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𝕋ℍ𝔼 door creaked open.

Hana froze.

Her breath caught halfway in her throat as her eyes adjusted to the dim light of her apartment. Three men sat casually on her floor — boots carelessly resting on her worn rug, cigarette smoke curling toward the ceiling. One of them was petting her cat.

Her cat.

"Oh," the one holding it said with a smirk, his tone slow and mocking. "The pretty lady's back."

Hana's pulse stuttered. Her gaze darted to the cat's twitching tail, then to the strangers' eyes. Every muscle in her body tightened.
"Give me my cat," she said, voice low but shaking.

The man with the cat rose smoothly to his feet, holding the animal like leverage. His grin widened.
"We've finally met in person," he said, stepping closer. "So, you're the one who owes our friend some money... and slammed him into a wall once."

The other two men stood, chairs scraping against the floor. One of them — tall, broad-shouldered, in a white button-up — began rolling his sleeves with unhurried precision, eyes fixed on her like a predator about to close in.

Hana instinctively took a few steps back. The air felt too heavy to breathe. She could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

"You don't know how to maintain harmony with the neighbours and landlords, do you?" the white-shirted man said. His tone was soft — almost polite — but beneath it, something darker simmered.

Her fingers trembled. Her throat constricted. Memories flickered — the shadow of her uncle's hand, the sound of her mother's voice calling her name, the terror that used to live in her bones. That same fear crept back now, icy and suffocating, coiling tight around her chest.

"Give back my cat," she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

The man's grin sharpened. "Here," he said, crouching slightly, "Here's your cat."

Hana's eyes darted to the trembling creature. She stepped forward, desperate — but before she could reach, two hands slammed into her shoulders, shoving her back hard. The air rushed from her lungs.

"I think she really doesn't get it," the man in white murmured, tilting his head. "Should we teach her a lesson?"

He reached for her chin, fingers gripping her face with cruel familiarity — the same touch she'd run from years ago.

"Don't touch me," she hissed, shoving his hand away.

For a heartbeat, everything was still.

Then chaos.

The nearest man lunged. Hana twisted, driving the back of her head into his face — a sharp crack and a grunt of pain followed. She tore free, stumbling toward the open door.

"Fuck!" one of them shouted.

But she was already gone — sprinting down the stairwell barefoot, her cat's mewl echoing behind her, the pounding of boots chasing close at her heels as the night outside swallowed her whole.

Hana's lungs burned. Every breath felt like fire.

The shouts behind her were getting closer, echoing off the narrow walls of the alley. She darted past a row of late-night food stalls, the scent of broth and grilled meat barely cutting through her panic. Without thinking, she grabbed a stack of boxes from one of the stalls and hurled them into the path of the men chasing her. The crash sent fruit and cardboard scattering across the ground, slowing them only for a moment — but a moment was all she had.

Her feet slapped against the pavement as she rounded another corner—only to stop dead.

A wall.

A dead end.

Her heart sank so hard she almost felt it crack. Hana turned slowly, chest heaving, facing the three men closing in on her. Their shadows stretched long and hungry under the yellow streetlight.

"You were pretty fast, weren't you?" one of them sneered, wiping sweat from his lip as he stepped forward.

Hana's eyes darted wildly, searching for something — anything — she could use to defend herself. But there was nothing. No bottles. No sticks. Just the cold brick pressing behind her back and the tremor in her hands.

Then—

A thunk.

A rock struck the ground near the men's feet. Another one followed, harder this time, hitting one of them square in the shoulder. "What the—?!" he barked, jerking his head upward.

Hana looked up too—and her breath hitched.

Above her, crouched on the low rooftop, stood a man in a dark brown coat. The dim streetlight caught his face—unmasked, sharp-eyed, and older than she remembered, but unmistakably familiar.

For a heartbeat, the world fell away.
Her mind stumbled over his name—the one she hadn't spoken in years, the one she'd thought she'd never see again.

"...Jin?" she whispered. 

He extended a hand toward her, voice firm but urgent.
"Give me your hand. Your hand, Hana!"

Without hesitation, she lunged forward, grabbing his wrist. His grip was strong, steady — the first solid thing she'd felt all night. With a sharp pull, he hauled her upward, one arm around her waist as he lifted her over the ledge and set her down gently beside him.

"Go," he said, not giving her a chance to speak. He took her hand and broke into a run across the rooftop.

Below, one of the men roared, "Don't you dare run away!"

Gunfire echoed. Shouts followed. But Joon-Seok — the boy she once knew, now a man she barely recognized — didn't look back. His hand gripped hers tighter as they disappeared into the night.

Their footsteps pounded against the asphalt, the echo of pursuit closing in behind them. Hana's breaths came in ragged bursts, her heart slamming against her ribs as they raced toward a parked car under a flickering streetlight.

Joon-Seok reached it first. The car beeped once—unlocked. He yanked the door open and turned to her, voice firm but edged with urgency.

"Get in the car."

Hana hesitated, glancing behind them where the shadows of the men grew longer. "What about you?"

But Joon-Seok didn't answer. His eyes—dark, focused, and blazing with something primal—snapped toward the approaching figures. The first man lunged.

Joon-Seok met him head-on, his fist cracking against the man's jaw with a sickening thud before driving a sharp kick into his stomach. The man staggered back, gasping for air.

Another attacker swung wildly at Joon-Seok's head, but he ducked, grabbed the man's shoulder, and shoved him away from the car door—away from Hana.

"Watch out!" Hana shouted from inside.

The warning came just in time. A third man came from behind, locking his arm around Joon-Seok's throat and kicking the back of his knees. Pain shot through his leg, but Joon-Seok twisted violently, his hand catching the edge of the car door as another man tried to yank it open.

Hana let out a startled scream.

With a brutal motion, Joon-Seok slammed the car door shut—hard. The man on the other side howled as his fingers were crushed in the frame.

Joon-Seok drove his head backward, skull cracking against the nose of the man holding him. The grip loosened instantly, and Joon-Seok spun, elbow smashing across the man's cheek before slamming him face-first onto the car's hood. The metal dented beneath the impact.

Hana watched, trembling, her hand pressed against the window as her voice broke, "Jin, stop—"

But he couldn't. Not until she was safe.

The man with glasses tried to charge from the other side, aiming a kick at Joon-Seok's ribs. Joon-Seok caught his foot midair, twisting it sharply and driving a kick into the man's standing leg. The attacker collapsed with a cry.

Then—movement. Another man lunged toward the car door where Hana sat frozen.

"Not her," Joon-Seok warned.

He sprinted, every muscle firing like lightning, and kicked the man squarely in the ribs, sending him crashing against a nearby dumpster. The others regrouped, snarling and swearing. Joon-Seok turned to them, chest heaving, his jaw set like stone.

"Come on then," he muttered under his breath, drawing them away.

And just like that, he bolted down the alley, the men screaming and giving chase—leaving Hana behind in the car, gripping the seatbelt tight, tears welling as she watched him disappear into the dark.

"Please," she whispered, trembling. "Please be okay..."

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By: SilverMist707

I'm sorry that this chapter is a bit short, but I hope you enjoyed it. Also, the next chapter will be for tomorrow as something came up. <3