Totally identical.
TOTALLY.

(end note.)
*Like note 3 this will not be reviewed further the professionalism of the experiment has to be maintained despite opportunity.

“I hate this,” Sieun muttered to himself, shaking his head as he cleared his notifications and looked at the messages, but looked away, annoyed, when Seongje’s contact was right on top. Blocked. His last message still flashing, loud and clear and refusing to be ignored.

Parasite —

I think Baku and Juntae are fucking, you know, like this 👉🏻👌🏻😜

Sieun sat and thought for a minute. Seongje was an unpredictable person, and he knew that he wouldn’t meet him today. One, it was a Sunday; one could still go to university, but there were no classes. Two, Seongje was someone who lied for fun. But he was a boring person himself, who had no commitments to keep up with, so it was obvious he would go anyway rather than staring at the walls of his room.

━━━━━━━━━

Sunday, 11 a.m
────────────

“So both of you are cousins?”, Seongje looked at the person who asked him this with a frown. Seo Juntae.

Seongje was a spontaneous person, but the spontaneity did not extend to having uninvited people in his house on Sunday as well, but again he wasn’t living alone at the moment. Beomseok was there as well and he was slightly down and it was better that he didn’t go outside and around to explain things to Juntae, so Juntae showed up at Seongje’s place - obviously not knowing that Seongje would be there as well, perfect.

“Been a while, Eunjang,”

"He cleans up well, he clearly doesn't look like someone who's had a good fuck, its either that or it was lame quickie"

Seongje had been woken up from his power nap after he had come back by the voices outside his room, he saw Beomseok huddled on the couch with a blanket - it didn’t look like he had fever anymore while Juntae sat on the other side, by Beomseok’s invitation. He wasn’t sure how long Juntae had been sitting there.

Juntae blinked up at him, confused at his sudden appearance, before Beomseok cut in.

“Juntae, this is my hyung. I know we’re the same age, but I call him that—Seongje hyung. You already know him, right?”

Juntae’s eyes widened as he looked up, recognition flickering across his face

"On any normal day I would have bought your innocent face act, but my perception of you has changed just a little bit"

“How dramatic,” Seongje muttered under his breath, lips curling.

“Are you done staring?” he asked aloud, voice dry, one brow cocked.

Juntae glanced awkwardly at Beomseok, who pressed on as if nothing had happened.

“Uh—well, it does make sense… “cousins”....the long hair and the glasses, I guess,” Juntae mumbled as Seongje just went and sat lazily on the couch, he didn’t think that he and Beomseok looked similar.

Before Beomseok could speak again the bell rang as Seongje groaned, he hated the damn bell. 

“I’ll open it”, Beomseok said as he tried to get up. Seongje stopped him with a hand and went himself.

He opened the door already annoyed, ready to snap at whoever had the nerve to show up, he did not want more people at his place.

Stretching his head out, he caught sight of Baekjin standing outside

“What are you doing here?” Seongje muttered under his breath.

“Beomseok messaged me. Looks like Seo Juntae’s here,” Baekjin said evenly.

“Do whatever the fuck you want.” Seongje exhaled, resigned. He remembered that Baekjin had said that he would talk to Juntae himself, he didn’t know that Baekjin was serious 

Baekjin came to stand beside him by the doorway. Together, they watched Beomseok in plain sight and Juntae, seated with his back turned toward them.

“The main reason I called you here was to talk about what you saw yesterday and a few other things, but before that since you have already seen Seongje hyung, I would like you to meet someone else as well”, Beomseok said tilting his chin towards the door as he stood up.

Seongje watched Juntae spring to his feet as if the room had caught fire. His head snapped around, eyes widening at the figure leaning against the doorframe.

Every flicker of Juntae’s expression was magnified; disbelief, awe, and a visceral undercurrent of something raw, almost painful.

His body stiffened, shoulders drawn back as if bracing against an invisible blow. His hands twitched, uncertain, hovering between reaching and retreating, caught in the gravity of a reality he didn’t expect to face. His breathing hitched, shallow, rapid—a quiet staccato that contrasted sharply with the stillness of the room.

Holy shit, the little bastard’s actually losing it.

Baekjin, by contrast, remained serene, almost statuesque, exuding a calm that made Juntae’s flailing emotions feel all the more dramatic. The disparity was stark.

Seongje’s smirk was imperceptible but deliberate. He didn’t pity, didn’t intervene; he simply observed.

"Hello", Baekjin said as he stepped forward, shutting the door as Seongje just walked and stood where Beomseok was.

“I saw you yesterday—the alley—I—how, how?” Juntae’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again, as if his brain couldn’t catch up with what his eyes were seeing. “B-Baekjin…? W-what… how…?”

Seongje watched him look back at him and Beomseok, an almost pained look in his eyes.

"Is he going to cry? What the hell?"

Juntae stepped forward as his hands shot out instinctively, gripping Baekjin’s shoulders, trembling. His eyes were wide, almost frantically scanning, searching for confirmation that this wasn’t a trick, that this wasn’t some cruel hallucination.

Baekjin didn’t move. He just let Juntae do what he needed, standing still with a calm, steady presence, allowing the shorter man to search his face, grip his shoulders, and trace the outline of his jaw with shaking as he poked it almost as if Baekjin would disappear.

“I… I saw… I saw you… dead!” Juntae whispered, voice cracking, eyes wide and glassy. “How…? H-how is this…?”

Seongje tilted his head, arms still crossed. Humans and their melodrama. Funny, messy, and kind of mesmerizing.

Juntae stepped back, one hand pressed to his forehead, shaking his head as if trying to reboot his senses. His eyes darting between Seongje, Beomseok, and finally, Baekjin. His voice cracked, barely above a whisper

“You’re… alive?”

Seongje saw Beomseok helping Juntae sit next to him, gesturing him to move and go sit on the opposite side.

Baekjin sank into the couch next to Seongje, while Beomseok held out a glass of water to Juntae, which he stiffly declined.

“I get that this is… a lot,” Baekjin said, his tone measured, unshaken. Seongje leaned back, head tilted, watching the scene unfold.

“How… how? Why—why would you do this? How is this even possible?” Juntae’s words tumbled out in frantic staccato, disbelief and shock tangling in his voice.

“The circumstances left me no choice,” Baekjin said calmly, almost clinical in its detachment.

“I know it’s a lot to process, but we can try to talk it through,” Beomseok interjected softly, trying to keep the tension from snapping.

"Look at this idiot getting so stressed when he is not well, let Juntae and Baekjin go at it, maybe they'll bring up Humin as well at some point."

“Talk? Talk about what? He’s alive—he’s here—while my best friend is slipping away day by day because of him?” Juntae’s features twisted, the raw shock morphing into accusation.

“Oh, jumping straight to Park Humin, huh? That was fast. I like it. This is going to be fun.”

Seongje watched as Baekjin opened his mouth, then closed it again, letting Juntae speak.

“Baku… did you not think of him even once? Not a single time before doing this? Not about what he’d have to go through?”

"Accusations, accusations—figures"

Seongje had no sympathy for any of Baku’s friends when it came to this matter. He did not care what they went through or felt even now because of Baekjin’s death. It was a blur after everything he had to save and get Baekjin out from.

“Did Baku think before fucking fighting unfair?” Seongje knew he had to speak up. Maybe Baekjin was his friend, just a little bit. Not that he would admit it. Neither did he want to know what Baekjin thought of him, but they had gone through a shit hell of a year after that fight.

“He regrets it. He was angry, yeah, but you know he didn’t mean it,” Juntae said, eyes fixed on Baekjin, silently pleading for him to understand.

“That’s pathetic bullshit. Eunjang and the entire circus at that joke of a school were drunk on their own hero complexes. Thought they could wreck anything in the name of taking down the Union. Complete fucking morons.”

“Seongje,” Baekjin said softly, the weight of his gaze trying to rein him in.

“What, Seongje? What would they have done if you had actually died? Huh? Have you ever stopped to think about that?”

“It was very hard for us. We regret the way things were done as well. We were at your funeral too,” Juntae said, his voice trembling slightly, heavy with guilt.

“Wouldn’t have mattered if you and your little gang hadn’t shown up. Didn’t do anyone a favor,”

Juntae flinched slightly at the blunt truth in Seongje's words, the sting of honesty impossible to ignore.

“Thank you for attending the funeral. It wasn’t genuine, of course, but I heard you and your friends were there,” Baekjin said, as Seongje’s eyes rolled in mock exasperation.

“Thank you… this—sorry, that… how ridiculous,” Seongje said dramatically, his voice dripping mockery.

Hyung, please,” Beomseok said, while Juntae cast a brief, tentative smile in Seongje’s direction.

“Stop looking at me,” Seongje snapped.

“Baku was right. You really are Baekjin's friend. He was always sure of it, that you’d be around even if no one else was. It’s good to see he was right,” Juntae said softly.

“That bastard should be thankful I didn’t step into your stupid fight. I would’ve killed all of you,” Seongje said, voice low.

“Have you adjusted well?” Baekjin asked.

“Yes, we’re adjusting. We came to know what you’ve been doing for Baku through Eun Gyeol. That was very generous."

“I had to. I wanted him to achieve something better, something that mattered. I hope the funds are put to good use,” Baekjin replied.

“I think they will be. Baku seems to be weighing a lot of options. He wants to understand right from wrong. Law? He might even veer toward the forces after his first year,” Juntae said.

“Someone who almost killed a person wants to study law? What’s he going to do, get himself arrested? What a moral clusterfuck,” Seongje tsked. It was hyporcritical to say so since Beomseok was in medicine as well and he had almost killed someone as well.

“Enough,” Baekjin said firmly, a sharp edge to his tone.

“Same old… doesn’t take shit from anyone against that guy,” Seongje muttered under his breath,

“Baku’s been trying to improve. Since the fight, he’s spent a lot of time with books. He’s never been the studious type, but he’s making an effort—for you and his dad,” Juntae said.

“His dad… does he still beat him?” Baekjin asked, hesitant.

“No. Baku was annoyed that Dr. Gyeol wasn’t around back then, but his father doesn’t do that anymore. The restaurant’s doing well too,” Juntae replied.

“Eun Gyeol… he’s spent a lot of time with me, time that should have gone to Baku,” Baekjin admitted, his tone carrying a faint weight.

"How fucking sappy"

“It’s alright. I think he understands. They spoke yesterday at Midnight Scene, and you were there too, coincidentally...."

“About that, Juntae, you can’t tell anyone what happened in the alley, or what Baekjin did,” Beomseok said.

“Nobody’s going to believe him even if he tries. Relax. You are all worked up over nothing,” Seongje said, stretching lazily and letting out a long sigh.

“Why do you say that?” Juntae asked, confused.

“Oh? So you’re planning to tell your precious friends that Baekjin is alive? Go on, are you going to run to Humin and spill the news?” Seongje asked, voice teasing, sharp, like he was daring Juntae to even try.

"Go on, both you and me know that you have to bury or reveal your naughty little secret first"

“No,” Juntae said, his head down.

“Exactly. See, I knew it. You are loyal to your gang. I remember your little show of strength in one of my hideouts, when you agreed to get beat up by the Union punks but not tell them where your friends were. So you will keep this to yourself,” Seongje said.

“I understand that there was some altercation between Seoknam and your group. I wouldn’t have intervened and let Baku fight it out, but Seoknam seems to have gotten back to fighting with knives again. I had kept him to purely street fighting during his time at the Union. I was aware of how he fights, so I did what I did,” Baekjin said, not an ounce of regret in his tone. Seongje knew he enjoyed it—fighting again.

“Will he… I don’t know… live?” Juntae asked.

“Of course he will. It was just a cut on the skin. I could have done worse, but that would have been messy,” Baekjin said.

“How do things work out with you now? Na Baekjin is dead officially. We saw the death certificate,” Juntae asked.

“Donald Na… you must have heard? I’ve heard you were quite a fanboy of the Union.”

Seongje saw Juntae look at him, surprised, as if trying to recollect something. “That wasn’t a rumor? That you have another name and identity?”

“Yes,” Baekjin nodded.

“So Baku was just lying to everyone. He always said it was a false rumor when I asked him?”

“Yes. The only people who know are Seongje, Gyeol, Baku, Beomseok, another person I knew and now you. Although Gyeol knows that Baku knows, Baku thinks I only told him back when we were friends.”

“Donald Na…” Juntae mumbled, looking back at Baekjin. “Split the words: ‘Na’ and the first two of ‘Donald,’ you get ‘NADO.’ Sieun got a hamper on the first day from someone called Nado? That was you?”

"Newbie was right about him, truly an information box on the Union"

“Yes. He is my junior and Seongje’s as well, he hasn't met me yet.”

“You are treading in very dangerous territory. I am not sure how this is supposed to work out if Sieun, Gotak, or Baku come to know. I can keep quiet, but I can’t say the same for others,” Juntae said.

“We should take them all to Yeongseungpo, line them up, and make you come out from behind. They’ll piss themselves. Oh,” Seongje chuckled, clapping at his own joke.

“Quiet,” Baekjin said, deadpan, unimpressed with Seongje’s deranged idea.

“Actually, Sieun was the first one in your friend group I figured I’d tell. I have my reasons. I’m confident I’ll see him eventually, and I’m certain he won’t say anything to Baku,” Baekjin said.

“He won’t, that I know. Do you… watch out for him at university?” Juntae asked, curiosity threading through his tone.

“No. Not in the way you’re thinking,” Baekjin replied. “He and I have more in common than you might guess, but we’ve been on opposite sides before so it is complicated. I’m a year ahead of him, and he’s already landed in trouble once with the seniors, Seongje was there and he did what he thought was right. I have my ways around the university, so I made sure that things are alright—but only for Baku. Nothing else.” Baekjin exhaled, a faint trace of weariness in his calm demeanor.

“You like Baku, don’t you? You always have,” Juntae said, blunt, as if stating a fact.

“He’s the only friend I had as a kid,” Baekjin said, tone quiet but steady. “Can’t say the same for him.”

"Fucking pussy, all he does is talk about that fucker, 'friends' my ass"

“Is that why you attacked Gotak? Because you knew you weren’t Baku’s only friend?” Juntae asked, eyes sharp. Baekjin stiffened slightly.

“That was because he snooped around the Union,” Seongje interrupted immediately. He wasn’t remotely scared of Baekjin, but he knew the man would have no hesitations about hurting him if he discovered Seongje had spent years spewing lies and crap about Baku and Gotak being more than friends for his own amusement.

“I’ve heard different things,” Juntae countered, eyebrows raised.

"Nobody cares. The Union had rules", Seongje smirked.

“Do you still keep tabs on the Union?” Juntae asked.

“There is no Union,” Baekjin said flatly.

“Not exactly, but we’ve heard from Eunjang that there are factions trying to rebuild,” Juntae added, glancing at Beomseok, who was dozing off a little.

“I’ve heard no such thing. I left everything behind after the fight,” Baekjin replied, though there was a hint of curiosity in his voice. The Union would always, in some corner of his mind, belong to him.

Seongje sat up straight as he could still hear the both of them talk about the remenants of the Union. He tapped at his phone as he looked at the student email ID. Sieun had not unblocked him, and Seongje had not gone to the university today—because it was Sunday and he wanted to annoy Sieun by waiting him out. But maybe the guy wanted to put up a fight by keeping him blocked, so Seongje had every reason to trouble him now.

He’d rather do that than listen to whatever was being talked about here, that and maybe some sleep.

“You guys talk, I have things to do,” Seongje said as he shook his head and stood up.

“Wait… I have something to tell you about the network at the Union. I—”

Seongje cut Juntae off mid-sentence. “You want to talk about the Union, you talk to the guy who it belongs to.”

He took a step forward toward Beomseok, who was almost about to doze off but blinked awake at the movement.

“Suho,” Beomseok said immediately.

Seongje rolled his eyes. Another guy for the coma boy.

“Talk to him as well. You know about the coma boy,” Seongje said as he walked off, catching Baekjin off guard by making a funny face before he went back into his room. He even received a text from Baekjin as he shut his room door behind him.

Baekjin —

Come see me later on.

━━━━━━━━━

Sunday, 12:30 p.m
─────────────

As Sieun had anticipated, Seongje hadn’t shown up. That suited him just fine for the time being, he had no hopes from him either even though he was curious about the fight. He’d settled into the quiet refuge of the university library, taking his usual place at a table near the window, a spot that had begun to feel like his own. The day was going well—he’d worked through the next module, filled pages with neat notes, and even found a handful of research papers to read later for his experiment. The dial in his mind had turned back to stillness; the silence pressed in pleasantly, his earphones sealing him off from the faint shuffle of pages and whispers around the room. Focus wrapped around him like a cocoon.

But the universe, as always, seemed to harbor a personal grudge against him. Just as he allowed himself the satisfaction of this rare clarity, his music stuttered to a stop for the briefest second and at the same time, his laptop screen blinked awake with the sharp glow of a new email notification.

From Seongje.

Where did he even get Sieun's email id from?
There was no point pondering, Seongje had his timetable of course he would find his email as well from somewhere.

Sieun groaned. Parasites always had a knack for finding their way back—tapeworms, head lice, Seongje. Same category. They had the same habits.

He dragged the cursor to the notification and opened the email and immediately regretted it.

From: Keum Seongje<[email protected]>
To: Yeon Sieun<[email protected]>
Date: Sunday, 12:35 PM

Subject: Blocked? Really?

Newbie,

If you’re done with your little tantrum, could you kindly unblock me?
You’re acting like a girlfriend who’s mad at her boyfriend and unfortunately for me, I’m the poor boyfriend in this sad, tragic story.

Stop sulking. Let’s get back to our regularly scheduled program where you roll your eyes at me and I pretend not to care.

P.S. I know you have thought of unblocking me you little shit. I have a feeling that you miss me.

Sieun sighed and stared at the email for a few minutes; he should have expected Seongje to say something like this. He had no reason to respond, but it was like deciding between the devil and the deep blue sea. If he did not respond, he was confident he would get another email, and if he did Seongje would start a chain, so he had no choice but to reply any way. 

From: Yeon Sieun<[email protected]>
To: Keum Seongje<[email protected]>
Date: Sunday, 12:38 PM

Subject: Re: Blocked? Really?

How exactly did you get hold of my email address? I shouldn’t be surprised, I suppose since you already have my timetable somehow. Still, this feels like a blatant invasion of privacy. For your information, this account is for academic use, not for… whatever this is supposed to be.

No, I am not “throwing tantrums.” And your comparison to "girlfriends" and "boyfriends" is utterly absurd. Please don’t ever put my name in the same sentence as that again.

As it stands, I see absolutely no reason to unblock you.

“Now we wait,” Sieun muttered, folding his arms across his chest. He was practically vibrating with certainty. Seongje had to be online.

And sure enough, Seongje responded within two minutes.

“I knew it. I knew it,” Sieun muttered, tapping his pen against the table like some primal instinct in his brain had just scored a point on the scoreboard of his sanity. One response would not be enough. Never.

From: Keum Seongje<[email protected]>
To: Yeon Sieun<[email protected]>
Date: Sunday, 12:40 PM

Subject: Re: Blocked? Really?

No tantrums? Fuck off. You’ve got me blocked just because I said that Juntae and Baku were fucking? Come on. I couldn’t care less about the block, but I have this nagging little feeling that you’re suffering.

How can you ignore this face? Your first kiss? Your poor, traumatized brain? I also have a feeling that you have given a little thought to what I said last night.

Unblock me. Or don’t. I’ll still win. Always.

Re: (on the P.S) You did not respond to the second half, so I'll automatically assume that you miss me during your little tantrum.

Sieun blinked at the screen, letting out a slow, exasperated sigh.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

He leaned back in his chair, letting out a strangled snort. “No tantrums? Fuck off? Poor traumatized brain? First kiss? Nagging feeling I’m suffering? Who… WHO thinks of this stuff?”

He tapped his pen against the table a mix of disbelief and irritation bubbling up. “And the P.S.… of course. Automatically assuming I miss him, Why? I would have thrown my laptop at you"

"I don't lose", Sieun said as he started typing.

From: Yeon Sieun<[email protected]>
To: Keum Seongje<[email protected]>
Date: Sunday, 12:43 PM

Subject: Stop haunting my inbox 

Really? This again?

You yourself said we would close the topic of the kiss. Perhaps you have the memory of a goldfish or perhaps you simply enjoy torturing yourself by dredging it up. I have told you before that I barely have any recollection of it, to me it was just a kiss. Maybe you can't get it out of your head, which is not my problem.

Suffering? As a matter of fact, I am having a perfectly fine afternoon in the library. That was, until your unwanted emails popped up in my inbox.

And as I have told you before, I do not want to listen to the jabs you make about my friends, especially the ones that are based on speculation or your own rot-filled imagination.

The response wasn't almost immediate. It made Sieun wonder for a second as to what Seongje was typing out.

From: Keum Seongje<[email protected]>
To: Yeon Sieun<[email protected]>
Date: Sunday, 12:47 PM

Subject: First Kiss Report Card 

Sieun,

Let me make one thing very fucking clear okay? I have kissed a lot of people. You… are not special in that regard. In fact, that tiny little peck you called a kiss? Shit, if I’m being brutally honest, you didn’t even know how to kiss properly.

But I’ll let it slide. It was your first kiss, and I a magnanimous, patient, amateur-kissing tutor that I am — will give you some credit. (You're fucking welcome)

Kissing Report Card

Category	Rating	Comments
Lip technique	D+	Hesitant, barely connecting, like trying to high-five with your lips
Confidence	F	Panic was palpable; eyes wide, trembling hands… adorable, but needs work
Breath control	A	Zero time to notice it.
Timing & rhythm	D	A microsecond attempt… rhythm? What rhythm?
Effort	C	You tried. Barely. But you tried
Overall potential	A++	Huge room for improvement… if you ever take lessons from me

And just so you know, I’m not making claims based on your friends based on the rot of my imagination. I have instincts. Good instincts.

Sieun stared at the email like it had just slapped him across the face. His eyebrows shot up and his mouth went dry. A kissing report card. From Seongje. Keum Seongje. His brain short-circuited for second. How dare he? The sheer, unmitigated audacity.

And yet, against every instinct screaming at him to close it, curiosity won. He clicked it open, eyes darting across the ridiculous comments, the grades, the comments, each one more absurd than the last.

It was infuriating. It was humiliating. It was utterly ridiculous. And yet… he couldn’t stop himself. He had to know. Every single line beckoned him, teasing, daring him to read on. And so he did, muttering under his breath, I can’t believe this shit… but maybe…maybe just one more line. 

Seongje wanted a response, he would get one.

From: Yeon Sieun<[email protected]>
To: Keum Seongje<[email protected]>
Date: Sunday, 12:55 PM

Subject: The Grading Nobody Asked For 

I HAVE READ YOUR… “REPORT CARD.” And wow. Just… wow. Only YOU could send something this INSANE (yes it is utter bullshit). I pity you Keum Seongje 

And your ongoing fantasies about Juntae and Baku. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU EVEN SAYING? IT MAKES ABSOLUTELY NO SENSE. THEY. CANNOT. HAPPEN. END OF STORY.

Do us both a favor: stop. JUST STOP. Focus your energy somewhere ELSE — somewhere that doesn’t involve my inbox, my friends, or grading my kisses (you asked me for one by the way to set the record straight) like some deranged teacher. Your days of being the temp are over! I don't want a discussion on this, if there is anything you want to say regarding the fight at Mindight Scene - I might be open to listening.

“I shouldn’t have used capital letters, but whatever, it’s gone now,” Sieun muttered, letting out a resigned sigh as he stared at the grading. An A++ if Seongje had actually given lessons? He could shove those stupid lessons straight to whoever his chums at the university were for all Sieun cared.

And yet, reflexively, he took a screenshot, saving it to his experiment observations folder. Even if it was absurd, he couldn’t help himself—this was data. Ridiculous, humiliating, infuriating data, but data nonetheless.

Another email came through as Sieun looked at it.

From: Keum Seongje<[email protected]>
To: Yeon Sieun<[email protected]>
Date: Sunday, 12:58 PM

Subject: Why so mad, princess?

Oh, I see… CAPITAL LETTERS. You’re fuming, right? Can’t handle a little fucking critique?. Cute. Relax, it’s just me, nobody else has to know about this rating. You could rate the kiss from your side too, you know.

Also I’ve been thinking.. Why the fuck can’t Juntae and Baku just… you know… fuck? Do they have their dicks locked in a safe somewhere? Or are they just scared? Curious minds like mine demand answers.

And before you ask about the fight—nope. Not talking about that shit today.

"He will not stop", Sieun said pursing his lips typing out one last email before shutting his laptop with a slam, he usually treated his gadgets well but not today.

From: Yeon Sieun<[email protected]>
To: Keum Seongje<[email protected]>
Date: Sunday, 1:00 PM

Subject: Timeout

Get out of my inbox or I'll block you here as well.

I have no interest in answering you either if you can't answer me, also don't call me that word again.

It was time for his next observation entry as he went to his folder and attached the screenshot he had taken a few minutes ago, unwillingly.

다섯 — #5 (Y.S’s exp)

I cannot believe the absolute audacity of this guy. The nerve. THE NERVE. First, he sends an email out of nowhere like a caffeinated pigeon on crack, and instead of talking sense (which I don't expect of him frankly) he is reporting on a kiss I didn’t even agree to let him grade. A KISSING REPORT CARD. Who does that? Who actually sends a report card about someone else’s mouth?

I went through the grades anyway. A++ if I “took lessons”? LESSONS. For what? Breathing? Blinking? God, the sheer gall. I saved a screenshot. It goes into my experiment folder and one attachment stays with this entry.

And then, as if that wasn’t enough, he calls me a “princess.” AGAIN. I’ve told him—no, which he does not seem to understand. I have explicitly told him to stop (it is not working on Seongje, it is useless). And yet, there’s a method to his madness, I can see it, or at least I think I do. He’s always trying to provoke some reaction, some engagement.

Important Note: I did not nod. I did not agree. I did not sanction any of the comments about Juntae and Baku. Yet he writes as if I have. This needs to be noted. For accuracy in observations: his perception of events is highly unreliable, possibly intentionally skewed. 

He also asks if Juntae and Baku “have their dicks locked.” I am not interested in getting a mental image of that in my head. WHY. WHY. WHY. And he has the flank to tell me I can rate the kiss too, like I’m going to dignify this with my scientific opinion. I might. For the experiment. Strictly for the experiment.

Seongje has once again completely ignored the fight topic. Our so-called “deal,” which admittedly was only from my side, has been thrown out the window.

Observation: He refuses to address agreed-upon matters and instead pivots to personal teasing. Oddly enough, it is effective in provoking a response. HE ANNOYS ME AND THAT IS THE ONLY RESPONSE THAT COMES OUT (other emotions as well but annoyance is the constant)

Correction log for future responses:

1. Acknowledge the fight professionally.

2. Correct the princess comment.

3. Reject the kissing report as invalid.

4. Note inappropriate commentary on Juntae and Baku.

My responses must remain professional, methodical, and firmly documented, despite his persistent attempts to derail the conversation with personal provocations.

Seongje is not getting unblocked. 

Sieun went back to his books, less energized than before. That’s what parasites do, he thought grimly, they suck out energy, leave a mess behind, and somehow make you wonder if your life force is refundable.

He could almost see Seongje, a smug little tick with sharp teeth and way too much confidence, burrowed into his shoulder, whispering, “Unblock, Unblock, Unblock.”

Sieun groaned, pressing his face to the textbook. Parasites were infuriating, exhausting, impossible to shun away, he hated it so much that he was willingly putting himself through this, but some twisted part of him almost enjoyed having that insufferable leech latched on.

Atleast someone thought about him.

━━━━━━━━━

Sunday, 4 p.m
────────────

Beomseok was not sure what exactly to categorize his talk with Juntae as. It had been productive on Juntae’s part regarding Baekjin. They had managed to make sure that Juntae kept his silence and let things go the way they were. Then Baekjin left, and he was left all alone with Juntae, with only one topic to converse about: Suho.

He sat adjusting his glasses, looking at all the papers in front of him, as Eun Gyeol sat across from him holding the drug, Raze, that Seongje and Beomseok had managed to get. With a tweezer, he dipped it into a reddish liquid and let it dissolve.

“If Juntae says, and as you have told me, and from what I know myself from speaking to Suho at the midnight scene, if Suho healed within half a year or more since he got up, then he must be on the pill. There is no other way. Your diagnosis is correct. I am also surprised that Juntae, who himself is studying medicine, did not notice this,” Gyeol said.

“Juntae seems to be a nice guy, but he is just starting off. I spent more than two years researching and studying about this in the Philippines. Juntae and his friends, on the other hand, think this is a miracle which also means Suho hasn't told them. If Suho is on this drug, there is a problem,” Beomseok shook his head

“That is?”

“Seongje hyung. He doesn’t want me caught up in this. And if the drugs stop being made, Suho might not get them either. I still don’t even know where he’s been getting them from… I'm piecing it together blind, no medical reports, nothing to guide me yet, although most he most likely got these from a third party source not a hospital.”

“The withdrawal effects are going to be bad. Really bad,” Gyeol said, his voice tight. “I mean look at you. You didn’t even go through withdrawals, but your body couldn’t handle the drug burning out of your system. You still look like weak.”

“I’m fine,” said quickly, his voice cracking slightly. “But that subsiding effect - that’s what keeps me up. If Suho took these to heal, then maybe he won’t slip into a coma without them. But his body… his body might collapse, relapse, or worse. I don’t want that for him.”

“Here,” Gyeol said, handing Beomseok a body chart and tapping the paper.
“Mark wherever you got Ahn Suho injured.”

Beomseok froze, the pen heavy in his hand. His chest muscles clenched as though the air itself was trying to strangle him. This was more than painful, it was unbearable. But pain had long since become a companion, something he carried every day, like a shadow he couldn’t outrun. He was used to it now. He was built for tragedy. Destined for it.

“Twice,” he muttered, barely audible, the word cracking on his lips.

Gyeol’s head lifted. “What?”

“Twice,” Beomseok repeated, his voice hoarse, broken. His hand shook as he lowered the pen. “I got him injured twice. Once… once was when he was beaten so badly he fell into the coma. And the other—” He swallowed hard, shame choking the rest of the sentence. “The other was before that. I never told Seongje hyung. I—” his voice faltered—“I orchestrated an accident. If the car had hit his scooter that day… he would have died. I tried to—” He dropped the pen, unable to hold it anymore, and buried his face in his hands.

His body shook violently. “I’m a murderer,” he rasped. “I tried to kill him. Twice. Out of my own… fucking insecurities and—stupid—jealous, weak, foolish reasons.” His words tumbled out, broken, tangled, soaked in self-disgust. “I should be in jail for this. I should rot there.”

A warm weight pressed down on his trembling shoulder. He forced his tear-filled eyes up and saw Gyeol sitting closer now, face unreadable.

“I don’t know what to say to you,” Gyeol whispered, steady but heavy. “Except that I won’t tell Seongje or Baekjin.”

Beomseok sniffled, wiping his face with trembling hands. His throat burned as he forced words out. “I don’t know how many injuries he had, or has, but—” His voice broke again. “But the drugs can’t stop. They can’t. I’ll go back to the hospital he was admitted in. I’ll get the medical reports. My dad—he—he paid the initial expenses.” His tears dripped onto the body chart, smudging the ink. Nothing new. Tears were nothing new.

“They’re not nice people,” Gyeol said quietly. “I told Baekjin a little about them. Still need to tell Seongje… after what happened at the club. Maybe Baekjin will, but listen—” He paused, searching for words. “I worked in one of the arms of Bamui Jiri as a doctor. And they are horrible.”

Beomseok shook his head, chest heaving. “I don’t care,” he said, words tumbling fast, uneven, almost hysterical. “They can do anything they want to me. If they want money—I’ll give them money. If they want blood—I’ll give them mine. If I have to stand against Seongje hyung—” his voice cracked—“I’ll do it. Even though I don’t want to. God, I don’t want to, it's the first time in years I can say I have someone who is a family member of mine.” His breath hitched, hands clutching his shirt as though trying to hold his chest together. “But I have to. I have to make sure Suho gets the pills. Even if it gets me into this stupid mess, or I get caught for exporting drugs, I don't care about it."

“You will do no such thing,” Gyeol said firmly, his voice cutting through Beomseok’s trembling words.

“Why? I have to, don’t you understand?” Beomseok blurted, voice cracking, as if desperation alone could stitch a solution together.

“You told me Seongje was the only person you could ever call family. I know it hasn’t been long since you met him, but you have to trust him. I know it looks like he hates me, but that boy… he’s strange. His ways of understanding people is strange. But he does care.”

“I do trust him,” Beomseok whispered, nodding with damp eyes.

“I know he’s reckless, unpredictable, half out of his mind most of the time—but somehow he still manages. He’s gone to talk to Baekjin about the warehouse right now.”

Beomseok’s head jerked up, startled. “He has? Why? I haven’t even told him about Suho yet!” He made to rise, panic shooting through him, but Gyeol pressed a steady hand to his shoulder, forcing him back down.

“He’s doing something,” Gyeol said quietly. “And I don’t think it will go against what you want. Seongje never just sits still.”

Beomseok’s chest caved with a long, uneven exhale. His hands shook. He looked as though he’d collapse under the weight of even that little sliver of hope.

Gyeol unfolded a fresh body sheet, smoothing it over Beomseok’s trembling hands before gently holding them in place. “I’ll be away in Jeju for a few seminars, so mark your injuries for me. I’ll see if I can work out a reverse antidote for that pill, alright?”

Beomseok’s lips quivered. “Will hyung… will he save Suho?”

“I don’t know,” Gyeol admitted, his tone soft but unflinching. “But he’ll try. If it takes saving you to save Suho, he’ll do it. That bastard Keum Seongje—he’ll never say it, but he’ll be there when it matters in his own crazy ways.”

━━━━━━━━━

Sunday, 7 p.m
────────────

“You’re doing it again.”

“What?” Seongje asked, lighting his cigarette as he looked at Baekjin.

“Doing things without keeping me in the loop,” Baekjin said flatly.

“I used to do it before as well. What’s the difference now?”

“The difference is that you are dealing—no, not even dealing, let me correct myself—you’re messing with something bigger here. Something I haven’t fully looked into yet.” Baekjin exhaled, sounding tired.

“You know what? I think you’ve lost your juice. Completely. You don’t have it left in you anymore. Had I known Donald Na would turn out this fucking boring, I wouldn’t have orchestrated the entire plan of faking your death.” Seongje rolled his eyes.

“I haven’t lost anything. I can still fight.”

“Then why don’t you? Why aren’t you curious about what I’m doing? Why aren’t you saying anything? Back in the Union you had people tailing me like dogs.” Seongje tsked, flicking ash to the ground.

“Because you don’t seem like you need my help anymore.”

Seongje just looked at Baekjin, then at the floor. This was a trap—he knew it. He never asked anyone to help him. If they wanted to invite themselves in, accompany him, that was their choice. But he never asked. Baekjin had always wanted him to.

“Think whatever you want,” he muttered as they stood against the warehouse wall, its cracked bricks hidden beneath the thick vines he had climbed that morning to get in.

Baekjin crossed his arms, glaring. “You’re in way over your head. Admit it.”

Seongje snorted, leaning back on the wall. “Over my head? I laugh at over my head.”

"You have a plan, I know I can see it, that's why you brought me here, you want me to see it as well, am I right?", Baekjin asked. He had his own way of getting under Seongje's skin.

"You fucking think too much of yourself, I had just come here to see if the security detail I had called for this warehouse out of Beomseok's old faculty stands their ground or not, they are so that's fucking good", Seongje scoffed.

“And yet you brought me here?” Baekjin questioned again.

“It’s boring standing alone. No other reason,” Seongje replied.

“Do you know what you’re up against?” Baekjin asked, his voice stern. It reminded Seongje of the first time they had met, when Baekjin had called him out for being cocky in Shuttle Patch. Back then, Baekjin didn’t know what Seongje brought to the table. Neither did he now. Seongje was crazy.

“I don’t care. If they think they can come around and test me, they are mistaken,” Seongje said.

They stood in silence, watching some men from the new security protocol assess the layout from the positions of the existing guards.

“Beomseok talks in his sleep,” Seongje said.

“Does he?”

“Yes. I checked on him a few times last night and early this morning, just to see if he was alive. He was, but he looked stressed even in his sleep.”

“Why?”

“I heard some of the things he said—everything about coma boy.”

“Ahn Suho?” Baekjin asked as Seongje nodded.

“He doesn’t want the drugs to stop. Some crazy shit—he blabbered on about coma boy and how he is taking that pill, Raze - Bultang, whatever.”

“How did he get his hands on that pill?”

“I’m not sure, but think about it, Baekjin. Doesn’t it make sense? Beomseok isn’t entirely dumb, after all.”

“You mean in regards to Suho’s healing after the coma?”

“Yes. I’m not too into medicine, but I’ve fought, and coma boy was in that state for a solid amount of time. According to Beomseok’s sleep talk, he’s absolutely fine—as if nothing happened. That’s fucking crazy.”

“Are you sure about this? Although I do agree, it seems plausible.”

“You know that fucker Seoknam? He told us—me and Beomseok when the question of testimonies for the drug came up that it had been successful, especially on someone who was in a coma… which I’m not saying outright, but it could be coma boy, someone who was bedridden by a massive injury,” Seongje said, nodding to himself.

Baekjin studied him for a moment before speaking. “I believe this theory. So this entire ambush on Bumi… you’re doing it for Beomseok?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

“I don’t like the way Seoknam spoke to me.”

“I already handled him,” Baekjin said.

“That wasn’t enough.”

“He hurt your pride.”

“Maybe, but he insulted the Union as well. Why the fuck are you not mad?”

“There is no Union.”

“Baekjin.”

“Seongje.”

They both sighed, leaning against the wall. Seongje wasn’t attached to the Union, but he hated that Baekjin let it go so easily for Park Humin

“Say it already,” Baekjin chuckled.

“What?”

“Insult Baku again, as you always do. That’s what’s on your mind. Go ahead.”

“No.”

“I know you hold a grudge against him. But Baku or not, the situation—life—is such that we’re on the same side now. Even if you hate me a little, and I do as well,” Baekjin smirked.

"You need to stop saying that shit, it makes you sound weird"

"It is true"

Seongje dropped his cigarette to the floor crushing it as he looked at Baekjin who stood there very determined.

“I—fuck—fine! Damn it, I need your help,” Seongje blurted out, immediately glaring at himself. “I didn’t—uh—I mean, don’t you dare think I can’t handle it, just tell me about these bastards—”

Baekjin just shook his head and gave Seongje a little acknowledging smile.

"Fuck you"

“Gyeol worked for one of the most important divisions and arms of Bamui Jiri, called Gorae Bae,” Baekjin said. Seongje tilted his head, certain he had heard the name somewhere but couldn’t place it exactly.

“How the fuck did he end up in the dirt job group?”

“As a doctor, Gorae Bae is a hidden fighting ring racket. It has the who's who going to watch the fights there, but it’s under wraps. The police usually shut their gob when it comes to things done by Bamui Jiri,” Baekjin explained.

“Wait a damn minute. The other day at the hospital, those police officers left without any questioning. Who handled them? You didn’t, did you?” Seongje asked, shoving Baekjin slightly but careful of his shoulder.

“I spoke to them, but apparently they dropped the questioning because they recognized Eun Gyeol from an attempted sting at wherever Gorae Bae is. They didn’t want to fuck around,” Baekjin said.

“How long have you known this?” Seongje pressed.

“Gyeol told me the day the Secretary died, when we went to dispose of his body.”

“What does that have to do with any of this?”

“Has the nicotine got to your head? Piece it together. Gyeol told me the Secretary had been killed by Bumi. Considering how you got into a fight with their people, I’m assuming it was done by Bumi, which is also one of their branches—the drug arm.”

“Oh, they told me the last part inside as well this morning. Fuck,” Seongje said, lighting another cigarette and offering one to Baekjin, who took it.

“They, the workers inside, told me Oh Hyun Tae’s secretary—the one who got killed paid their wages on time,” Seongje continued. “I think they killed him because of the stoppage of the supply and decided to find me next because Beomseok was next in line to manage and Seoknam tried to play innocent at the club saying that the Secretary had "disappeared", fucking idiot.”

“That couldn’t be the only reason,” Baekjin said.

“I read some documents from Oh Hyun Tae’s study. Bumi wanted him to sell this warehouse with the machinery and the worker contracts as well. He refused, that greedy bastard and those crooks couldn’t agree on a price. He kept stalling them by claiming other parties were willing to pay more.”

“How messy,” Baekjin muttered.

“There’s something else I’m curious about. How did that dipshit Seoknam get into this dirt job group?”

“After the Union disbanded and I was declared dead, I think they all segregated. Seokhyeon must have tried to keep things together. Hwangmo was positioning himself. You told me that after I got up, but they wouldn’t have sustained without you,” Baekjin said thoughtfully.

“Was that a fucking praise?” Seongje asked, eyes wide as he tilted his head toward Baekjin, who pushed his face away.

“No.”

“Liar.”

“So Seoknam is there, and surprisingly, this Seok Dae guy is a chronic drug chum from his newbie's school days and Beomseok knows him too and coma boy is taking the drugs that are being sold here. Interesting,” Seongje said.

“How do you plan to work this out? You’re trying to diverge, distract, and displace. That’s okay, but how will you handle the flooding of those smoke rolls in the market again?” Baekjin asked.

“I’ll use my information network. Haven’t looked at it for ages,” Seongje chuckled, but the sound was short-lived when Baekjin’s laugh rang louder than his.

“What, you asshole? Why are you laughing?”

“Oh, you know nothing. Remember how Seo Juntae said he had something to tell you, but you just shut him off this morning?” Baekjin asked.

“Yeah, so?”

“He told me that the Union is in splits. Hyeongshin has taken over, rebelling. They’ve cornered Ganghak as well and tried to acquire your information network—the middle schoolers, now seniors, being guided by former seniors who are in university,” Baekjin said. Seongje stared at him in disbelief.

“You’re joking,” Seongje said, smiling and shaking his head as he took a puff of his cigarette.

“Let’s test out the theory,” Baekjin said, his tone cocky.

“What do you want?” Seongje asked, narrowing his eyes.

“That classmate of yours at Ganghak, the one who used to handle adding new dirt and leverage into your network and managed the announcements on Shuttle Patch as well. Ask him. Let’s see what he says,” Baekjin replied.

“Okay, if this is how you want to do it,” Seongje said, whipping out his phone. He found the contact and sent a message.

They waited in silence for a few tense moments as they paced back and forth before Seongje got a response.

“What did he say?” Baekjin asked, leaning over, his presence looming near Seongje as he tried to catch a glimpse of the response on the screen.

Where have you been Keum Seongje?
The kids at Ganghak searched everywhere for you.
I hope you know everyone hates you over there.
Yeongdeungpo is a mess now; there is no order.
Haven’t visited the area since I joined university. Life’s been hard.

Seongje ━
That sucks. Did you look into what I told you too?

Unfortunately, I will be of no help to you now, Seongje.
You have been officially locked out of the information network.
I do not wish to associate with backstabbers, everyone knows that you betrayed the Union.
Goodbye, please do not contact me again. 

“What the fuck?” Seongje muttered to himself as he refreshed the chat and saw that he had been blocked. 

“Wow, Seo Juntae was right. Hyeongshin really purged your damn network,” Baekjin said, reading the message again as he snatched Seongje’s phone.

“What the fuck is going on? I’ll fucking kill this bastard! I gave him the goddamn responsibility to manage the portal that I built, with leverage that I fucking found, and it’s just been handed over to a bunch of fucking idiots?!” Seongje said his teeth gritting as he tried to digest what he had just read, he even punched the vine wrapped wall briefly out of frustration.

“Go to Yeongdeungpo, Seongje-ah,” Baekjin said. Seongje scowled at him but immediately understood what Baekjin meant.

“I will. Someone needs to teach those brats,” Seongje replied.

“Look, I think they’ve sent some of their people,” Baekjin said, stepping closer to talk. They briefly turned their heads and spotted a few men, partly obscured by the vines.

“Are these the guys from yesterday? Can’t be. I beat those assholes black and blue,” Seongje said

“Why do you say that?” Baekjin asked.

“You remember when we got out of there? I pointed to a bunch of people heading up to the third floor, had that weird circle-within-a-circle logo on their jackets,” Seongje explained. Baekjin nodded.

“Hwalhak,” they both said together, recalling the name Gyeol had whispered.

“Must be another branch. I think these are the dogs they send out to beat people,” Baekjin muttered as Seongje watched him zoom in and take a picture.

"Didn't he tell you?", Seongje asked

"No, Gyeol just told me about Gorae Bae and some building where they do illegal shit, he told me he hasn't visited other places I'll ask him when he comes back from his seminar"

"What? Why can't you ask him now? Your boyfriend doesn't pick up his phone or what?", Seongje smirked 

"He is not my boyfriend"

Baekjin turned on his heel, slipping his phone into his pocket as the men loitering by the corner finally drifted away, murmuring among themselves.

Seongje stayed behind for a moment, shoulder pressed against the wall, his eyes narrowing on the faintly gleaming logo stitched into their jackets. He realized that he’d seen it before.

Not just last night at Midnight Sun.

Memory cut sharp, Yeon Sieun hunched over his laptop during the class Seongje was a temp for, the first day, two to three random boring stickers on the laptop cover, among them, half-peeled and tucked behind some corny physics quote, sat the exact same design.

The circle within a circle.

How?

"Just what the fuck are you newbie?", Seongje muttered to himself smiling, it was strange to him how one by one everyone seemed to be a part of this mess.

━━━━━━━━━

Sunday, 10 p.m
───────────

Sieun hadn't been able to eat dinner properly. Every bite of food had just vanished like it had not even gone into his mouth, because Seongje’s voice was rotting in his skull: “You really think they’re just friends? Open your eyes, Newbie.”

Gotak was beside him, blissfully chewing like a man who hadn’t been infected with paranoia, while Sieun’s eyes zeroed in on Baku and Juntae like he was catching them in a crime scene.

Suddenly Sieun wasn't sitting on the dining table anymore but a courtroom with Seongje as a prosecutor. 

What the fuck?

“Exhibit A,” Seongje’s voice boomed in Sieun’s head. Baku and Juntae laughing a little too hard at each other’s jokes.

“Exhibit B—direct eye contact lasting longer than three seconds. Suspicious.”

“Exhibit C—the feeding. Sieun, look at the feeding. One spoon. Two mouths. You tell me that’s friendship. They are fucking around.”

Sieun’s chopsticks hovered in the air. In reality, it was just Baku eating a dumpling from Juntae’s plate. But in Sieun’s courtroom, the jury gasped, cameras flashed, and Prosecutor Seongje slammed down a photo as if he’d caught them in a motel.

Sieun tried to object. "Friends share food all the time, I do so as well, there is nothing wrong in it !" but his inner Seongje just smirked, leaned in close, and whispered, “Yeah? Friends, or foreplay, maybe they will fuck after this?”

He pushed his chair back as he moved his plate and cleared his throat, “I… think I’m going to go and sleep.”

His friends looked at him and nodded as he passed by the table quietly and into his room as he shut the door and locked it. They had no questions, Sieun's barely slept at times and nobody questioned him when he did.

Sieun switched off the lights in his room, letting the others believe he had gone to sleep. The soft glow of his desk lamp was enough to illuminate his laptop as he opened it.

Not a single notification after the email in the library. That was a relief, sort of, for Sieun—peace at last. But the relief was poisoned by the knowledge that Seongje wouldn’t email again. Prideful bastard. So was Sieun. But Seongje had left him no choice, and now the game was squarely fifty - fifty between them. He had blocked Seongje and Seongje had sent him an email and then Sieun had shut him off there which meant he was the one who had to start an email chain this time.

Fuck.

From: Yeon Sieun<[email protected]>
To: Keum Seongje<[email protected]>
Date: Sunday, 10:10 PM

Subject: Timed offer (expires soon)

Time out’s over. Consider yourself lucky I’m willing to hear whatever nonsense you’re about to send.

Sieun sits and waits for a response and it takes him exactly seven minutes to get one, not that he was counting.

From: Keum Seongje<[email protected]>
To: Yeon Sieun<[email protected]>
Date: Sunday, 10:17 PM

Subject: Pop up

I almost thought your email was a porn pop-up because of the subject. And yet somehow, it had no less of an effect. Very similar, actually.

I won’t go too deep into the details, but I believe that punk and wimp, yes, Juntae and Baku are screwing. I saw them kissing at midnight scene.

Sieun read the email and nodded. Giving Seongje a time-out meant he would have to endure whatever he said in response, but at least this email wasn’t entirely rubbish. He didn’t react with the same surprise he had in the library.

The memory of them on the staircase as he came down from the third floor and Juntae and Baku were on the second behind him, Juntae's shirt upside down as Baku had told him that Juntae had spilled something. But Sieun saw no mark, no dampness, not even a trace of whatever transparent substance had supposedly caused it.

“Okay,” Sieun muttered to himself as he started typing a response. He had heard Seongje’s side. Now it was Seongje’s turn to understand why Sieun didn’t agree, simple as that.

From: Yeon Sieun<[email protected]>
To: Keum Seongje<[email protected]>
Date: Sunday, 10:20 PM

Subject: Fact to Share

I’m going to share something with you, and I expect it to remain strictly between us.

Juntae has an enduring infatuation with Gotak, one that has persisted since Eunjang. Until now, I was the only one aware. You are now the second. He has never articulated these feelings to Hyuntak or anyone else, and I do not anticipate that changing.

As for your claim about them and what "you" think they did at the club. I find it difficult to take seriously. If anything happened, it’s far more likely to have been inadvertence, misinterpretation, or intoxication — nothing deliberate or on purpose.

Seongje's response came again within a few minutes. Sieun sighed as he looked at the subject of the response.

From: Keum Seongje<[email protected]>
To: Yeon Sieun<[email protected]>
Date: Sunday, 10:25 PM

Subject: Sexy Secretary 

Did you steal a dictionary or something? Fancy words.

You look hot when you’re mad. But somehow, you’re even hotter when you’re calm. Reading this… it’s like you’re a secretary at some scandalous hour, reporting to your boss, except I’m not sure who’s really in charge here.

The secrets of your pest gang are safe with me, I still think they're screwing.

Whatever.

Sieun blinked as he closed the email tab and opened a private one as he searched for something.

"Sexy Secretary and Boss"

The results were predictable, webcomics, over-the-top dramas, and a handful of porn videos. He clicked one at random.

The video opened in a dimly lit office. A young, nervous secretary approached his sharply dressed boss, voice shaking:

“I… I’m going to share something with you, and I expect it to remain strictly between us…”

"Wait a damn minute, I just said this in my email", Sieun muttered looking closer at the laptop screen.

The boss leaned in, smirking, while the secretary’s hands fidgeted with his tie as they started taking off their clothes, the dialogues eerily similar “…WHAT. THE. FUCK. NO. EW. EW. EW!”

He slammed the laptop shut as if it had bit him, pushing his chair and flopping back in his bed. His face burned, mind spinning, and Seongje’s smug grin came unbidden to his thoughts. The audacity. The coincidence. The absolute horror.

"There is nothing exciting about vocabulary but leave it to this guy to get off anything, weirdo", Sieun huffed.

━━━━━━━━━

Monday, 10 a.m
────────────

Juntae knew he shouldn’t make promises he couldn’t keep. The weight of it sat like a stone in his chest. This one was too big, too impossible—it would crush him if he tried to see it through.

It had only been one day, and already he felt the promise he had made to Beomseok and Baekjin almost kill him from inside.

He paced along the edge of the green patches at KNSU, sneakers scuffing the earth, his nails worrying at the skin around his thumb until it stung. He stopped, dragged a hand through his hair, then started pacing again. His thoughts looped and tangled. He needed to tell someone—he had to.

But the person he had chosen was, objectively, the worst possible option.

His eyes flicked toward the group clustered around Gotak. A few girls, a couple of guys, all laughing at something he couldn’t hear.

Juntae shifted from one foot to the other, palms damp, jaw tight. Finally, he raised a hand and gave a stiff wave. Gotak’s head snapped up, grin flashing as he excused himself. He jogged over with easy energy, closing the distance too quickly. His arm slung around Juntae’s shoulder in greeting, momentum carrying them both forward until Juntae nearly lost his balance.

He stumbled, breath catching, but Gotak’s hand shot out, gripping his collar and steadying him before he could fall.

For a split second, panic flared in his chest, but then Gotak caught him—fingers snagging his collar just in time. Their faces were suddenly closer than Juntae could handle, his breath stuck in his throat.

On any other day, he would have obsessed over this, replayed it in his head like some over-the-top scene from a drama, written meaning into every accidental brush of contact. He would have let it carry him through the week.

But today wasn’t one of those days. Today, the knot in his stomach was too tight, the secret burning a hole through him far too heavy to let himself get swept away in silly golly fantasies.

“What’s up? You called and came all the way here? It’s far from Yonsei,” Gotak said, still catching his breath as he made Juntae sit first.

“Am I interrupting something?” Juntae asked, glancing at the people Gotak had been talking to earlier.

“No,” Gotak shook his head, then turned fully to face him.

“I have something to say,” Juntae started slowly, noticing how serious Gotak suddenly looked—until Gotak grabbed his hand without warning.

“Me too,” Gotak said, clasping his hands tightly. The sudden warmth shocked Juntae.

What the hell, what the hell, what the hell—

“Uh… w-what do you want to say?” Juntae stammered.

“Juntae-ah, I’ve been holding this in for a while. And I know you have too. So let’s just say it—on the count of three, okay?” Gotak gave his hand a firm, reassuring shake.

Say what?

SAY WHAT??

He watched in disbelief as Gotak actually started a countdown. For what? Is he… is he going to confess? Does Gotak like me too?

1… 2… 3—

“I like you,” Gotak said.

“I like you,” Juntae blurted at the exact same time.

He froze. His hands tightened around Gotak’s instinctively, his mouth slightly open, his eyes wide.

He likes me too?

HE LIKES ME???

For one perfect moment, they just looked at each other. Then Gotak’s laugh shattered it. He let go of Juntae’s hands, clapping loudly.

Juntae blinked. He’s happy, right? Right?

“Oh… Baku was right. We do have a kind of telepathy about things like this… ah, I was sure you’d say the same thing if I did. What a good joke.” Gotak laughed harder, smacking Juntae’s shoulder.

Joke?

This was a joke to him?

Of course it was.

Juntae had gotten so used to hiding his feelings that it barely took him a second to smother his expectations. His tone shifted, clipped and serious.

“I have something to say.”

“Yes, yes, tell me. I’ve been wondering what was so important that you came all the way here. I was going to give you a tour, too,” Gotak replied lightly.

“No. I’ll go home after this.” Juntae adjusted his glasses, and he noticed the way Gotak straightened at the gesture—as if he already knew this wasn’t a conversation to be taken lightly.

“I’m listening,” Gotak said, calmer now, more composed.

“Okay…” Juntae exhaled, bracing himself. “What I’m about to say will sound absolutely insane, I know. But it’s the truth.”

“Alright.”

“Baekjin is alive.”

Gotak just blinked at him. No reaction. Nothing. Until suddenly, his hand shot forward and pressed against Juntae’s forehead with genuine concern.

Juntae let it linger for a second before brushing it away. “What are you doing?”

“Checking if you’re sleep-deprived or if you’ve got a fever,” Gotak said, like it was the most obvious explanation in the world.

“I’m serious,” Juntae snapped, frustration slipping out as he pushed himself to his feet.

“If Baekjin is alive, then I’m Superman,” Gotak retorted.

“I’m not joking” Juntae repeated, louder this time.

“Have you lost your mind?” Gotak asked, his voice finally lifting, sharp at the edges.

“No, I haven’t lost my mind, just listen to me,” Juntae said, sharper than he intended, his hand shooting out to press down on Gotak’s knee as if physically keeping him from bolting or flaring up in some dramatic outburst. His palm trembled against the denim, but he held firm, leaning forward so Gotak couldn’t look away.

“Baekjin is alive. I met him yesterday.” The words tumbled out too fast, like he’d rehearsed them a hundred times and still feared they’d vanish if he hesitated. “He was at Midnight Scene the other night as well. I went looking for Baku, but I lost track of him and ended up outside, in the back alley. And Baekjin was there—” Juntae’s breath hitched, his voice lowering to a near whisper, “—he was beating Seoknam. Because Seoknam had argued with us. Because he pissed off Baku.”

Juntae’s eyes searched Gotak’s face desperately, begging him to believe.

“Baekjin is dead,” Gotak said flatly, locking eyes with Juntae.

“He isn’t.”

“He is. We went to his funeral, for fuck’s sake. Even Baku didn’t believe it at first, but we all saw the death certificate. He died in an accident—yeah, an accident. I’m sure he didn’t willingly get hit by a truck.”

“The funeral was a farce, Gotak. All of it. It was planned.”

Gotak scoffed, turning his head with an almost mocking laugh. “You’ve been reading too many books lately. Why? all that anime’s gotten to your head. What’s your current topic of interest? Reincarnation theories?”

Juntae folded his arms, biting back the urge to snap. He knew he’d chosen the wrong person for this conversation, but he had no one else. He couldn’t risk telling Baku, and he had no idea how Sieun would react. Worst of all, he worried about Baekjin and Sieun crossing paths at university. That left him with only Gotak—stubborn, cynical, quick to judge because of his temper and his guardianship nature for people he cared about. But Juntae loved him, literally, and despite Gotak’s sharp edges, he was the one person Juntae trusted blindly.

“I went to meet Baekjin during the day,” Juntae continued. “Actually, I met Beomseok first—yeah, the same guy who put Suho into a coma. He knows Baekjin. He’s the one who helped me meet him. Baekjin never died, Gotak. The funeral, the death certificate, everything—it was all fake. Orchestrated by Seongje and Dr. Gyeol.” He let out a long sigh.

Gotak blinked at him. “Wait—so the guy who put Suho into a coma is here too? Wasn’t he in the Philippines? That’s what Sieun said.”

“He’s back. And he’s Seongje’s cousin,” Juntae said, each line sounding more crazy than the last, even to his own ears. Gotak only stared back with a look of pity.

“Are you done connecting everyone?” Gotak asked flatly.

“I’m not connecting anyone, Gotak! What the hell is wrong with you?” Juntae shot back, his voice cracking as he dropped helplessly onto the bench.

“Juntae, what you’re saying makes no sense,” Gotak muttered, leaning back against the bench.

Silence stretched between them. Five whole minutes passed, heavy and unbroken, until Gotak finally turned his head. He saw Juntae hunched forward, and from behind his glasses, a single tear slid down his cheek.

“Are you crying?” Gotak asked, turning Juntae toward him by the shoulder.

“I keep everyone’s secrets,” Juntae whispered, his lower lip trembling. “Whatever anyone wants to tell me, I keep. But I can’t keep this one. I just can’t. I had to tell someone so I told you. I don’t know, I’m sorry.” Another tear slid down his cheek and traced along his neck. Gotak just stared at him, shocked and suddenly alert.

“Juntae-ah… what’s wrong? What’s happening?” Gotak asked, his voice gentler now.

Juntae leaned his head briefly against Gotak’s shoulder, shaking it as if the words weighed too much. “Baekjin is alive. He’s been alive all this while. Beomseok… he didn’t tell me much. But I think Baekjin was in a really bad condition after the fight. It makes sense. Baku and Sieun left him in an almost punctured state. Seongje came and saved him… and… and…” He trailed off, choking on the words.

“And what?” Gotak asked quietly.

“I don’t know much,” Juntae said, wiping his eyes quickly. “I tried to get it out of Beomseok, but he wouldn’t talk. Baekjin didn’t tell me either. It felt like some kind of punishment—like I didn’t deserve the whole truth. Everything that happened is wrong.”

“What is?”

“You remember when we were partying at the diner, and Baekjin kept calling Baku?”

“Yes. Baku didn’t feel like picking up, and I told him not to either,” Gotak said with a small nod.

Juntae’s voice cracked. “Baekjin tried committing suicide at that time. He almost did.”

Gotak straightened instantly, his eyes wide. “What?”

“Yes. With pills and Seongje saved him, and Dr. Gyeol helped him. After that, they made him disappear. They staged the entire thing to make it believable.

Gotak shot up from the bench, his tone climbing toward disbelief. “Why the fuck would anyone do that?”

“Choi,” Juntae answered, looking up at him. “Baekjin told me himself—Choi was after him, he would turn in Baekjin as punishment for losing to Eunjang.”

Gotak shook his head furiously, pacing in front of the bench, hands tightening into fists and then loosening again. “No. No.”

“Gotak,” Juntae said softly.

“Don’t talk. Just don’t,” Gotak snapped, pressing a hand against his forehead.

“I’m telling the truth,” Juntae repeated firmly.

“What are you saying, Seo Juntae?” Gotak muttered, his voice low, as if begging for Juntae to refute his own words. But Juntae sat still, unwavering.

Gotak slammed his hand down on the bench, the sharp sound making Juntae flinch. “Why would you tell me this?”

“I had nobody else.”

“Why, Juntae? Why?” Gotak’s voice was raw now, threaded with something dangerously close to belief.

“I’m sorry,” Juntae whispered.

Gotak’s expression twisted. “Do you know, after the party, Baku wanted to see Baekjin when he was drunk? He wanted to but I told him not to go. Me. I thought it wouldn’t be good for him.” His voice shook slighly as he pointed a finger at his chest. “You’re telling me… you’re saying he could’ve saved Baekjin?”

“Seongje was there,” Juntae said quietly. “He saved him.”

It doesn’t matter! What if he hadn’t survived? That bastard he died, and I cried at his funeral, but I still hate him for everything he made Baku endure from the inside. But never… never enough that I’d have wanted him dead,” Gotak said, almost like he was scrubbing a slate clean.

“I know, I know,” Juntae said, placing a calming hand on him, but Gotak shrugged it off.

“You don’t. Baku… Baku, if he finds out about this… I don’t know. And I’m not talking about Baekjin being alive, but what Baekjin did… no… no, he was already so shocked about the entire fund thing” Gotak muttered, shaking his head.

Juntae felt the weight of that pain. He knew the anguish Baku had endured because of Baekjin, the quiet sobs, the lingering memories he occasionally shared when lying beside him after they were done with the deeds of their secret arrangement. And he knew Gotak felt it too, because he cared too much about Baku, he was his family.

“Beomseok and I are in almost the same lectures at Yonsei. Seongje is senior to Sieun at SNU, you know that. Baekjin goes to SNU too, a year above Sieun,” Juntae said carefully.

“Why are all of them back? And Gyeol? He’s been lying to his own brother this whole time?” Gotak asked.

“He had a reason. He did it as a doctor,” Juntae said.

“Are you defending all of them?” Gotak shot back sharply.

“No,” Juntae said quickly. “I’m telling you because I had to. I haven’t told Sieun. Baekjin said that, according to him, Sieun would be the first one he’d tell in our group that he was alive. I don’t know why—he said he had his reasons. I have a feeling they might meet at school, though.”

“Sieun isn’t going to handle this well, and you know how he is about Suho. The guy you spoke to literally tried to kill him,” Gotak said, voice grim.

“I know. Beomseok is a different story right now he won’t ever harm Suho again,” Juntae replied.

“How can you be so sure?”

“He won’t. He’s...I don’t know. Just trying to survive somehow, letting the days pass,” Juntae said, remembering the faint cuts on Beomseok’s arms he had tried to hide with the blanket. He felt a pang of pity for him.

“I don’t know… I don’t want these three anywhere near my friends. That lunatic Keum, who does whatever he wants, dragging the police into his madness. That Beomseok guy, who’s related to Seongje… crazy as that is, he doesn’t even deserve to be near Suho. And Baekjin… what am I even supposed to say?” Gotak’s voice was tight with anger.

Juntae knew Gotak wasn’t angry at him just at the situation, at the circling of it all. He also knew Gotak had been trying, in his own way, to get past his grudge against Baekjin for his knee.

“I have something else to say,” Juntae started, holding onto another set of crucial details—but Gotak cut him off.

“Juntae… go,” Gotak said, his expression blank.

“Why?”

“What more do you have to say? What could you possibly say now? I don’t want to hear it,” 

“Nothing,” Juntae muttered, tightening his grip on his bag straps as he got up and started walking away immediately.

Gotak didn’t follow him and Juntae didn’t want him to. They weren’t in school anymore, weren’t in that space where someone would chase after the other.

He had carried several of Gotak’s secrets, felt their weight, and endured the pain that came with them. It was time for Gotak to step in too.

Juntae wasn’t a dumping ground.

"I am sorry that I trust you like no one else", Juntae murmured to himself.

━━━━━━━━━

Monday, 1 p.m
────────────

Seongje did not come. It was Monday.

Sieun went about his day normally, attended each and every class and managed to eat as well, he was hungry after his rushed exit from the dining table the previous night. People still looked at him with curiosity. He had heard some whispers and discovered that the seniors Seongje had beaten up might return in the next week or the week after if the hospital discharged them.

He even went to check the GameDev Club room. Seongje wasn’t there. His desk remained untouched. Sieun stared at it for a few minutes before finally sitting down. He wasn’t a member of the club, but the atmosphere was nice and calming. He needed to charge his phone anyway. It wasn’t like Seongje would find out, or randomly spring out at him.

His eyes drifted to Seongje’s corner. He remembered to check if the boxing tape was still under the table. It was. He removed it carefully and set it aside so he wouldn’t hit his knee again.

Sieun looked over Seongje’s bookmarked and tagged books, stacked neatly beside each other. A few registers were kept in the corner as well. He opened them and flipped through the pages, in some the handwriting was neat and in some it was messy.

He didn’t like snooping into other people’s personal items and would never want anyone else doing the same. But since Seongje had his timetable and email visible, Sieun decided this was fair payback. 

After looking at the first two registers and placing them exactly where they had been, Sieun’s attention shifted to the third one. He hesitated. The pages were covered in messy, almost frantic scribbles, with a card tucked into one of them.

“Hope Children Foundation,” he read aloud. His eyes flicked to the next page. Another card, same place, different address. One in Gangnam, the other in Yeongdeungpo.

Recognition clicked. He had heard the name from Baku. Baekjin had come from the Yeongdeungpo branch of this orphanage. Sieun turned the Gangnam card over. Faint, almost ghostly writing stared back at him.

Beomseok.

Just a single name.

Beomseok… was adopted? But he had his family—his father. A jolt ran through Sieun as he realized that when he had been friends with Beomseok, he hadn’t asked much about him at all. All he knew was that Beomseok was loaded.

How did Seongje know him?

He flipped through the pages, scanning the scribbled points.

How to deal with kids who have faced domestic abuse?
How to deal with people who have been bullied?
Signs people have been abused?

His eyes widened as he turned the next page. Random words were scattered across it, almost like Seongje had jotted down a stream of thoughts.

Guarded. Hyper-vigilant. Stupid. Fragile. Withdrawn. Distrustful. Anxious. Defensive. Low self-esteem.

He turned the page. It was an address, one that he recognised; Beomseok’s house address. Sieun was sure that Beomseok held all of his father’s assets now.

The rest of the notebook was empty, the pages void of any further notes. Nothing. Carefully, he replaced the cards exactly where he had found them, closing the book with a quiet click and sliding it back into its corner. The neatness of the act was at odds with the storm of thoughts whirling in his mind.

Now Sieun had a lot of questions. He had seen Beomseok at the club as well, the same Beomseok who had haunted his thoughts and dreams everyday at Eunjang until Sieun had freed him from the rink, not that he wanted to let Beomseok go.

Sieun wasn’t going to unblock Seongje. That only meant one thing: he had to go and find answers himself. It was out of his usual routine to go exploring, but he had already broken the monotone rule he had kept for himself before.

He looked at his phone, disconnected it, and searched for the location of the club they had been to, Midnight Scene. He decided he would go there once again.

[....]

Sieun stepped onto the shuttle bus, his eyes tracing the subway map. The club wasn’t far by subway, only twenty minutes away, but the walk through the alley Gotak had shown him felt longer in his head. Beomseok’s face at the club kept flashing across his mind, each replay sharper than the last.

He hadn’t noticed this before, but now it clicked just like Seongje had said during the fight, the club had no signboards, only intimidating black doors that seemed intimidating.

Sieun also remembered that one needed a connection to get through and he could barely recollect how the girl Gotak had used to get in looked, even if he did, he’d still need the CCTV footage to confirm what he’d seen. The cameras outside had crooked angles; he hoped the inside wasn’t the same.

“Yes?” a bored guy asked, leaning against the black door, eyes scanning Sieun from head to toe. The place was empty, a quiet weekday evening keeping most customers away.

“I actually wanted to know if I could access some CCTV footage. I was here on Saturday,” Sieun said, trying to keep his voice calm as he felt the man’s gaze sizing him up.

“Why? If you lost something, I can’t help. No lost and found here,” the guy said flatly, arms crossed.

Sieun expected reluctance. Luckily, his memory wasn’t clogged by Seongje’s ridiculous rot entirely. He thought fast. “Actually, my friend was proposed to here. We already have videos, but I wanted a different angle… to compile them.” He pictured the couple he'd seen, laughing with friends, when he’d come down from the third floor after the fight.

“Oh,” the man said, nodding slowly, considering. After a moment, he turned and went inside, shutting the door with a click.

Sieun muttered under his breath, “This better work”, the risk of being caught was real. He hadn’t even been on the second floor last time.

A minute later, the door opened again. The man tilted his head, signaling Sieun to come in. Relief washed over him as he stepped through, the club was nearly empty inside, a playlist playing low in the background. Sieun’s eyes darted upward instinctively to the third floor. The booth he had fought in was hidden by the sharp angle of the staircase, but the memory of it made his pulse quicken. He hoped no one would recognise him here.

He slid his bag to the front, pulled out a black hat, and tugged it low over his eyes before following the staffer across the ground floor. The man pushed open a door tucked behind the bar and gestured him inside.

The room was dim, the glow of monitors washing everything in blue. Screens covered the wall, sixteen, maybe seventeen of them, flickering with feeds from every corner of the club. A man hunched forward, his hands busy across keyboards, his face hidden in the shadows of the monitors.

“He wants to see some proposal. Show him what he wants… couples these days,” the staffer muttered, shutting the door behind Sieun.

Sieun hesitated, then cleared his throat. “Excuse me?”

The figure swiveled his chair around and Sieun stood still for a moment as he recognition hit him.

“You?”
“You?”

The words came out at the same time, sharp and stunned.

Hyoman.
Of all people, it was fucking Hyoman.

Sieun blinked, forcing his shock down before it cracked through his composure. “What are you doing here?”

Hyoman leaned back in his chair, his expression almost goofy. “I could ask you the same thing.”

He straightened, forcing his tone flat, controlled. “I need to see some footage. The guy outside already knows.”

Sieun's hand slid into his pocket, pulling out the pen he always carried.

“Don’t,” Hyoman said instantly, his voice sharp. His eyes flicked to the pen. He remembered. Sieun had stabbed him with it once.

Sieun’s tone didn’t waver. “I need to write something.”

Without waiting for approval, he stepped closer to the monitors, his gaze flicking over the endless feeds.

“Time, day, and floor?” Hyoman asked finally, his tone the same old that Sieun remembered.

“Saturday. Around 11:00 p.m. Second floor.”

Hyoman typed, the keys clicking rapid-fire as six screens expanded, filling with footage from that window of time, a glowing snapshot of laughter and applause, some couple in the middle of their engagement, their friends cheering, confetti falling from poppers.

Sieun stared at the scene for a moment, he may have even smiled a little, lucky, must be fun to live like this with someone who wants you and not worry about anything.

He came out of his thoughts a moment later, this is not what he was here for. If he had to see the screens he had to distract Hyoman.

“It’s been a while since we last saw each other,” Sieun said, his tone even. He hadn’t lied—he’d seen Hyoman a few months after the fight, but then the guy had disappeared, much to Juntae’s relief.

“Yeah, it has. University?” Hyoman asked.

“Yes. You?”

“Work, as you can see.”

“You look better than you did at Eunjang,” Sieun said flatly. It wasn’t flattery, just observation—Hyoman didn’t look shabby anymore.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Hyoman asked, a little surprised.

“You can assume so,” Sieun replied, his eyes flicking once to the chair Hyoman sat in.

“My legs hurt a little. Can I sit?”

Hyoman immediately stood, offering him the seat.

“Is it the haircut or the jacket?” Hyoman asked, leaning against the table, turned toward Sieun instead of the screens. “I switched to street style. It’s trending these days.”

“Both, I think. It suits you,” Sieun said, his hand inching closer to one of the dials.

“I didn’t think of you as the type to compliment,” Hyoman said with a faint smile.

“It is what it is.” Sieun suppressed a sigh. Hyoman was still right there, too close, too watchful.

“I didn’t know you worked here. We came the other day, you should’ve met the others,” Sieun said, voice casual, though his eyes stayed locked on the controls.

“I didn’t know you came over the weekend. Honestly, this doesn’t look like the kind of place I’d expect to see you. Can’t say the same for Gotak or Humin, though,” Hyoman replied.

“Why? Everyone likes having fun and sharing a drink,” Sieun said. He didn’t usually engage in chats like this.

“Yeah, as if your friends would have a beer with me.” Hyoman scoffed. The fight had ended long ago, but Baku and Gotak still kept their distance from Hyoman—it made Juntae uncomfortable.

“Maybe. I don’t know. I can consider?” Sieun offered.

“A drink? At this time?” Hyoman asked, eyeing him.

He just doesn’t get a hint. This idiot, Sieun thought to himself.

“I’ll have water. How about you get yourself something?” Sieun said instead, watching Hyoman hesitate before nodding.

“How could I refuse such an offer? Eunjang buddies, after all,” Hyoman said, glancing at the screens before looking back at Sieun.

“Oh, I’ll just record the proposal, if that’s okay with you,” Sieun added carefully. This was the tricky part.

“Uh—okay. A water for you? I’ll go place an order, I’ll be outside.”

Sieun nodded, flashing him a thumbs-up. He waited for Hyoman to leave, then quickly spun toward the system.

“Third floor,” Sieun muttered, adjusting the awkwardly placed cameras and hitting the fast-forward button.

The footage flickered. Around 10:45, he saw Seongje heading up the stairs, someone gripping his hand tightly, it was Beomseok. Sieun zoomed in. Seok Dae was leading him to a booth and stepping inside himself. The angle didn’t let him see more.

He cycled through other feeds, watching the crowds go up and down. About twenty minutes later, Beomseok stumbled out of view near the booth.

Switching to another angle, Sieun saw himself and Suho climbing the stairs. He paused and rewound slowly. Beomseok had spotted them seconds earlier, darting toward the washroom the moment Sieun turned away and sent Suho downstairs.

Then Sieun saw himself stepping into the booth where Seongje was. Moments later, Beomseok hurried down the staircase, clutching a phone with a tacky blue case. Sieun zoomed in—the white devil sticker was half visible. It was Seongje’s phone.

“Tch.” His tongue clicked against his teeth. His observations were never wrong.

He shifted to another feed, trying to track Beomseok, but his hand slipped on the dial and the footage sped too quickly.

“Shit,” he muttered, fumbling to adjust it back.

The third floor came into view again. Sieun froze. Two familiar figures appeared, hand in hand, climbing the staircase.

Juntae. And Baku.

“No way…”

He swallowed hard and zoomed closer. They disappeared into a booth on the right. Ten minutes later, he saw his own figure storming out of a booth on the left after the fight.

His gaze snapped back to the right. Still no sign of Juntae or Baku leaving.

Fast-forwarding, Sieun saw Seongje step out of his booth. Almost at the same time, Juntae and Baku emerged from theirs. Baku stretched, fixing his pants casually. Juntae’s shirt—Sieun zoomed in—it was inside out.

Then came the moment Sieun didn’t want to believe, it was supposed be Seongje's ridiculous rot - but it wasn't. Baku pressed Juntae against the booth wall and kissed him, quick but unmistakable.

Sieun’s breath hitched. He saw Seongje watching them for a few seconds before turning away, his head bowed toward the wall, and then walking off.

Sieun forced himself to keep watching. Later, the footage showed Baku and Juntae approaching him on the stairs, speaking casually as if nothing had happened.

They lied.

He scanned for Beomseok again, but the trail was gone. Time was slipping. He reset the screens to their original state just as footsteps approached.

“Done watching?” Hyoman asked, stepping in.

Sieun quickly stood, making sure the extra feeds were closed. “Yes. I think I should be going now.”

Hyoman handed him a glass of chilled water. Sieun had forgotten about that. He took it anyway and sipped.

“You’re leaving?” Hyoman asked, looking almost disappointed.

“I have some work. Did you order yourself something? I’ll pay,” Sieun offered.

“It’s on the house. You can give me your number instead, Sieun,” Hyoman said casually.

What the hell? Why?

“Me?” Sieun asked, blinking.

“Yes. Your number,” Hyoman repeated.

Reluctantly, Sieun unlocked his phone and handed it over. He would delete the number later. For now, there was no escaping unless he complied.

Hyoman typed his number in, and Sieun immediately snatched the phone back, muttering a quick goodbye before slipping out.

As he walked toward the exit, his eyes drifted up to the third floor. The booths were clean from outside, curtains fixed. No sign of damage. As if no fight had ever happened.

He pushed through the door, only to pause as a loud group burst in, chattering.

“I’ve seen the guy fight myself at the gym—he’s good. Gonna be real competition at Gorae Bae. I’m excited.”
“Is he applying?”
“I heard he is, but he’s no match for that psycho who was here. Did you hear about him?”

“Gorae Bae,” Sieun muttered once outside. He definitely knew that word. He just couldn’t remember where from.

[....]

여섯— #6 (Y.S’s exp)

This is not exactly about Seongje. (Scratch that , of course it IS, everything ends up being about him in one way or another in these observations more than me. Annoying.)

This is supposed to be my experiment not Seongje's.

At first, I told him that Baku and Juntae must have been drunk, because that is what made sense — no, because that was what I wanted to make sense. That was the clean, logical explanation, the one that left no room for unnecessary complications. I even told Seongje this in my last email. 

But then I saw the footage, and now it turns out I was the one who had been wrong. They weren’t drunk. They weren’t stumbling or slurring or making idiotic mistakes. They were deliberate, composed, in their senses. They lied to me and no drink was spilled.

And that ruins everything.

It’s unsettling, because my entire reason for blocking him was because of what he said about Baku and Juntae. And now… that has turned out to be TRUE.

And if he was right — then technically I was wrong. And if I was wrong — then technically HE WAS RIGHT.

If I unblock him, it would be—
(a peace offering )
(a rational adjustment )

NO. It would be admitting defeat.
It is not a competition

No. It IS a competition. Always. Because if I hand him this one victory, his ego will inflate like some parasitic balloon, rising into UNREACHABLE STRATOSPHERIC LEVELS.

If I keep him blocked, however—

Logically speaking, that is incorrect, because I would be suppressing the truth and living in a sort of self-imposed denial.
But also… HE DOESN’T HAVE TO KNOW that I know now.

Yes. That’s it. He doesn’t have to know that I know that he was right.

And so, we are at an impasse.

One where I am trapped between moral correctness and preserving my pride against an organism that thrives on smugness and host-humiliation.

And speaking of parasites. Parasites are known for their uncanny sense of direction. There’s this study that says that apparently hairworms guide crickets straight into water so they drown themselves. Even the smallest parasite has a better instinct than its host. Meaning: Seongje = parasite. Me = unfortunate host, since I am in self experiment torture. Parasite always finds its way, always navigates. Therefore, he found his way to the truth, and I stumbled into error. Seongje even said he has good instincts which is ridiculous because my hunch has always been right, it has so I did doubt Juntae's upside down shirt. I should trust my gut more.

What an elegant humiliation.
Emotionally ?

Irritation → high (baseline when dealing with Seongje).
Embarrassment → sharp and sour, because I have to admit I was wrong.
A strange flicker of admiration (immediately denied). No, not admiration

Conclusion (temporary): keep him blocked. Seongje doesn’t need to know he’s right. The parasite feeds enough on my thoughts every few hours as it is.

━━━━━━━━━

Monday, 4 p.m
────────────

Beomseok had been snubbed, insulted, demeaned, and reprimanded so many times in his life that he no longer felt bruised by it—he felt damp. People’s words didn’t roll off him; they stuck, seeped in, and stayed. They spread across his skin like mold on old bread, green-black and furry, rotting into him until he couldn’t tell where their cruelty ended and his own body began. He wasn’t hardened like others who learned to fight back. He was soggy, waterlogged, collecting every insult until he stank of it, until the weight of other people’s disgust and his tears lived in him like mildew in the walls of an abandoned house.

He would have preferred to come to the warehouse with Seongje but Seongje had been locked inside his room the entire day, he had seen a peek of him when Baekjin came out of his room - he could hear Seongje yell at someone on the phone, it didn’t take much convincing to ask Baekjin of the warehouse address. Beomseok owned it legally, but he was fine with whatever Seongje was doing with it, he was sure that he knew what he was doing.

Beomseok just had a few questions.

Would Suho get the drugs?
Was Suho on drugs? He had gotten the hospital reports out but Suho was in a bad condition when he woke up at first.
Where was Suho getting the drugs from?

So he kept a poker face in the warehouse, hiding the jolt of surprise that shot through him at the sight of the girl he once knew—Yeongyi. They’d hung out, studied together, even laughed, which almost looked like things that had happened in another life. Now she wore that same face twisted in open distaste, every movement screaming how little she wanted him there as she guided him through the dim corridors.

“I heard your brother came over the other day. I wasn’t here, but he’s in charge now,” Yeongyi said coolly, her voice sharp against the hum of machinery. “Why are you here?”

“I have some questions regarding the pill that is made here,” Beomseok muttered, lowering his voice.

“It’s pills. Bultang, Chimjak, and Simsim. Which one?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

“Raze. Bultang, as you call it,” Beomseok said, pausing at a tray of pale tablets that Yeongyi flicked onto the table with a clatter.

“Raze. What do you want to know about them?”

“I was told these have been tested. That there were… testimonies? Were the experiments successful?”

“Yes, they were. I don’t have the data on who they were used on, just what everyone says. One was a guy with severe ligament damage. The other…” her voice dipped, “was bedridden. In a coma, some say.”

Beomseok’s stomach tightened. Did Yeongyi really not know Suho was in a coma? Did she not know that Beomseok put him in that state? Was she not in contact with the two of them anymore?

“And these are given to Bumi?” he pressed.

“Yes. Anything else?” Her tone dripped annoyance.

“These are given to Bumi and to people in the market too, but the quantities differ?”

“Yes. Bumi takes boxes. Normal consumers get numbered supplies to prevent overdose—we don’t want a police crackdown.”

“Does Bumi move them anywhere else? Aside from their customers?”

“I don’t know much. Bumi has its own customer base, but most of the drugs are for internal use between them and fellow arms.”

“Such as?”

“We don’t know. But most likely it’s Hwalhak, from what I’ve heard—” Yeongyi froze, realizing she’d said too much, her eyes snapping to him.

“Seokdae works for Bumi. He found us, you know that?” Beomseok asked, watching her reaction.

“People do things to make a living. Let’s keep this conversation professional, please.”

“This Hwalhak… do you know where it is?”

Yeongyi didn’t answer right away. Instead, she scribbled a time and address on a scrap of paper and shoved it toward him. “If someone asks you, you didn’t get this from me.” Then, after a pause, she bent down to a metallic drawer and slid out a sleek black card stamped with a white circle logo.

“Thanks. And… I’m sorry,” Beomseok said softly.

“You—just go. People like you are never sorry. Next time, ask someone else for help.” She pulled her mask on, her face shutting down, and turned away.

Beomseok looked at the card, the white circle gleaming under the warehouse light. Hwalhak. He muttered the name to himself. He’d heard it before, Gyeol has said it while they got out of the bar, when Seongje pointed at the men who attacked him. He remembered the same logo flashing when Seokdae had tried to escape from Seongje, tearing open the curtain of the booth.

The thought sank in, cold, bitter and uncomfortable. Was Suho some sort of goon now?

━━━━━━━━━

Monday, 9 p.m
────────────

Sieun put his pen down, leaned back in the chair, and stared at the blank screen. Still no email.

Good. Fine. Perfect.

He stood up, shoved his hands in his pockets, and walked a circle around his room. He had really thought that Seongje would send him another email about Juntae and Baku

“Finally quiet. No unsolicited garbage. No parasite. No Seongje”

He looked at his glasses kept on his table, he barely used them. He walked towards the table and opened a drawer pulling out a broken spectacle frame. Seongje's glasses - consolation prize, he had taken them after winning the rooftop fight.

They were broken but Sieun had taped the sides, Slowly, he slid them on, squinted at himself. Tilted his head left, right looking at himself in a portable mirror.

“…Is this how he looks when he’s typing those disasters?”

He leaned closer, grimaced. “Pathetic.”

Then he pushed the bridge up with one finger and studied himself again. The corners of his mouth twitched, annoyed. 

For observation sake he realized that Seongje's glasses looked better on his face than the bland frame he had.

He rolled his eyes at himself but didn’t take them off as he leaned against table.

“…He’s probably bothering someone else right now,” Sieun muttered, pulling the glasses halfway down his nose. “Maybe one of those guys or girls who run around him calling him KS Sunbae. Someone less… monotonous.”

The thought lingered. Too long. His lips pressed thin.

“Of course I’m boring,” he admitted flatly to the room. “I like being boring. Boring is safe. Boring gets work done. Boring doesn’t… feed idiots like him.”

He sat down again, typed two lines of his assignment, deleted them, and leaned back with a thoughtful expression.

“It’s not my job to keep him amused. I don’t owe him fireworks every time he sends an email, my email which he found out about without asking me. What does he want? A clown? A marching band? Should I juggle knives next time?” He caught himself raising his voice and immediately dropped it back down. “…Ridiculous.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the desk, staring hard at the empty inbox again. “But still. What if he did find someone else? What if he’s sitting there right now writing some ridiculous email or message to another idiot?” His jaw clenched. “Pathetic. I’m competing to be someone’s favorite target.”

Sieun shook his head as he let his thoughts run further, "I think too much, nobody else would willingly put themselves in an experiment with him, right?"

He clicked open his log. Observation for the day.

일곱— #7 (Y.S’s exp)

Subject : Absence of Seongje's new form of digital harassment "email" for the entire day.

1. No email in the morning – Not a single sick thought about Juntae and Baku through mail. Not even a whiff of complaint that he's still blocked.

   Hypothesis: He wants it this way. Not that I care. I care a little. Fine, I don’t.

2. No email in the afternoon – I had expected maybe one, especially after I have now come to know that his thoughts on my friends aren't wrong this one time.
3. No email in the evening – I have found out that he knows Beomseok and Beomseok know him as well, but how? Could have asked him if Mr.Mail sent something 
4. No email at night - Checked the inbox three times. Six

Conclusions:

1. Absence of his idiocy is more distracting than the idiocy itself.
2. If he's busy, that's okay. If he's with someone else, that's not my problem. (It's not. It really isn't. I wrote it three times, so it's true)
3. I am not boring. I am boring. But it is not my responsibility to provide entertainment, he is not a child.
4. If he wants it to be this quiet after being noisy for a whole day, FINE !

Final Note: He said he would win whether I kept him blocked or not, no that is not true. I am winning and I am keeping him blocked, he can stay pissed.

━━━━━━━━━

Tuesday, 11 a.m
────────────

Seongje did not come again.
But Suho did.

“This place is amazing,” Suho said, looking around the university campus in awe. He had come on a guest visit.

“I know. The library is my favorite place.”

“I figured. You’ve shown me all five of them.”

“I wish you could have come as well, you know, like—everyday?”

“You know I’ve never been too interested in studies, Sieun. You, on the other hand, have so much potential. You won’t forget me when you’re rich and successful, right?” Suho asked, smirking.

“How could I even forget you? My conscience is literally named after you.”

“I won’t forget you. Not while you’re still the easiest part of my head to reach… not like others who move in without asking.”

“Ohh, I have competition…?” Suho raised an eyebrow.

“No.”

Lies.

“You’re not hiding anything from me, are you, Suho?”

There was almost a minute’s silence as they walked, a comfortable silence.

“Why do you say so?”

“Nothing. Just a random thought. I have one more question.”

“Go on.”

“What do you think of Juntae and Baku?” Sieun asked.

“What do I think of them… as in? In what context?” Suho asked.

“As… I don’t know. More than friends? Or just in general, together?” Sieun asked. He knew he could always ask Suho; Suho didn’t judge him.

“That’s a funny question, actually. What makes you think of them together?” Suho didn’t answer Sieun’s question.

“Nothing.”

“Juntae likes Gotak,” Suho said, shoving his hands in his pockets, looking at him, expecting him to be surprised.

Sieun was surprised—not at what Suho was saying, but that he knew.

“How did you know? Did Juntae tell you as well?

“As well? You already knew?” Suho asked as Sieun nodded.

“If you know of it, then what’s this question on Baku and Juntae?” Suho asked again.

“I think… well, I don’t know since—” Sieun hesitated, but Suho cut him off.

“Juntae and Baku are sleeping together?” Suho asked, as if he almost read Sieun’s eyes, as they stopped walking

“How do you know that?” Sieun questioned.

“How do you know?” Suho shot back.

“You tell me first,” Sieun said.

“Both of them told me separately. Juntae doesn’t know Baku told me, and Baku doesn’t know Juntae told me. Gotak doesn’t know anything at all. Your turn,” Suho said casually as he sat on a bench, chuckling.

“Wait—wait—they told you, and you didn’t tell me?” Sieun asked. Him and Suho didn’t have many secrets, okay, maybe a few.

“This is not the sort of thing you go and tell people without asking those who told you in the first place,” Suho nodded.

“I saw them kissing at Midnight Scene, and they lied to me that some drink had been spilled on Juntae’s shirt,” Sieun said, a half-truth. He didn’t tell Suho he went back there again.

“So? What do you think?” Suho asked, looking at him.

“I don’t have much to say. It’s their life,” Sieun said.

“Nonchalance doesn’t suit you; your mind has a hundred things going on,” Suho said.

“He said he likes Gotak, then what is this? Do they want a three-way relationship?” Sieun asked. He knew that was a possibility; he had read about it somewhere.

“No. It’s an arrangement. Everyone has needs. Don’t think much of it; it will get messed up if Gotak comes to know.”

“Why? You think he won’t support them? He doesn’t know that Juntae likes him, and knowing Juntae, he’s probably never going to confess.”

“I think he will, when the time is right.”

“I think Juntae is afraid of getting rejected, which is reasonable.”

“Sieun, what makes you think he will get rejected?”

“Have you seen Gotak? Does he look like he’s interested in Juntae more than platonically? As far as I see it, no. I’m not being pessimistic. I would love for them to date, but I don’t see it.”

“Relationships are complicated, Sieun—ah.”

“You talk like you have a lot of experience,” Sieun said.

“And you do? For you to judge so quickly.”

“I am being realistic. I don’t want them to get hurt or ruin their friendship as a result.

“Have you ever liked someone?” Suho asked, the question too direct, even for Suho. Sieun had imagined it, but expected it to be asked more jokingly.

“Juntae, Baku, and Gotak—all of them think I have a crush on you. I don’t know.”

“No. You?”

“Do you like me?”

“Yes. I have.”

“Who?”

Suho just looked at him and smiled. “It’s funny, liking someone, and then making it something beyond just ‘liking.’ It’s complex how you can just like some people and some you don’t, but they just stay with you. Gosh, cheesy, isn’t it? I’ve picked up a lot of pick-up lines because of these new mangas Juntae and his friends make me read.”

Again, Suho didn’t answer his question. Sieun didn’t push it.

“I should go now,” Suho said.

“Where? You just came,” Sieun said as he got up.

“I have a shift at the café and then the gym, and I’ve been here for two hours already,” Suho said, grinning.

Sieun watched him leave. He sat there until Suho was completely out of view. He looked at his phone. Still nothing from Seongje.

━━━━━━━━━

Tuesday, 3 p.m
────────────

Beomseok was himself not sure what he was expecting when he heard of “Hwalhak.” A nucleus? What would a place named like that look like? He certainly did not expect a multi-floor gym settlement on the underside of a noodle shop. How did they even make that thing there without people objecting?

He was able to get inside with the access card, though the receptionist had eyed him with suspicion. He didn’t look like he belonged here. The bouncers weren’t any friendlier; they made him leave his ID and phone outside, which he did without protest as they made it evident with their expressions that having a card did not mean a guaranteed entry.

Beomseok had seen Seongje fight; he did not know him through and through, but this definitely looked like a place he would like.

On one side, a bustling, packed gym caught his eye. The equipment looked standard enough, but there was an energy here, a buzz of people moving, training, and shouting that made the whole place feel alive. He kept his hood down, scanning the crowd. Suho wasn’t here.

He explored a second gym, but it was empty—machines idle, mats unrolled but unused, the entire space abandoned. Confused, he stepped back into the corridor. The booming music throbbed through his ears as he glanced left, right, and ahead. He saw glass doors that revealed a staircase leading upstairs, marked with a “Restricted Area” sign. What would happen if he got caught going there? A warning? Or worse—a beating?

Curiosity won. Beomseok pushed past the doors. The music softened slightly as he descended further down the stairs. Faint screams and chants reached him before he even opened the heavy door at the bottom. Red and blue lights flashed, stabbing at his eyes. He squinted, still gripping the door handle, and froze for a moment.

Several people crowded the front, their voices raised in unison:

“FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!”

There were excited screams, anxious curses, anticipating looks, and conversations between the people in front of him. Beomseok did not get into the crowd; instead, he stuck against the wall, moving sideways, hoping to find an outlet to see what was happening. He ended up eavesdropping on several conversations, trying to make himself as unnoticeable as possible

“This guy can fight to kill.”
“He avoids every hit to the fit, he has good defense.”
“I’m almost jealous of the fucker; he’s barely been here a few months and he is at the top ranks of Hwalhak.”
“He is going to give a good show in Gorae Bae.”
"Fighter Nine is so good what the hell?"
“When is he going to try out? Will Gorae Bae send KK? Isn’t that how the previous recruit was taken?”
“I want to try as well.”
“Shut up, you’ll get slammed on the floor.”

After sticking to the wall and moving like a roach, Beomseok finally did get an outlet near an exit door as he moved slightly into to the crowd to see a fighting ring, raised high, twenty by twenty, a slab of rubber matting stretched tight and scarred with sweat stains. Four corner poles jutted up like blackened teeth, their metal chains connecting in sagging lines that clinked whenever the fighters inside shifted weight. Every slam against the mat sent a dull, sick thud crawling through the floor, the chains rattling hard.

In the middle of the screams and chants, Beomseok’s eyes snagged on a figure that made his stomach twist.

Suho.

A punch cracked into his opponent’s jaw, and the man’s head jerked violently to the side. Blood spattered across the corner of the mat, smelling coppery and raw. Even the mediator flinched. But Suho barely blinked, shoulders rolling like he was loosening for a casual stretch.

Around him, the crowd screamed and clabbered like a swarm of rats—insignificant, scrambling shadows whose noise only made him seem bigger, louder, more absolute.

Suho’s fists tore through the air with the merciless precision, each punch landing like a hammer smashing bone and sinew until his opponent claimed defeat in surrender of injury as Suho grinned his face calm and victorious.

His chest, however, was another story. Each muscle flexed and rolled like carved marble, sculpted to obscene perfection, slick with sweat and dotted with bruises from hits that had landed. Beomseok’s gaze remained longer than it should have, imagining the cruel geometry of the body, the way his chest rose and fell with each controlled breath, like a living map of violence and beauty. Suho did not look like someone who had ever even been in coma, almost like time had been rewinded.

He watched men lean against the chains, congratulating Suho, while others sneered at the crumpled body bleeding into the mat. The loser was dragged off, leaving a dark smear behind him, and Beomseok’s stomach knotted when he noticed a few of them pushing toward the exit—the same door he was guarding like a cornered animal. His eyes widened. That meant Suho would see him too.

He had come here to meet Suho, but suddenly the idea of standing before him felt like stepping off a cliff. His chest tightened as he eased the exit door open and slipped through, finding himself swallowed by a narrow, dim-lit corridor. The same pulsing red and blue lights washed over metal lockers lined against the wall and a row of doors with showers on the other side.

Beomseok heard the noise of footsteps as he could hear Suho’s voice as well, he stuck his back against the wall as he moved and hid behind one of the lockers.

“...he fought well but i noticed that he was leaning too much on his left leg…” 

He pressed himself against the cold lockers, sliding further sideways. The voices swelled and blurred together—Suho’s steady, the others sycophantic and then Suho’s receded, his presence carried farther away while others stood around keeping the door open.

Beomseok crept out from behind the lockers, craning his neck for a glimpse but his watch betrayed him, the screen flaring to life, a sudden bright pulse reflected against the metal of the lockers. He cursed under his breath, fumbling to kill the light, but too late.

A rough hand yanked his collar back, hard enough to choke the breath out of him. He stumbled, nearly crying out, but a palm clamped over his mouth, forcing the sound back down his throat. His heart sank into his stomach.

“You better not scream.” The voice was low, rasping, thick and cocky. Hot breath grazed his neck, the person towering behind him clearly taller.

It took Beomseok a second to recollect and register the voice, as he stood still, but alarmed.

Kang Wooyoung.

Beomseok twisted his head just enough to see, the weight of that hand pressing into the back of his neck keeping him pinned.

“Oh, it’s you. What a surprise,” Wooyoung breathed out with a low, ugly chuckle.

Beomseok clawed at the hand over his mouth, but Wooyoung only shook his head, eyes narrowing in amusement.

“If you’re going to yell,” he murmured, voice soft, “then consider yourself dead.” He removed his hand a second later after Beomseok nodded.

Beomseok’s chest heaved as he bent slightly, sucking in breath where he could. Wooyoung wasn’t the same as he remembered—he’d grown taller, shoulders broader, a little rougher edge to his appearance but not much if compared overall.

“What are you doing here?” Beomseok whispered hoarsely, throat raw with the words.

The clatter of noises returned from the other side of lockers as the door shut with a thud and Suho came in whistling. Beomseok moved back pushing Wooyoung as well who cursed out at him in a low whisper, staggering in his step.

Beomseok peeked out a looked at Suho, who stood there pulling out his gloves as he put them aside examining his hands.

“Oh would you look at that? Looks like we are here to see the same person? Ahn Suho? You’re here to see him aren’t you isn’t that why you are hiding like a peeking tom”, Wooyoung said from behind right into Beomseok’s ear, the lone tones of his voice sent a slight shiver down Beomseok’s spine.

Beomseok tried to ignore him, but he didn't stop there.

"Pressed against lockers like a mutt begging for scraps. Waiting for Suho to throw you a glance, a word, anything without doing anything. Pathetic.”

His grip tightened as he bent lower, voice a hiss. “Creep. Dog. You’d probably crawl to his feet if he crooked his finger, wouldn’t you? I always had a feeling that you liked him”

“You’re here as well,” Beomseok muttered.

“I was waiting. Still am,” Wooyoung said, grin slanted. “No reason for me to hide, unlike you.” His eyes swept Beomseok up and down, slow, cruel. “I didn’t know you were crazy like that. From what I have heard he was in coma after your little act at Byuksan, and now here you are again, still stalking him?”

“I’m here to meet him, not stalk him,” Beomseok said, his eyes never left Suho.

Suho was rummaging through his jacket, before pulling out a small plastic bag. Pills. Raze. Beomseok recognized them instantly. He watched as Suho tipped one into his mouth and swallowed like it was nothing, like it was water.

He had been right. The pill had worked. Suho was okay. That was all he wanted to see—that Suho was still standing, still fighting and now, with Seongje renewing the shipments, Suho would keep getting them. He could keep fighting. Beomseok’s lips parted before he realized it, watching with a kind of raw awe he hated himself for.

Behind him, a low chuckle slithered close.

“This fucker’s on the pill too, huh? Interesting,” Wooyoung muttered, his voice pressed against Beomseok’s ear, making him flinch.

Beomseok turned, almost startled—he had nearly forgotten Wooyoung was even there.

“Why? Why are you staring at me like that? Did I interrupt your little gawking session?” Wooyoung sneered. "Look at yourself, mouth slack, eyes shining, you almost look like you’ll drool if you stare at that bastard another second.”

Beomseok jerked back as Wooyoung stepped forward, trying to fight his hand off, but Wooyoung was quicker—snatching his wrist, yanking it behind his back until his shoulder strained, his other hand clamping hard around Beomseok’s jaw. He forced his head toward the sight of Suho, his grip so tight Beomseok’s lips parted against his will.

“There. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” Wooyoung hissed into his ear, thumb pressing into his cheekbone. "Keep staring like a little fucking pervert, maybe he’ll piss on you next. That’s about all you’re worth"

“Let me go,” Beomseok whispered, voice tight.

“I had originally come for the guy making all that noise at Hwalhak—heard people had the balls to compare him to me, can you believe that? Didn’t expect it to be Suho. But what’s even better,” Wooyoung’s grin curled like against Beomseok’s neck, “is that I found you here.I thought you were in the Philippines, living your little sad life. Guess not. You know what’s been going on behind your back, don’t you?”

Beomseok nodded stiffly, swallowing hard.

“I do… what do you want? And why are you looking for Suho?” His words came out almost breathless.

“To fight him,” Wooyoung said, voice low, dripping with menace. “That’s how it works, right? I used to fight here, moved up—Gorae Bae. Now it looks like your eye candy might get sent there too, which means he’s going to fight me and I’m going to fuck him up. Same thing he did to me.”

Beomseok looked down at his ankle and back up at him. Wooyoung fights again like he used to before, MMA style—but the condition Sieun had left him in? He wouldn’t have been able to step into a ring again… unless—

Two very successful testimonies, Beomseok reminded himself, the first on someone with excessive ligament damage.

“You’re on Raze,” he said.

“Good boy, you’re catching up,” Wooyoung said with a crooked grin. “If you know what’s going on, then you’d know your pill daddy’s left you with a lot of shit to deal with.”

“I have someone managing the warehouse now,” Beomseok said calmly.

“Oh? That crazy mutt who beat the living hell out of Bumi’s people? Seongyu? Seongi? What was his name?”

“Seongje.”

“Whatever. Tell him I don’t care what he does, who he bleeds. I need the pills. And if I don’t get them? I’ll fuck you and him up.”

Beomseok internally chuckled. Wooyoung doing anything to Seongje was a far reach, unlike these fighters here, Seongje fought to almost kill, not just injure.

“You’ll get the pills,” Beomseok said. He wasn’t worried about Seongje. It was Suho.

“That was easy. Can one convince you to do anything at Suho’s mention?” Wooyoung asked, curious, as Beomseok opened his mouth to respond and then shut it again when he realized that someone else had just come into the locker room area.

“You’re crazy for fighting like this.”

It was Seo Juntae.

The sudden appearance set off a rise of questions in Beomseok’s mind.

Juntae didn’t mention that Suho fought when he spoke to me… Did he even know Suho takes drugs? Why is he here in the first place?

“Good fight though, right?”

“Show me your hands and face first,” Juntae said, moving closer to examine Suho’s fists.

“Nothing happened. You keep worrying unnecessarily,” Suho replied, brushing off the concern.

“Go take a shower; these blood spots are drying up,” Juntae said, pointing at Suho’s chest while carefully checking his jaw.

Beomseok’s eyes flicked from Suho to Juntae, his mind ticking.

“Aww, look at that. Don’t they look nice together? Who’s that, all touchy and close with Suho? You must be burning like a furnace inside. Shit,” Wooyoung said. Beomseok wanted to scream having the guy right behind him was like having the devil perched on his shoulder.

“That’s Juntae. I know him. They’re friends. Please, shut up,” Beomseok whispered.

“You really have no self-respect, oogling over this asshole who likes that other fucker, Yeon Sieun,” Wooyoung said Beomseok flinched; the memory stung like a slap across his own chest.

“I don’t care. Suho is fine, and his friends take care of him. That’s enough.”

“He won’t be when he fights me. So look all you want, even Sieun can’t save him this time,” Wooyoung said, leaning back casually.

It’s a threat. A threat. A threat, Beomseok’s mind screamed. Suho looked untouchable—but only what his brain told him.

“What do you want? You’ll get the drugs,” Beomseok said, trying to regain some composure.

“You’re training to be a doctor, right?” Wooyoung asked, glancing at Beomseok’s ID card dangling from his pocket before yanking it out. “Come to my fights.”

“What?” Beomseok’s eyebrows shot up.

“Why? He’s got this Juntae guy covering him, and my old doc’s sick. Honestly? I’m bored of him. You look pathetic and directionless about all of this anyway,” Wooyoung said, and Beomseok sighed, frustrated at how easily he let the guy degrade him. It didn't matter Wooyoung did this when they were at Byuksan as well.

“Why would I do that?”

“Perks. Get me a fresh set of pills when you come, and I’ll give you open access to all the places. See the fights too. What more do you want?”

“All the places?”

“This arm and the others are managed by Bamui Jiri. You can come and go as you please. I’m a bit of a golden boy here not to brag,” Wooyoung chuckled. Beomseok thought about it. If what Wooyoung said was true, he could watch over Suho anytime he wanted, without worrying about bouncers or any other checks. Baekjin and Seongje were busy, and he had no friends in particular, it was the only way to while away time meaningfully.

“Okay,” Beomseok nodded.

Wooyoung studied him for a minute, expressionless, then took out his phone and handed it to Beomseok. “Feed in your number. Suho's about to leave. You can follow me to the back exit.”

Beomseok stole one last glance at Suho. He cursed himself for being a pathetic coward, talking to Suho shouldn't be this hard, but it was.

━━━━━━━━━

Tuesday, 7 p.m
────────────

Sieun made his way into the complex lift and pressed his floor, but just as the doors were about to shut, he heard a call to stop the lift. He put his hand out to halt the doors and watched a guy slip in quickly, glancing at him for a moment.

He had seen the guy before, back at Eunjang. He had been hanging out with Seongje—Juntae had told him he was an admin for Shuttle Patch and even managed Seongje’s information network. He lived here? That wasn’t surprising; a lot of other students did. Sieun just hadn’t met many of them yet.

The guy didn’t seem to recognize him. He sighed, leaning his head against the lift wall as if he had been running before getting in.

Sieun got off at his floor and glanced at the guy again. Would he know where Seongje was or what he was doing? But before Sieun could speak, the lift shut, taking the guy three floors above.

He walked toward his apartment and opened the door, only for it to swing open from the other side. Sieun looked up to see Baku coming out.

“Oh, oh, be careful. Don’t stumble,” Baku said as Sieun straightened up

“You… here?” Sieun asked calmly, needing a moment to adjust to the entire idea of Baku and Juntae’s arrangement.

“I think Juntae and Gotak fought. He’s sitting there not saying anything,” Baku said, pointing to his apartment across the corridor. “And Juntae is here, not saying anything either. I just came back about ten minutes ago and saw them standing at the doors, glaring at each other.” Baku shrugged. Sieun’s suspicion melted into worry.

“Should I go and talk to him?” Sieun asked, glancing past Baku.

“Don’t bother. I tried, and Juntae’s lying down. He says he wants to sleep and not talk to anyone,” Baku sighed.

“And Gotak?”

“He’s watching some street argument across the road we can see from our balcony. I’ll go sit with him. You rest,” Baku said, patting Sieun’s shoulder as he went.

“Also, by the way, I’m thinking of going to my dad’s restaurant in a while. Not sure when, but do you want to come?” Baku asked, glancing back.

“Okay,” Sieun nodded and shut the door.

He saw Juntae standing next to the fridge and gave him a small nod.

“Do you need something?”

“Just water,” Juntae said, giving a faint smile. Sieun went to his room and closed the door, leaning against it. He heard footsteps outside, and when he opened the door slightly, he peeked through. Baku hadn’t returned to his place; he was still by their door. Juntae hugged him, mumbling an apology for worrying him, then shut the door and walked back inside.

Sieun closed his door fully and looked around his quiet, still room. Seongje’s glasses still sat on the table beside his.

Everyone he knew was busy. Suho had his shifts, Juntae didn’t want to talk, Baku and Gotak were at their place, and the one person whose silence he hadn’t expected—Seongje—remained quiet.

He checked his phone again, refreshed his inbox. No Seongje.

Sieun tossed his phone onto the bed and went out onto his small balcony that faced the complex entrance. His eyes narrowed on the same cluster of shiny sports cars he had seen before. He scoffed. Of course Seokdae had come to sell his drugs; the guy would never learn.

He watched the men in the cars for a few more minutes. They were huddled around Seokdae, pointing at the building. One slammed his hand on the grass. The other two seemed to be holding something like a long inch tape, measuring something, while another just lay on the grass like a passed-out body.

“What a bunch of weirdos. Are they already high on something at this hour?” Sieun muttered to himself, then went back inside.

[....]

여덟— #8 (Y.S’s exp)

Nothing from you. No message. (You can’t, I blocked you.)

You don’t know my socials—I barely use them anyway. No email either. The experiment: stagnant, zero progress.

Seokdae and his circus of idiots are downstairs. You would’ve laughed at them. Probably made a joke I wouldn’t admit was funny.

Not like you’re ever going to read this. (Which makes this… stupid. So stupid. Why am I even—). This is supposed to be a professional log not a diary entry what the hell?

Whatever. I tried the stew set at the cafeteria today. Doenjang jjigae. Not the special set that you made me have. I still think it’s over the top.

Engineering math lecture finally has a fixed roster now that you’re not the temp. Some backbench guys were disappointed, apparently they only showed up because “girls from other faculties came for you.” (Not my gossip. I just happened to overhear it. I don’t gossip.)

I went to the GameDev club again. They probably think I’m a junior sent to clean your table. I did part of my assignment there. Used one of your pens, the black one from your stand. I’ll replace it tomorrow. Not that you’d notice the ink missing anyway, you would have to come to university for that.

━━━━━━━━━

Wednesday, 1 p.m
─────────────

A few days out of sight, invisible, disconnected—that had been Seongje’s routine. Still, his skin itched with restlessness. He’d slipped into the warehouse a few times, one hour each, no more. The sight of the pills—their color, their texture, the sickly way they piled up almost choked him out every damn time. They reminded him of his mom, they reminded him of Baekjin, and now Beomseok’s screams stuck in his head too.

Of course, Seongje didn’t tell anyone. He never did. Who the fuck would understand the nonsense rattling in his skull anyway? People had been saying that shit his whole life, "Seongje, you say things that don’t matter". So he kept the things that did matter shoved down, stale, jammed inside him like expired food in a fridge.

He hated asking for help. Always had. Whether it was Eun Gyeol force-marching him into patching up his injuries, or Baekjin quietly telling him how to deal with this dirt-job group—every time it felt like pulling his own teeth out with pliers. And now? Now he was about to do something worse.

His information network, his actual pride and joy, built with much handwork was locked away. He’d spent months fighting and making that portal, stockpiling data, leverage, names, habits. He’d done it because he was sick of being called Baekjin’s lapdog, and now, irony of ironies, he couldn’t even fucking open it. One part of the original pendrive was stuck with a dipshit who’d cut him off and blocked him, and he’d encrypted the whole thing so tightly even he couldn’t brute-force it back open. 

He could, but that would take too much time, which he didn't have because his plans against Bumi had to be acted upon, the new pills and the smoke rolls would be ready soon.

Which left him in a shitty position. He had to get to Yeongdeungpo. He had to see what was brewing there before it boiled over. Not that he gave a fuck if people called him a backstabber, he would push them to the ground before they finished the word, but even he knew you don’t walk into a pit blind. He needed ground research. He needed intel.

And the only option left to him was to ask the all-knowing, walking, talking human information network of Yeongdeungpo and the Union himself.

Juntae or Baku's boy, but Sieun disagreed to his claims.

“Of all the shit I built, all the blood I spilled, I have to grovel to you for scraps. Fuuuuck.” He shook his head, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “Fine. You little bastard, you’re going to tell me what’s happening”

“Information for Information, that was the deal. What you texted me,” Juntae said, sitting across him at the Yonsei café looking serious. Finding Juntae’s number wasn’t difficult for Seongje; Juntae had written it in the record book when he came to visit Beomseok.

“Here,” Seongje said as he slid a sheet with names, ages, social media usernames, faculties, and dorm room numbers of almost thirty university students. Again, not a hard find his searching and hacking skills remained sharp.

“Why the fuck do you even need those? You just sent me pictures of random kids, half of them are from KNSU. Took time to pin them down,” Seongje snapped, as Juntae quickly took the sheet and neatly kept it in his bag.

“None of your business, but thank you. You can ask me whatever you want,” Juntae said.

“What is going on with my information network?”

“Oh, you’ve finally noticed.” Juntae gave him this small smug smile that made Seongje want to headbutt him across the table but he decided against it, he would probably kill the guy by doing so seeing his small body structure, Baku must be probably hammering the poor boy already.

“I found out a while ago from a student at Eunjang. I assumed you already knew. Guess not.”

“I am not in a mood to joke.”

Juntae sighed, still maddeningly calm. “Okay. It’s been hijacked. Hyeongshin apparently got their hands on a pendrive. They say it has secrets on dozens of people in Yeongdeungpo. Your network’s still active, by the way, it has been even after the fight ended, people kept depositing information in exchange for money and information exchange, and you had Ganghak guys managing that backend for you.”

Seongje blinked once. His jaw twitched. Of course. The one thing he built now had every greasy hand in Yeongdeungpo fingering with it.

“Hyeongshin has cornered Ganghak in every way. They want to do that to other schools as well. Eunjang has stayed out of it, but they believe they’ll be targets too. Hyeongshin is doing whatever they want now because nobody is there to control them and… well… I’ve heard they want to form the Union again. I haven’t told Baku about that part yet.”

“They want to form the Union again? Those fuckers—how dare they try copying what Baekjin did—”

“I told Baekjin this as well, but he says it won’t be possible. Hyeongshin would never agree on one big dog. They’d end up self-sabotaging with multiple leaders.

“Have there been any leaks?”

“Plenty. Shuttle Pack is active again. I still see it every now and then. I don’t think Baku, Gotak, and Sieun do. I was told they locked you out of Shuttle Pack as well?” Juntae asked.

Seongje scowled but nodded.

“What kind of leaks?”

“Just unruly information on other kids. Humiliating them, getting them ganged up on by their own schools. Hyeongshin wants new big dogs in each school that pledge loyalty to them. The other former Union schools are being targeted too, they have also rubbished every rule you had made for them back in the day for themselves, but want to implement it on others.”

“Shit.”

“Will you go to Yeongdeungpo? Your network runs in two halves. Hyeongshin has one pendrive. I assume you know where the other one is?”

“None of your business,” Seongje said.

“I understand. But a free tip, be careful. They don’t like you there, especially at Ganghak. But some kids who were in middle school, or just starting high school at the time of the big fight, secretly have hope you’ll come back and set the order. Obviously, they don’t know Baekjin is alive.”

“Anything else?”

“Another reason I’m advising caution is because Baekjin told me you orchestrated the whole death drama to keep him away from Choi. Well… Choi is back. He left, shame-faced, after you rejected his offer to become leader. Apparently, there was internal revolt within his own men too. Some of his best got beaten outside the diner we were at—badly…” Juntae said, eyeing Seongje suspiciously for a moment.

“Don’t make much of it,” Seongje said flatly.

Juntae continued, “Now Choi is targeting Hyeongshin. He wants to build something bigger this time. Involve people and schools outside Yeongdeungpo.”

“And he wants to use my information network?”

“He might, if he knows Hyeongshin already has their hands on half of it. So you’re low on time. A few days, I’d say?”

Seongje folded his arms, sitting in silence for a moment.

“I'll track the things there and inform you of any new events, I have sent you details of the people running the rebellion as well and where the hideouts and hangout areas are. Can I go now?” Juntae asked.

Seongje nodded, but stopped him a moment later. “How’s that nuthead?” he asked.

Juntae looked at him. He knew exactly who Seongje was asking about.

“He’s fine. Shouldn’t you know? You study at the same university.” Juntae walked a few steps, then turned back. “He’s fine because he’s hanging out with Suho.”

Juntae didn’t know why he said that, but the change on Seongje’s face—something bitter, quickly buried—was enough.

“Coma boy, huh? So that’s why there’s been radio silence? Fine,” Seongje muttered, annoyed, as he refreshed his inbox. No email from Sieun. No text from either. Still blocked.

He was really starting to hate whatever game Suho was playing—because it involved Beomseok liking him too. And Seongje hated people who acted like loyal dogs. Whether it was Baekjin for Baku, or Beomseok for Suho.

━━━━━━━━━

Wednesday, 2 p.m
─────────────

Suho stared at the folded note stuck to his gym locker at Hwalhak. A strange fish symbol was drawn on it, a cross carved into its belly. He’d seen it before, someone once told him it belonged to Gorae Bae. His eyes flicked left, then right. No one was watching. He peeled the note off and opened it.

Fighter 9,
You have been selected for an assignment.

That was it. Nothing else.

His phone buzzed. A message. The sender was restricted—untraceable.

You have to go and retrieve a pendrive (as shown in the picture below) and leave it in your locker by the date mentioned. The address and other details are written below.

Suho’s gaze fell on the attached picture: a small black pendrive. He scrolled down to the address. His brow furrowed. He knew that building. Too well. His friends lived there.

The flat number was just three floors above Sieun’s place.

Suho thought about the building for a moment, he’d seen the people in that building before, casual in passing but he had seen people from Bumi as well. And now this? A Gorae Bae assignment, tied to the same walls Sieun lived behind?

The rest of the instructions blurred before his eyes. He decided to read them later. Right now, the only thing clear in his head was this : He would do whatever it took. Anything. To get into Gorae Bae.

He had seen people in Hwalhak do assignments, what was one for him if he was going to get the chance to try out for Gorae Bae? Juntae was keeping his secret well, it would all be fine.

━━━━━━━━━

Wednesday, 4 p.m
─────────────

Seongje did not come again.

Sieun came back from university a few hours than his usual time, he had one class and then lab, but he didn’t feel like going for it.

He entered his apartment as he looked down at the shoes inside, Juntae had already come back, it made sense Yonsei was closest to the place.

Sieun went to his room as he freshened up and decided to check on Juntae, he had not done so the previous night because Baku told him to and he did not want to interrupt the hug between Juntae and Baku.

He knocked once on Juntae’s room door which was partially open as he could hear music coming out of the room , he opened the door and looked inside but Juntae wasn’t in there, Sieun could also hear the shower running - Juntae’s phone out on the table as the song played out.

Sieun decided to wait outside until Juntae came out, but a second later he looked over his phone. Not meaning to snoop around , the song that was playing was nice.

Juntae’s table had a lot on it , books on medicine, anime figurines, webtoon books, his book of drawings , some paper folded with writing on top and another opened journal with neat writing on it. Sieun mentally noted the song name as he looked at the journal. He wasn’t the type to look at people’s things without asking them, but the writing was right in front of him.

“Bamui Jiri?”, Sieun muttered as he looked at the top box of the flow chart reading further, an arrow pointing to the box said “final boss”

The next arrow went down from the same box with “Bumi” written on it , a key note arrow with the word “something to do with boxes?”

Another arrow adjacent to it had the word “Hwalhak” written on it with a key note arrow saying ,“fights happen here”

There was another arrow next to it with the word “Gorae Bae” - Sieun paused for a minute as he read it, when he had gone to Midnight Scene he had heard the group of guys talk of this by the door and Juntae had written it down as well? What was this ? was this something to do with the webstoons that Juntae and Suho read and Suho told him about on call or text? Maybe the word has subconsciously got registered in his mind?. He read the key note next to it “the real fights happen here, exclusive place”

There was nothing else written except random questions marks on the page

Sieun just shook his head and sighed , he didn’t know how all his four friends took this webstoon stuff so seriously that they had to write it down and make theories as well

He moved away from the table as his knee brushed against the table drawer making him look down. The drawer was slightly open before hand, Sieun looked at the visible contents, two black metalic cards 

One of them had a circle nucleus like logo and the other had a leaf drawn it, Sieun picked up the card carefully noting it’s position since he had to keep it back, he recognized the circle logo. He had a sticker with the exact same logo on his laptop, it wasn’t exactly a sticker ,he had just found it sticking on Suho’s hoodie so he took it, he knew Suho wouldn’t mind it. But he had seen the logo elsewhere as well, he leaned against the table for a moment trying to remember as it came to him - when he had fought with Seongje he had seen two men with this logo on his jacket 

How many people were into this trending anime or webtoon that they bought merchandise as well? Crazy. Sieun thought as he put the cards back, shutting Juntae’s door as he went back to his room 

He looked at his laptop, there was no email from Seongje, again. This was the third day in the row that he had not come, neither was there any notification from him.

Sieun wasn’t worried, but he it certainly made him wonder, Where the fuck was Seongje?

Had he gotten into a fight again? Was he injured somewhere? There was no reason for Sieun to bother, but the thought of anyone being injured an unattended after what had happened with Suho always made him uncomfortable 

“You’re acting like a child Sieun, this isn’t you - be mature”, he said to himself as he took out his phone and looked at Seongje's contact as his finger hovered over it thinking for a moment before pressing on it and unblocking Seongje. 

“I have unblocked you, this does’t mean i lose though, now whether you stay silent or not is your wish”.

아홉— #9 (Y.S’s exp)

The parasite has been unblocked.
End of log.

━━━━━━━━━

Thursday, 8 p.m
─────────────

Sieun admittedly had even waited for Seongje to respond or send some message—anything? For the sake of science, he told himself.

It takes approximately fifteen days for a person to get molded into a habit involving something or someone. Four days and nineteen hours without Seongje, and Sieun’s heart was like a metronome, counting each second, while his brain rolled its eyes, muttering that this was absurd, dull, and entirely unnecessary. Not that it mattered. Not that Seongje was a habit. He was an experiment.

Baku had decided to go to his dad’s place today. Sieun sat beside him in the passenger seat of the car as Gotak sat behind, talking. Juntae had refused to come. Baku wasn’t happy about it, neither was Sieun. Gotak had just looked toward the apartment door and not said anything.

What had they even argued about?

Sieun looked at his phone as he saw a picture of Suho and smiled. He tapped a small heart emoji on it but immediately changed it to a thumbs-up.

He looked at Seongje’s contact again; their chat was still intact, with the last message being Baku and Juntae’s exchange. Seongje’s last seen wasn’t even visible, neither was he online.

Sieun just sighed as he leaned his head against the window, hearing Gotak and Baku discussing video games.

Seongje liked video games. He seemed to be designing one as well.

Next, Baku and Gotak spoke about some fight show they were watching together, awaiting the next episode.

Seongje liked fighting.

He heard Gotak telling Baku that he should discard his cigarettes.

Seongje liked smoking.

Baku said that Gotak should be careful with his knee if students at his university wanted him to try their bikes.

Seongje had a bike.

Gotak responded, saying that girls liked guys with the “bad boy-ish” vibe. Sieun looked behind at Gotak for a moment and then out the window.

Seongje was just like that? Did girls like him? Of course they did—it was obvious at the university. With guys too? But did he like them?

Sieun shook his head, trying to shake away the thoughts of Seongje, as the ringtone of Gotak’s phone buzzed through his ears.

“Why aren’t you picking up the phone?” Sieun asked, turning behind as they were already twenty minutes into the drive.

“Nothing. It’s Juntae,” Gotak said blandly.

“Pick up,” Baku and Sieun said together, as Baku looked at Gotak.

“Fine,” Gotak said with a sigh, but the phone stopped ringing before he could pick up. Baku’s phone rang next. He looked back at Gotak, giving him a disappointed shake of his head as he told Sieun to hold the steering wheel for a moment.

“Yes, Juntae? Gotak’s phone was on silent, so he didn’t pick up.”

Sieun leaned in a little to listen as Gotak still sat behind, looking at them.

“What? What are you saying—Juntae, wait a minute—you are speaking too fast,” Baku said, as Sieun looked at him, confused.

“I am listening. Talk slowly—what? Okay—okay, you were standing on the balcony, then what… okay, you were not standing on the balcony then?” Baku asked, as Sieun nudged him to switch on the speaker. Baku nodded and did so.

“I…I…I don’t know what just happened… It happened so suddenly… I had ordered takeout, and then I saw it… I don’t know… I saw him…” Sieun listened carefully at first but immediately froze when he heard Juntae let out something like a distressed sob.

“Is he crying?” Sieun whispered to Baku, who nodded.

“Juntae is crying? Why?” They heard Gotak leaning forward, staring at Baku’s phone.

“Juntae—ah, we are listening. Are you okay? First, tell me that,” Sieun asked.

“I am fine… I just saw that happen…” Juntae said, as Gotak let out a frustrated grunt and snatched Baku’s phone out of his hand.

“You saw what? What has happened?” Gotak said, his tone slightly raised. Both Sieun and Baku knew it wasn’t because he was angry, but because he was worried. Baku still gestured for him to lower his volume.

“Gotak… Gotak…” They heard Juntae repeat Gotak’s name, which seemed to frustrate Gotak even more as he sighed, holding the phone tighter.

“I am listening, Juntae. Speak.”

“I tried calling you… I don’t know what is happening… I had ordered takeout and went to collect it at the door and then came inside and went to my room… I wanted to open the window, and I was doing that… and then suddenly I saw someone falling down.”

“Fall down from where?” Sieun asked from the front.

“No… no… not fall down, he jumped… His body is downstairs… he jumped. I saw it. I saw him falling down,” Juntae said.

Sieun looked at Baku and Gotak for a moment. All of them stared at each other in silence. Student suicides were not uncommon, unfortunate certainly, but none of them had expected to experience one themselves.

“Juntae—ah, don’t worry. We are coming back,” Gotak said, as Baku turned the car back toward the complex.

“You stay inside and, wherever you are in your room or whatever, stay on the call with us,” Baku said.

“Okay. I don’t know if he’s okay. I don’t think he is—I can hear the police coming. Someone’s called the police. He couldn’t have survived… He jumped from three floors higher than our apartment, I think,” Juntae said.

Sieun’s eyes were straight on the road as he shut them for a moment. The scene of Seokdae and his drug chums from the day before yesterday came to mind. They looked like they were measuring something under the building; they were pointing up at the building, and there was one guy laid on the floor, like a body that had collapsed.

It couldn’t be—it couldn’t be. There was no way these two events were remotely connected. That group was probably just high and messing around, right?

Sieun remembered the face of the former Ganghak student he had seen in the lift on the same night. He looked like he had run away from somewhere, and before Sieun could talk to him, the lift had whisked him away three floors above his. Three floors—that’s what Juntae had just said.

Sieun clenched his fists, as he tried to organize his thoughts, while Gotak tried to calm Juntae, his tone soft, and Baku drove like he might skip a red light as the white car swept through the traffic.

Thursday, 8:10 p.m
───────────────

“What the fuck did you just say?” Seongje yelled at Baekjin, glaring, annoyed at a car that had just cut in front of him.

“Hyung, please drive carefully. Look ahead—not on the side,” Beomseok said from the backseat, worried.

“Don’t you fucking worry. You’ll return in one piece,” Seongje hissed, glancing at Baekjin in the passenger seat, who was looking at his phone.

“He jumped,” Baekjin said.

“How the hell do you even know that?” Seongje demanded.

“Shuttlepatch,” Baekjin responded.

“What? Shuttlepatch? You told me you were locked out after you died?” Seongje exclaimed, the sentence sounded crazy, just like the current situation. 

He had plans to go to Yeongdeungpo, deal with the mess there, and then come back to retrieve the other pendrive his Ganghak classmate had—only for it to be all washed away when Baekjin came and told him that the guy might have committed suicide.

“I remembered that I had Baku’s password. Don’t ask me how. Someone who lives in the same building and went to Yoosun posted a message about your former and now "late" classmate with a suicide helpline number and condolences,” Baekjin said, turning Seongje’s face back toward the road.

“What the fuck is happening?” Seongje shouted, slamming the steering wheel in frustration.

“Focus on driving and getting there. I’ve fed the address,” Baekjin said, pointing at the location on the screen.

“This is messed up. There will be police and obviously medics—how the fuck will I get my pendrive? Suicide? Huh? For what? He didn’t have the same attitude when he texted me saying everyone hates me,” Seongje said, his voice tight with annoyance. Baekjin knew it had nothing to do with Seongje’s network—self-inflicted death was a sensitive topic for Seongje.

“We’ll get it,” Baekjin said calmly, pulling his cap down and his hood over his face. He looked at Seongje, who was honking at the same white sedan that had just cut in front of him. Baekjin studied the car carefully for a minute. It looked very similar to the one Eun Gyeol had given to Baku and his friends.

Thursday, 8:20 p.m
───────────────

“I am going to kill that guy,” Seokhyeon said, glaring daggers at Gil Soo, who was lost in his own world, listening to some annoying trot music track on repeat, shaking his head to the tune as he played a ridiculous “spin the wheel” game to get votes on an app.

“Please do. I crave some action. Should I punch him?” Wooyoung chuckled, lighting his cigarette as he had randomly stumbled across the weirdly assembled group waiting at a park near the student complexes.

“Shut up,” Seokhyeon snapped, looking at Seongmok and Dongha, who stood nearby staring at the buildings as they walked over.

“How long is it going to take?” Dongha asked.

“The guy’s already gone, assuming the police are outside the complex, Fighter Nine has a small window of five to ten minutes to get the pendrive,” Seokhyeon said.

“The guy assigned to get the pendrive might take longer. We’ve given a hint to a guy in the police that some activity is taking place at Bokhyeol—they already know at this point,” Seongmok added, stretching.

“What are you guys talking about?” Gil Soo said, bringing a wave of his noisy song along with him. Seokhyeon grabbed his phone and paused it.

“Are you in touch with the guy you sent? I’ve already asked Seok Dae—him and his guys are already downstairs, at the backside of the building, making sure there isn’t too much ruckus.”

“Guy? Didn’t you say ‘guys’?” Gil Soo asked, confused.

“What the fuck are you even saying?” Seokhyeon snapped.

“I sent two guys: Fighter Nine and Nineteen. One to snipe the guy, and the other to get the pendrive,” Gil Soo said. Wooyoung laughed and started clapping, remembering that he had only picked one number.

“Good luck to you all. Your planning sucks, shit you guys weren't this sloppy before” Wooyoung said, glancing at the mismatched planners before walking away, disappearing from the park.

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?” Seokhyeon yelled at Gil Soo, standing up.

“What’s wrong with you? You’ll get your fucking drive—what the hell? I misheard, so what? Work is work,” Gil Soo said, unbothered, as he played his song again.

“This is what happens when unqualified thugs are trusted, this is why I don't like the rats from Hwalhak or this Gil soo's goons around” Seokhyeon sighed.

“It’s okay. If the police collect it as evidence, we’ll just get it from the station instead,” Seongmok said. Seokhyeon shook his head.

“There is reach and connections in the police station. We can use Bamui Jiri’s strings, obviously, but the police—even if they suck up—might not hand over the drive easily, especially if it has any information on it. They’ll run it on the scanner before we can get it,” Seokhyeon said.

“Let’s wait and see if the guy brings Seongje’s pendrive back or not. If he doesn’t, we’ll just tell him he was late for his assignment and dismiss him,” Dongha said.

Thursday, 8:20 p.m
───────────────

“Look, police everywhere, like fucking ants,” Seongje muttered as he glanced at Baekjin, who was calmly taking in the scene at the complex. The place was crowded with anxious young men and women, most of them university students, while police cars blared outside. Ambulance sirens flashed, two men yellow-taped the area, and more officers positioned themselves at the gate.

“Let’s go from the side and pretend we’re coming from the second building. They’ve cordoned this one off, and they’ll probably only allow people from inside to move,” Baekjin said as he gently pushed Seongje toward the wall. Beomseok followed close behind.

Beomseok, however, was terrified. He remembered Eun Gyeol warning him about this complex—how it was affiliated with organized crime and illegal activities. He had even tried telling Seongje and Baekjin, but both were too focused on the death inside to hear him.

“This is all because of that white car that cut me off. I had to switch lanes because of that fucker, we would have reached here earlier. I would’ve been shown the driver who they were messing with if they’d been in front of me,” Seongje grumbled as they moved quietly across the grassy patch, trying to stay unnoticed, until they spotted a group of kids approaching from the other side.

“Blend in with them,” Baekjin said, pulling both Seongje and Beomseok to fall in step behind the group, tugging his mask lower.

“They’re all focused on the front entrance—the side facing the gate. We should go from the back before they yellow-tape it,” Beomseok whispered, clutching Baekjin’s arm. He knew Baekjin hated being touched, but this was instinct. They weren’t exactly friends, but coming from the same orphanage chain gave them a strange, wordless understanding.

“There’s a fucking guard at the back too. Do I beat the guy?” Seongje asked immediately. Baekjin sighed, exasperated at how fast he always jumped to violence.

“Just say a random flat number, add the tower number in front of it,” Baekjin muttered, eavesdropping on the group ahead who were discussing from which floor the guy had jumped.

Seongje glanced up at the nine-story building. Lights glowed on the sixth floor, that was the floor they had to go to. Seventh or fifth would raise suspicion, first or second was too obvious, fourth too vague. Third was perfect.

“Beomseok, lean on us—fast. You’re sick, and you’re about to fucking puke, okay?” Seongje said, pulling Beomseok between them, his head on Seongje’s shoulder while Baekjin supported his other side.

“Yes?” the guard asked, eyeing them at the back door.

“1-301,” Seongje said with a practiced smile, face shifting into concern as he stroked Beomseok’s hair.

“If you want to go inside, please use the front gate,” the guard replied. Baekjin and Seongje exchanged a quick glance—then Beomseok, almost on instinct, heaved forward with a guttural, gurgling noise. The guard stepped back, startled.

"EUUUURRRRGHHHH"

“Oh, sorry, sorry, he’s a little sick. Might puke,” Seongje said hurriedly.

The guard recoiled with a disgusted grimace, as if the thought of cleaning vomit was a personal insult. “Go, go! Just don’t let him throw up on the floor.” He scowled as he unlocked the door.

They slipped inside slowly with Beomseok still acting dazed.

“Can I look up now?” Beomseok whispered.

“No. Stay down. Good acting, though,” Baekjin said as he pressed the lift button. Seongje glanced at the front entrance through the glass, the police were arguing with a group of guys, blocking their way in. Unlucky fuckers.

“Wait till we’re in the lift,” Seongje muttered as the doors dinged open. They stepped inside, and he hit the button for the sixth floor. Beomseok leaned against the wall, sighing.

The three exchanged a chuckle.

“He seriously thought you were going to vomit on his shoes? How the hell did you make that noise?” Baekjin asked, almost impressed.

“I had a weak metabolism as a kid. I know exactly how it feels to puke. I also used it as an excuse to skip classes,” Beomseok admitted sheepishly.

“Idiot,” Seongje said, flicking his forehead. It made Beomseok feel strangely warm—he wasn’t used to people laughing with him like this.

“Okay. When the lift opens, the police will be there. We can’t just barge in. So we pretend to be related to the guy. It’s ethically and morally wrong, but we don’t have another choice,” Baekjin said. Both Seongje and Beomseok nodded.

Thursday, 8:25 p.m
───────────────

Suho wasn’t exactly sure what kind of situation he had gotten himself into. He had come into the building to complete the assignment; he even went to 1-601 as written in the address. He didn’t even have to ring the bell the door was already open. He knocked and went inside the flat. A gush of cool wind slapped against his face as he looked up to see the curtains swaying, and a guy whose face he couldn’t see clearly, standing in the balcony.

“Excuse me?” Suho asked, as the guy turned around. Suho recognized him. He didn’t know the guy on a name basis, but he had seen him at Hwalhak, he was a fighter as well. Did he get the same assignment too?

“Oh, Nine, it’s you? I’ve done my part. Do whatever you have to and get the fuck out of here. The police will be here soon,” the guy said, patting his back as he walked off.

“Police? For what? Why?” Suho asked, shocked.

“Look downstairs.” The guy smirked, pulling his hood up as he disappeared.

Suho immediately walked outside to the balcony. He looked on both sides—nothing. Then he looked down, and his mouth fell open. There was a guy flat on the ground downstairs on the grassy pasture. He didn’t look like someone who had passed out, more like someone who had jumped from above.

“Oh God… what is this?” Suho mumbled as he panicked, looking around the apartment.

“Should I call the police? Wait… didn’t he say the police would come?” Suho muttered to himself as he paced around the place.

“You have come here to collect the pendrive. Do just that,” Suho said, as he pulled out the black rubber gloves from his pocket and started searching.

“Why is this door open? Is someone inside?” Suho heard a voice from outside, and he immediately hid behind the opaque curtain, trying to be as quiet as possible.

“Why are you here? I was assigned to investigate the flat. You’re on ground duty,” he heard another voice near the door.

“I was assigned ground duty? Really? What bullshit. Go speak to the patrolling officer, it was me. You’re here to eat my promotion again, aren’t you?”

Suho frowned as the two officers continued to argue outside, not actually doing something constructive. This was his cue. He bent down, moving slowly behind the couch, eyes flicking to the door where the two officers stood, their backs facing him. He slipped into the bedroom corridor of the house—very quietly.

Thursday, 8:27 p.m
───────────────

“What the fuck? How long are these assholes going to argue?” Seongje asked, as Baekjin wanted to cover his mouth to get him to shut up. Seongje literally had the patience of a small child at times.

They had managed to walk to the fire staircase as they stood there peeking at the flat. The two cops fighting didn’t even seem to notice the lift doors open as they argued. It wouldn’t be as easy to just walk up to them and say they were related to the tenant of the flat.

“Wait, they’re moving,” Beomseok said as he turned his head away from peeking, all of them standing in a very straight file against the wall. A third officer came, asking the two to go to the patrolling officer, saying that someone else would be sent up for forensics. The two of them kept arguing as they climbed into the lift instead.

Baekjin looked at his wristwatch, then at Beomseok and Seongje, nodding. “We have less than five minutes,” he said, taking out two sets of rubber gloves and handing them over as they wore them.

“I’ll search the front parts of the house. Baekjin, you take the center. And Beomseok, you start with the bedroom,” Seongje said as he slowly opened the door and immediately walked toward the balcony to look down, while Beomseok went toward the bedroom.

“Can you not fucking look down, Seongje? The guy just jumped from there—people are looking up from downstairs,” Baekjin hissed.

Beomseok looked at the bedroom. It was made up neatly; it didn’t look like someone had slept in it recently, but some things looked displaced, like they had been moved. He quickly opened the doors, searching for the drive as he pushed the pillows aside, checked under them, under the bed, and over the shelves as well.

He searched on the table when he felt the wind brush against his face. The curtain swayed a little. He pulled it back to see outside and almost stumbled in his step when he saw someone standing there. He covered his mouth to not make any noise as he peeped out of the door a little. The guy didn’t look like a police officer at all.

Beomseok moved a step closer to look but ended up startling the guy instead, who backed up against the wall. Beomseok could still see Seongje standing in the other balcony.

He turned to look at the guy in front of him as his face went almost white with shock.

It was Suho.

“Y-You, you—what are you doing here?” Suho asked as Beomseok looked at him, eyes wide.

“Suho, what are you doing here?”

Thursday, 8:30 p.m
───────────────

“It’s okay, Juntae-ah, everything will be fine, it’s okay, the police are here now, okay? They’ll manage,” Gotak said as he rubbed Juntae’s back, making him have more water as he held his hand tightly.

“I literally saw him go down,” Juntae said as Gotak nodded, pulling him a little closer to provide him some comfort.

“I know, it’s a terrifying thing to see, I am here, do you want me to sit with you?” Gotak asked as Juntae nodded, leaning on his shoulder.

“Sorry, we would have reached earlier but I had some crazy idiot driving like crazy and honking in my lane on the road, so I had to cut through, and when we came here the cops were already here and they wanted us to give identities that we stayed here in this building,” Baku sighed.

“It’s okay, I am sorry I spoiled your dinner,” Juntae said.

Sieun shook his head. “You did nothing, we can eat later.”

“Which floor was this from?” Baku asked.

“Sixth,” Sieun said. He was sure of the floor; he had heard several people talk about it.

“Oh, that’s sad,” Baku mumbled.

“We should go and look, you and me,” Sieun said to Baku.

“What?”

“I know who lived on the sixth floor, you remember the guy was one of the admins to Shuttlepatch?” Sieun asked.

The other three looked at him surprised.

“It was him? He—uh—did this?” Gotak asked, pointing to the balcony, keeping Juntae’s head firmly on his shoulder, preventing him from seeing.

“Yes, I think it is, I saw him in the lift day before yesterday, he looked stressed,” Sieun said.

“Strange things are happening in this building,” Juntae said. “First those weird thumping sounds, then the blood in the lift that wasn’t a nosebleed, I am sure, and now this.”

“What blood?” Baku asked, confused.

“Oh, you guys saw it too, I saw it as well when I was going to the gym a week or so back, somebody had a nosebleed in the lift,” Gotak said.

Juntae shook his head. “It was not a nosebleed, I am studying medicine, I know.”

“Gogo, take him inside, he is stressed, you stay here, me and Sieun will go and look downstairs, okay?” Baku said as Gotak nodded, helping Juntae to his room.

“At least they are not fighting now,” Sieun said, observing.

“They don’t sort things when they argue anymore, but they can’t see each other in any sort of pain, mental or physical,” Baku said as he opened the apartment door to let Sieun out.

“Who’s pressed all the lift buttons to the floors?” Sieun asked as he noticed the lift was stopping at every floor, both the lifts.

“Imagine doing something like this in a situation like this, must be some crazy idiot, let us take the stairs.”

Thursday, 8:37 p.m
───────────────

“Congratulations! You may have successfully, totally fucked up my plan,” Seokhyeon gritted as they walked inside the complex, Seongmok and Dongha behind him, while Gil Soo squinted at the building and looked at his phone, the brightness making his eye pop out.

“Fighter Nine should have come out by now,” he said, confused.

“This is what happens when you send two people to do the same fucking job, you moron. With all due respect, I think the age has got to your head, you’re in your 30s, might as well take retirement from this gang work,” Seokhyeon said, snubbing Gil Soo.

“I’ll go and check,” Gil Soo said, raising his arms dramatically as he marched towards the building, but Seokhyeon signaled Dongha and Seongmok to pull him back.

“I’ll go and see. You guys take him and leave,” he said as he put his hands in his pockets and walked towards the first building.

His plan was perfect, and it was being executed in the right order as well. That was until Gil Soo’s mistake and honestly, Seokhyeon had no intention to blame Fighter Nine for the confusion. He would have been surprised as well; Bamui Jiri’s arms were not kind to the people who messed up. But Seokhyeon just scoffed as he decided to give the fighter an exception.

If this did not work out, he might have to come up with another plan—or figure out what exactly to do with Seongje or approach Baekjin’s playbook method of waiting, watching, and luring Seongje in.

He smiled at the memory of Baekjin. He used to be busy, but he always made out a little time from his days to involve Seokhyeon in his plans and give him instructions, almost even trusted him enough to take care of the Union while he studied.

That was right. Baekjin trusted him. No one else. Not even Park Humin.

“You?” he heard a voice from someone in front of him. He tsked, shaking his head. Baku was such an omen that he was hearing his voice as well now.

“Kwan?” he heard again, as he looked up to see Baku standing right in front of him. The bastard was right there.

“Park Humin,” Seokhyeon said, his face morphing into a disgusted expression.

“Kwan Seokhyeon. It has been a while,” Baku said, his hands in his pockets, standing as cool as ever.

Seokhyeon hated it, because Baekjin had always loved how cool Baku was. It made him want to rip off Baku’s arms.

“Get out of my face, Baku,” Seokhyeon spat. He really couldn’t care less if Baku stayed here at Bokhyeol or was wandering around elsewhere—he had stepped in at the wrong time, just when his good thoughts of Baekjin had come back.

“I have no interest in talking to you either. Saw you, so I decided to greet you since I happen to stay here. Not everyone sits with venom on their tongue,” Baku shrugged as he walked off.

“Not everyone kills their childhood friend either,” Seokhyeon spat, turning around as he watched Baku stop.

“So you admit that he was my childhood friend? You didn’t seem to do that at his funeral. Good it looks like you’ve come to your senses, Kwan. At least I was something, unlike you,” Baku smirked, turning around as Seokhyeon clenched his fists, furious—the anger boiling to his eyes and to his head.

“Fuck the pendrive. If Nine brings it, then he brings it,” Seokhyeon said as he stomped out of the complex building.

Somewhere on the sidelines, Baekjin looked at the confrontation he had just happened to see from the side of the building as he was about to go back inside and press all the buttons of the lift again to give Seongje more time to search. It almost made him smile—it was something he and Baku used to do once.

Baku seemed okay. Baekjin didn’t know that he lived here, but now that he did, he knew where to find him.

Thursday, 8:40 p.m
───────────────

“Suho, please,” Beomseok literally pleaded as he tried taking the pendrive away from Suho, who moved his hand away.

“Get your hands away. Back off,” Suho said, his tone cold.

They had spent the last few minutes arguing about the pendrive, both eager to take it but not understanding why the other wanted it. Their voices were still low. Beomseok wasn’t sure if Seongje was still searching around or if the police were here, he really couldn’t see anything else except Suho’s face that slightly shined under the moon.

“Give the pendrive to me,” Beomseok said as he put out a weak hand, and Suho swatted it away, turning towards the other side of the balcony.

“Why are you back?”

“It was painful staying alone.”

“So you decided to walk back, after everything you did, everything—huh? Do you have no shame?” Suho asked. The emotion in his eyes and voice was raw, and it pinched Beomseok’s insides.

“I am sorry.”

“No, you are not. You never will be. Not after what you did—with everyone—with me,” Suho said, Beomseok’s betrayal reflecting like a thick block between them.

“I am sorry, Suho. I know I was wrong, very wrong. I know,” Beomseok said, his voice still low and pleading.

“No matter how much you apologize, how much you repent, I don’t care—do you hear me?” Suho said.

“I know. I understand.”

“So get lost.”

“I will, I will get away from you. Just give me the pendrive, please, Suho,” Beomseok said as he stepped forward to take it, but Suho shoved him hard towards the railing, making him yelp and startling Suho for a second, though he didn’t look at him.

Beomseok knew things had changed, and Suho had changed. The Beomseok that Suho knew would have never tried to kill him, and the Suho that Beomseok knew would never have hurt him either.

But still, Beomseok went forward as Suho tried to walk away, reaching to take the drive from him. His body almost rebooted at the faint touch of Suho’s warm hands, even if it was in a mere tussle against the railing.

“Fucking let go! What is wrong with you?”

“Give me the pendrive then, please.”

“Absolutely not. Step back or I’ll punch your face into the wall.”

“Do what you want.”

Beomseok and Suho’s hands were caught in a clasp as they tugged the pendrive out of each other’s grip at the edge of the railing. Suho pushed Beomseok further, overpowering him. Beomseok groaned again when the railing hit his ribs, his hands slipping off Suho’s along with the pendrive as he crouched down on the ground.

“Suho,” he said instinctively, and Suho looked down at him, immediately bending down—again, on instinct. Some habits never die.

“What happened to you?” Suho asked, looking down at him as Beomseok pressed a hand on his rib, panting. Suho was almost worried for a minute, until he got to his feet quickly and realized that the pendrive had fallen from their hands, down from the balcony.

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you? So that I can’t get the drive?” Suho asked in disbelief.

Beomseok nodded, standing up still in pain.

“No, I don’t know where it fell down. We can still search for it. Suho, I—”

But Suho just cut him off.

“There is no ‘we.’ So just move,” Suho said as he stepped through the door back into the room, peeping out to look for presence as he walked quickly out of the flat.

“Suho, wait—” Beomseok said as he followed Suho in a hurry, forgetting about the search, and forgetting about Seongje.

Thursday, 8:50 p.m
───────────────

“What the fuck is this?” Sieun asked, looking at a pendrive in his palm—the very one that had fallen right on his head when he and Baku had split up to look around, Sieun checking the front and Baku at the back.

He had honestly thought someone had thrown a rock at him, or maybe a bird had shit on his head. He did not expect a pendrive instead.

His phone buzzed with a message from Baku.

Baku —

It was the same guy you said. Unfortunately, he’s passed away.
I’m not sure if they’re holding a funeral for him, but if we go to Yeongdeungpo then we can leave some flowers for him.
I’m going up. Gotak says that Juntae has slept.
You should come up as well.
It looks like the police will stay a little longer.

Sieun just responded with a thumbs-up emoji before pocketing his phone. He looked at the drive again, then glanced up. He was sure it had come from the sixth floor. No other floor had their balcony open.

He was curious, so he might as well check, he thought. Walking back inside, he pressed the lift button and stepped in, hitting six instead of three. But the damn lift was about to stop on every floor, and it pissed him off so badly that he got off on the first floor and decided to just take the stairs.

Thursday, 8:55 p.m
───────────────

Seongje had managed to check most of the flat as he could. He couldn’t see his pendrive. He didn’t want to give up, but he cursed as he got out—he had to before the police came. He looked at his phone after noticing that Baekjin and Beomseok weren’t there. A message from Baekjin blinked on the screen:

Baekjin —

I am taking Beomseok back. He actually puked.
I found him sitting on the grass outside, holding his stomach and ribs.
He looks unwell. I couldn’t find anything, but I’ve stalled the lifts enough to give you time.
Be careful. Don’t get caught. Call me if you do.

He sighed, pocketing his phone without responding. The lift was still stopping at every floor, so he decided to take the stairs.

He couldn’t get the image of the body downstairs out of his head—seeing it being picked up and taken. One more new person had been added to his mental collection of people he had seen suffering from pain he hadn’t inflicted.

He hated being reminded of his past because it always left him in a confusing, vulnerable space he couldn’t describe. He shook his head, trying to push the thoughts away as he climbed down the staircase, but they refused to leave—they mocked him, the devilish voices of his head.

He climbed down faster, only to bang into someone in a hurry. Stepping back, he looked at the person, and for a second, the devils in his head slowed down.

“Newbie?” he said, seeing Sieun standing in front of him, just as surprised.

"Where did he come from?"

“Why are you here?” Sieun asked. Seongje stepped off the step and glanced at the floor sign—third floor.

He just looked at Sieun. His mother wasn’t crying anymore, Baekjin wasn’t laughing in surrender, Beomseok wasn’t groaning in pain, and the lifeless body wasn’t looking at him. They had all gone quiet, hidden away—almost as if they were too scared to meet Sieun’s eyes.

Seongje had never felt the devils in his head shrink away like that, so silent. It was new to him. Various versions of himself, year after year, would have silently hoped for such calm, even if temporary.

Seongje hated how nice it felt—almost like he didn’t deserve it. He stepped forward towards Sieun as the other backed up against the wall.

"He smells nice"

“What are you doing?” Sieun asked, pressing back with nowhere to move to.

“Keep quiet. Stay like this for a minute,” Seongje said, leaning down and putting his head on Sieun’s shoulder. He pulled Sieun’s hand and placed it on his head, exhaling sharply.

Thursday, 9 p.m
───────────────

4 days and 21 hours.

Sieun stopped the count in his head the moment Seongje’s forehead pressed against his neck, his hand unconsciously threading through Seongje’s hair as Seongje had himself put his hand on his head.

They’d been in a similar position at Midnight Scene, but this… this was different. Seongje wasn’t just close — he was clinging, and Sieun could feel the weight of it in his chest.

“Some parasites possess an uncanny ability to find their way back to their hosts, drawn by an invisible thread. No matter how far the host wanders, the moment they grow weary or let their guard down, the parasite returns—gentle, persistent, almost tender in its devotion. It’s not cruelty, but a stubborn kind of attachment that refuses to be ignored.”

Sieun had read that once, in one of his notes for the experiment, he thought it was a stupid phrase, and now it felt like the universe was mocking him, spelling Seongje out in someone else’s metaphor.

“What is this?” Seongje’s voice was muffled against his shoulder, low and rough. His hand moved, brushing against Sieun’s as he tugged the pendrive free. He tilted his head just enough to peer at it.

“Are you some sort of fairy? Where did you get this from?” His words carried no bite. Almost curious. Almost soft. He slipped it into his pocket.

“Wait—what? Give it back,” Sieun said, startled, trying to snatch at it.

Seongje finally lifted his head, gaze catching his, and in one motion pressed his palm to the wall beside Sieun’s face — caging him in with a quiet finality that made Sieun’s breath stumble.

“It is mine,” Seongje said simply.

“I don’t—just give it back, I found it, it fell from the—”

“Sixth floor?”

Sieun blinked. “…How do you know?”

“Where do you think I’m coming down from?”

For a few seconds they just looked at each other, silence tightening like a rope between them. Then, almost immediately Sieun tried to duck under his arm, but Seongje was faster, catching him, pressing him back against the wall — closer now, too close.

“You lied, didn’t you?” Seongje’s eyes flicked down, searching his face. “You live here. Not where I dropped you off last time.”

The realization hit Sieun in the same instant — the way Seongje had cornered him meant he’d already figured it out. Which was why he’d tried to run. And failed.

“Let’s not make a big deal of this,” Sieun muttered, palms flat against Seongje’s chest, but not pushing anymore.

Sieun noticed that Seongje's injuries had healed a little; his knuckles wrapped in a thin bandage, the darker bruises fading to yellow.

Four days wasn’t long, not really — people went months, years without seeing someone.

“Where have you been?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“Why do you ask?” Seongje’s tone was deceptively casual.

“I… unblocked you.”

Something flickered in Seongje’s expression — a split-second of surprise before it flattened into nothing again.

“Okay.”

“Okay.” That was it? That was all? Sieun’s head spun. Four fucking days, 21 damn hours, and this bastard’s answer was just “okay”?

“That’s all you have to say? Okay?”

“Yeah.”

So that was it. The guy hadn’t thought of him once. Not once. Which meant he’d either been busy annoying someone else or thought Sieun was just someone he could irritate, leave hanging and just go.

“You—” Sieun’s words knotted up before spilling into a sigh. He leaned back against the wall, staring up at Seongje with a mess of anger and something else he didn’t want to name.

Seongje tilted his head, leaning in, eyes gleaming with something infuriatingly amused. “You look angry. Are you going to burst?”

“You can be vulnerable, and I can’t be angry?”

“I am not vulnerable.”

“You just were.” Sieun gestured at his shoulder, the memory of Seongje’s weight still lingering like a phantom touch.

“Fuck off. Whatever.”

But Sieun didn’t. Sieun didn't fuck off, because Yeon Sieun didn't believe in losing and by acting casual Seongje was trying to prove that Sieun lost some sort of unofficial waiting game.

His body moved before his brain approved as his arms slipped around Seongje in a sharp, sudden motion — not graceful, not tender, more like a counterattack. His face pressed into Seongje’s shoulder, muffling his breath. It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t logical. It felt like payback for every second Seongje had crawled under his skin and messed with his pulse in the name of his own experiment.

A hug. Sieun didn't do hugs.

“…What the fuck are you doing?” Seongje's voice cracked, traitorously soft as he felt a light palm on his back.

Sieun didn't respond as he just stayed there, it was different from the limited hugs he had given and taken, it was like being wrapped around a live wire, having current go down your spine and seeing a random firework burst from somewhere.

He hated it.

Because it was nice, better than the rest.

[....]

Seongje’s brain went blank. Not a thought. Not a curse. Nothing. Just the weight of Sieun’s arms around him—real, solid, warm—and the quiet thud of a heart that wasn’t his own against his chest.

His first usual instinct would have been to laugh, or shove him off, or make some cocky remark. But instead his palm hovered midair like an idiot before it finally landed on Sieun’s back. Careful. Testing. As if one wrong move would scare him off.

"Why am I—why the fuck am I being careful? Since when do I—"
"Should I just push him away? What the fuck is newbie doing?"

The thought cut off when his arm curled, almost of its own accord, wrapping Sieun in properly. Not rough. Not teasing. Gentle. Too gentle. It startled him more than the hug itself.

Seongje didn't do hugs, didn't like them much either.

They leaned against the railing together as without a warning the light in the building blinked out.

The staircase dropped into darkness, the only glow spilling through the staircase window was the flashes of red and blue from the police cars and ambulance below. Shouts echoed, from downstairs in a startled “oooh” at the blackout.

Seongje didn’t move. Couldn’t. Because in the dark, he swore Sieun was closer now, his breath warm against his neck, his weight heavier against his chest.

"Has this fucker moved or am I going crazy?"

“We won’t talk about this,” Sieun murmured against him, voice steady, almost commanding, as if that could erase the moment.

Seongje huffed out something between a laugh and a sigh, his arm pressing just slightly firmer against Sieun’s shoulders. “…We won’t talk about what I just did a while back either.”

In the darkness, he felt Sieun nod. Just a small, certain movement.

“You are so useless, what the fuck—you can’t even hug properly,” Sieun muttered, voice sharp in the dark.

Seongje scoffed, the sound bouncing off the stairwell. “And you can? What the fuck even was that? You just charged in. If I hadn’t grabbed the railing, we’d be dead at the bottom right now.”

“You would’ve fallen. Not me.”

“Oh, so you admit you’re trying to ruin my face? Jealous I look better than you? That I get more people? That must be it. You wanted to sabotage me.”

“Me, jealous?” Sieun’s voice was flat, but closer now. “You talk as if people are lining up outside your door for you. Have you ever heard yourself? You sound ridiculous.”

“I sound ridiculous?” Seongje’s laugh was sharp, almost disbelieving. “This is fucking coming from the guy who throws a fit over the smallest thing. You can’t even take an email sportingly.”

“Why should I? And don’t pick out my flaws when you’re fucking inconsistent as hell, you start an email chain and don’t even continue it.”

“Fuck off” Seongje groaned, and before he could stop himself, his hand shot out, catching Sieun at the waist and yanking him closer. The motion was firm, unthinking and proving a point. Their bodies brushed, heat spilling in the space between them. “Fine. You want talk about hugs? This—this is how you do it properly.”

Sieun stood there only for a beat almost like he was analyzing something, then leaned in harder, looping both arms stubbornly around him. “You think I can’t? Watch me.”

“Oh, you’re proving something? That’s what this is?” Seongje’s voice had dipped lower, brushing against Sieun’s ear as the police lights flickered red and blue casting hues between them.

“This is not a competition.”

“You’re the one turning it into one. You’ve got a really big ego for someone your fucking size, Newbie.”

“I don’t. But if you think this is a competition, then I’ll win it.”

“You’ll win it—eh? Not a chance. I never fucking lose. And I don’t play by the rules you make up in that little shitty head of yours.”

“You deserved to be blocked again,” Sieun snapped, his voice tight with annoyance.

“And what? You’ll wait again?” Seongje smirked, leaning just close enough for Sieun to hear it in his tone. “You were waiting, weren’t you?”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.'

“No.”

“Hell yes.”

“NO.”

Seongje’s laugh was low, smug. “Should I block you instead, Yeon Sieun? Put you in a little jail called my block list in my phone?”

Sieun’s head snapped up at him, voice sharp but softer underneath. “I don’t think you would.”

“Oh?” Seongje tilted his head, grin curling wider. “Are you challenging me, you fucking prick?”

“Shut up.”

“Think about it newbie, our fifth date is being spent in the dark. What the fuck.”

“This is not a date.”

“It is the fifth date.”

“He gets so annoyed by one word. Cute.”

The lights flickered back on, and both of them froze. They were close. Closer than either expected. Sieun’s arms were still tangled around Seongje, locked in place like he’d forgotten. Seongje’s hold was worse, one arm anchored to Sieun’s back, the other curled snug around his waist, his hand fitting there like it had always belonged.

“What date? What is wrong with you?” Sieun blurted, finally shoving him back, his face flushing hot as he stumbled a step away and pressed against the wall like he needed the support.

Seongje just chuckled, running a hand through his hair. It was stupid. They looked stupid. Seongje found stupid things amusing at times, any third person walking by would think they were crazy.

[....]

Sieun just stared at Seongje for a moment, blinking when he heard the faint crinkle of torn plastic. He turned his head, only to see Seongje casually peeling open a gum wrapper.

…His gum wrapper

Sieun’s hands flew to his own pockets. Empty.

"What the hell? When did he even take that out?"

“Here.” Seongje held the gum out to him like nothing was strange, tucking the wrapper neatly into his own pocket.

“What is wrong with him, why would he keep the wrapper and not the gum,” Sieun muttered under his breath, taking it anyway.

“So?” Seongje asked.

“So?”

“This all this that’s happened tonight.” Sieun pointed a finger toward the sixth floor above them. “It wasn’t okay.” He needed answers, needed to know if what he’d seen with Seok Dae and his people was connected or not. He had other questions too.

“I know.” Seongje started down a step, voice too casual. “Let’s have a chat about it tomorrow.”

Sieun’s stomach dropped. Tomorrow? Tomorrow meant maybe. Tomorrow meant that he’d vanish again, wouldn’t he? Just like before. Days gone. Radio silence.

His jaw clenched as he stepped after him, blurting, “You’re not—”

But he stopped himself, biting down on the words before they could leave his mouth.

Seongje half-turned, eyebrow raised. “I’m not what?”

Sieun didn’t answer. He shoved his hands in his pockets and started back up the stairs instead.

“What the hell—” Seongje muttered, confused, pivoting and climbing back up after him.

“What the fuck,” Sieun echoed under his breath, not looking back.

Seongje had already caught up with him, footsteps echoing behind.

“Why are you following me?” Sieun snapped without turning.

“You were following me first,” Seongje shot back, smug.

Sieun stopped on the landing and glared over his shoulder. “So stop.”

“You stop.”

“I will come, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Seongje said after a pause, his voice low, steady.

“I am not worried about anything, I—”

“Only if you admit it’s date six.”

Seongje didn’t even let him finish. He tossed the words back like a challenge, already moving down the stairs. Each step was a ticking timer.

Sieun blinked at him.

“What—date what?!”

“Six, this was the fifth one, the gum is your present.” Seongje smirked.

“That doesn’t count—none of this counts!” Sieun snapped, his hands balling into fists at his side.

Seongje just shrugged, not stopping. “Five seconds left to admit it.”

Step.

“Four.”

Step.

“Three.”

Sieun’s jaw tightened. This was ridiculous. Childish. Infuriating.

“Two.”

His chest tightened.

Did he really have to lose? Who was losing here? Him or Seongje?

“One—”

“Fine!” Sieun blurted, louder than he meant to. “It will be fucking date six, okay?!”

Seongje stopped, turned slightly, his grin sharp even in the dim light. “Good boy.”

Sieun nearly threw his shoe down the staircase at him.

[....]

Friday, 12:00 a.m
─────────────

From: Keum Seongje<[email protected]>
To: Yeon Sieun<[email protected]>
Date: Friday, 12:00 AM

↳ in chain from Re:Re:Re First Kiss Report Card

Subject: New Grade

You can take an A- for that hug. I didn't fucking think we would last that blackout together with your cribbing.

Sieun didn’t reply. He just clicked the golden star on the email, starring it, and stared like it might vanish if he blinked. Was this even a competition? What were they keeping score of? Could they both… win?

"Together" lingered in his mind, strange yet… not wrong. Not frightening. Not impossible. People did a lot of things together, together had several meanings.

For the first time, he realized he had never thought of that word with anyone—anyone—and yet with Seongje, it sounded… right. Natural, almost inevitable. A spark of something curious and thrilling tickled his chest.

And yet, beneath that quiet warmth, a whisper of his old logic nudged him—this was an experiment, wasn’t it? He was meant to observe, to note, to record. But the thought of analyzing this—"or them" felt impossibly complicated now.

Maybe some things didn’t need rules. Maybe some things didn’t need answers. Maybe, just maybe, this—whatever it was—was worth holding onto… even if it meant bending the “experiment” just a little.

The trial in his head returned.

“He’s going on a date?” the judge’s voice echoed.
“I am just meeting him,” Jihoon who was his own stand-in witness said firmly from the seat.
“Lies,” the prosecutor Keum Seongje snapped. “He agreed to call every meet a date.”
“I did not.”
“Arrest him. Send him to the block list.”

The imaginary gavel slammed down, and Sieun’s eyes flew to his phone in reflex. The screen lit up, and there were no new notifications, but he wasn't blocked.

He tossed the phone onto his bed with a groan.

“Great. Now I’m acting just like him,” he muttered, pressing his palms over his face before peeking out between his fingers.

The golden star still glowed on Seongje’s email, steady and soft. He stared at it for one more second than necessary. Just one second.

He pressed the post-it to the wall in front of him, the ink still drying: “Experiment stays as an experiment, whether fruitful or disastrous.”

━━━━━━━━━

Notes:

━ if you managed to complete reading the chapter then please do leave a comment telling me how you think it was.
━ the next chapter is going to be sjse sjse sjse 💜

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR KUDOS ! I love everyone who takes time to read, leave kudos and comments !! 💜🩷

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of ↳ sjse fics 🫀🖊️🎮