Seoul Ablaze (1)
Cheol-woo was baffled. Seeing his sister bawling her eyes out, he'd thought maybe she'd been through some real hell, but when she kept stammering electric shock—electric shock— over and over, he relaxed. It wasn't anything serious. He tossed Yuri into the passenger seat of the truck, quickly retrieved the patrol car's black box, and hit the gas.
He'd have to swap out the exposed license plate later with a spare.
"Hey, hey. For real. Haa. My, my heart's pounding so much... What do I do? What the hell just happened? Huh?"
"The company stabbed me in the back. The agency and the entire GeumMyeong Group are in on it together. They tried to kidnap you to keep me in line."
"No way, this is just... what the...?"
Yuri panted, struggling to string words together. The terror of being tailed, the shock of those guys dropping like sacks, the agony of the repeated electric shocks, the blood spraying everywhere earlier—it had all crashed over her in a short burst, and her adrenaline refused to settle. But how the fuck was Cheol-woo so goddamn calm...? Watching him casually drive away from the scene actually started to steady her breathing.
"Let's head home first. I'm sweating buckets—I need a shower."
"We can't go home."
"Why?"
"Hold this against yourself."
"Aaaah! No! Nooo!"
"It's not a stun gun, so calm down, please. It's a metal detector. There might still be a bug or tracker on you."
"I told you, I changed clothes—how many times do I have to—"
Beep-beep-beep! The detector lit up near her chest, and Cheol-woo's eyes darkened.
She'd changed outfits and ditched her bag—there shouldn't have been anywhere left for a tracker.
"Take off your bra."
"Hey?!"
"Now."
"I can't with these handcuffs..."
"Turn around."
"God, fuck, seriously..."
Click. He sliced open the pad area with his knife. A tiny chip blinked red inside. Yuri's jaw dropped.
Not outer clothes—her bra? No way they could've slipped that on during the tail without her noticing. A chill ran through her, and she shuddered.
"Still wanna go home?"
"...No."
Yuri was a lot more compliant now. No more bullshit like Did you have to shoot? Couldn't you have just fired a warning shot?
She'd grasped their situation in an instant.
"Feeling calmer now?"
"...Yeah."
"No injuries?"
"...Yeah."
"How's your mood?"
"...Fucking sucks."
"Good. Perfectly normal."
Cheol-woo glanced at Yuri, who was answering meekly from the passenger seat, and relaxed. Aside from her looking a bit more drained than usual, she was fine. If only she was always this obedient and soft-spoken. Hell, if she were his little sister instead of big sis, it'd be even better—
He opened his mouth.
"Keep your phone off unless you have to. If you turn it on, kill GPS, Wi-Fi, data. And don't post anything on messenger or SNS that could give away our location. Ignore calls from friends asking questions—they might be getting threats to pump you for info."
"I know. Jeez. Who do you think I am...?"
"Ow. Hey. Don't poke my side. That hurts."
"Your side? Why? Oh. Oh...! Right, your stomach! You got shot there! Is it okay!?"
"I'm fine, see? Driving like normal."
He wasn't fine. That quack doctor must've fucked up the anesthesia dosage or something—it wore off midway, turning the whole thing into living hell. Sure, no major organs hit, vessels stitched up, but without proper painkillers working, even walking was agony. He'd gritted through it to get this far, but sleeping? Fuck, was he even gonna get any rest?
"It was a shallow wound, so don't worry."
"Really?"
"Tch, ow!"
"Screaming like a wimp, and you say it's fine? Take your painkillers and antibiotics on schedule. No antibiotics here, but I got painkillers."
"Painkillers don't work on me."
"These are super strong. I get bad cramps."
"They stabbed me with morphine for the headache and local anesthetic four or five times in the gut, and it still wore off right away."
"...Why's that?"
How the fuck should I know? Cheol-woo's expression said it all. Two vials of morphine plus anesthetics should've killed a normal person—or at least knocked them out cold by now. But here he was, eyes wide open, frowning hard as he drove. Not like he'd built tolerance from constant use. Something was definitely wrong with his body, but he had no clue what, and no time or way to check right now.
"So what's the plan?"
"Plan? Gotta make one now."
"...?"
Silence fell.
"Hey!"
"What. I bolted out the second I heard they were grabbing you—no time for plans."
"Fair, but... haa..."
"Gotta get out of Korea ASAP. Cops are compromised by GeumMyeong Group, that's clear."
"...?"
Yuri nodded vigorously—she'd just gotten a full-body taste of corrupt cops.
She glanced at the driver's seat and calmed a bit more. After all that chaos, how was he so composed? But if he wasn't, they wouldn't be alive right now.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"I did. Bugs..."
"No, before that. You felt something off right after starting, right? You agonized alone over quitting until today. Why not tell me...?"
"...?"
Cheol-woo shut up, and silence descended again.
He felt guilty for dragging her into this. All because he insisted on going pro gamer, got tangled with shady fucks, and now ruined her career. Whether modeling was her true passion or not, he didn't know...
Yuri felt sorry toward her little brother her whole life. She'd neglected him too much. Didn't believe his gaming talent until contract-signing eve. Let him date weird girls, figuring he'd dump them himself—then shit hit the fan. Knew he joined a sketchy company but never once asked how work was going, blind to his real feelings until now. What was so urgent about her piddly earnings that she couldn't spare him a thought? This mess felt self-inflicted; she hated her past self.
So much to say, but neither spoke first. They just turned away, gulping occasionally to break the quiet. No way either would say sorry first—not even on pain of death. Classic siblings.
"I'm hungry. Let's hit a kimbap joint or drive-thru."
"Every second counts right now—food? Get out of Seoul first."
"That's how you treat a patient? No wonder you're not healing."
"Weren't you just saying you're fine...?"
"...?"
Cheol-woo's guilt vanished. Her admitting hunger? Rare as hell. He never complained unless his stomach was glued to his spine. But here she was, whining while he starved.
"Sis, your clothes are kinda see-through?"
"Ah. Fuck. Shit... Pull over. Gotta buy a bra."
"Every second counts, huh?"
"No! If you hadn't sliced it with your knife! Couldn't you have just nicked it? You did it on purpose so I couldn't wear it!"
"I'll park for exactly 30 minutes. You grab underwear, spare clothes, essentials. I'll get food. Deal?"
"Okay. Perfect."
Yuri nodded coolly; deal sealed. The truck eased into the DongYang Department Store underground lot.
Once stopped, Cheol-woo grabbed bolt cutters from the back and snipped her cuffs. She bolted out covering her chest toward lingerie; he sprinted to the food court.
He shoveled every sample into his mouth, then ordered everywhere. Starving. Insanely hungry. Burgers, king dumplings, tteokbokki, chicken... Not day's worth—right-now fuel. Had he always eaten this much? Intake ramped up post-gun training, peaking today.
Something feels off—dangerous.
Food ordered, he spotted Yuri drooling at a sword display. He scanned: lots of guards with pistols. Not bank-level, but engravings confirmed live rounds. Thought GeumMyeong Security at first, but nah—store security. DongYang Department Store? Why so tense? Bad vibes; wanted out ASAP.
People?
Arms full of food, heading back, his eyes narrowed. Pain, dulled by food smells, surged. Four guys mobbing the truck. Not civilians—hooded, built dudes.
He circled the lot—no backups, no cams—then approached.
"Huh?"
"Grenade!?"
Roll-roll— Pinless fake grenade tumbled under the truck. They freaked, diving everywhere.
They waited for the boom! Nothing. Puzzled heads popped up.
"Urk!"
"Hngh!"
Thwip! Thwip! Thwip! Suppressed subsonic rounds dropped them one by one. Last one shaking, Cheol-woo retrieved the dummy and closed in.
"D-don't shoot! Please! Aaa!"
"Shh. Quiet."
"Min Cheol-woo, right? We're not enemies—allies! Stop shooting... You crazy fuck! Firing without checking!"
Allies? New ones he didn't know.
"Who the hell are you? What team?"
"Us, Team 2! GeumMyeong Security! Team 2!"
"How'd you know I was here?"
"...?"
Delay. Thwip!
Trackers removed, Team 1 shaken—how'd Team 2 track? Jeong Gwa-jang's pride meant no help requests; Team 2 shouldn't even know. Yet they beat Team 1 here?
"Fuck."
He yanked open the truck bed, grabbed a gun case, ripped foam—familiar tracker chip.
One more? He EMP-blasted everything, then exhaled.
But weird: Team 2 supplied Team 1 gear—with trackers? Rivalry rumors, sure, but this? He'd gotten caught in inter-team bullshit, nearly exploded like a shrimp in a whale fight.
They weren't after him—lurking, not ambushing. If sure it was him, they'd wait. But now trackers dead, four corpses—Team 2 would notice soon.
Fuck. What a pain...
Jeong Gwa-jang next, then Team 2. GeumMyeong Security wasn't the only dirty-work arm—thug contractors incoming? Dizzying thought.
What the hell is this? Jeong Gwa-jang's distorted face wouldn't relax. Team 3 wiped out—he figured rookie with machine gun ambushed them. But bodies: single 7.62mm low-penetration rounds to chests. No other casings—one-shot kills. Sniper spot? Near kilometer out, windy, bullet flight over a second. Insane.
'No major organ damage, but massive bleeding. Couldn't transfuse much—discharged. Surgery without anesthesia due to unknown reasons; pain immense. Left shoulder bone hit—not fatal, but uncontrollable shake for shooting. Won't walk, let alone fight.'
Bullshit. Doc's words all lies. Should be bedridden, yet sniped Team 3, vaporized patrol car, vanished. Double gunshot victim? If uninjured, might've taken Jeong's head.
"Can't make noise anyway."
Quiet for hauling a ton of gear. Armed for possibilities, but no bombs or MGs in central Seoul, right? Annoying clearing silent bodies vs. covering daytime shootout—better.
Yeah. Rational. Daylight Seoul inferno? Nah.
"What?! Which team engaging?"
What the—bullshit—