Read COMMANDER CHAOS :: BOOTS AND ROOTS

The team pulls into the Wolf Agencies building just as the sky breaks into soft evening light. Everyone slips out of the truck with slow limbs. They make their way toward the changing room.

A-RA follows behind. She knocks once on the door—then pushes it open, carrying a tray with tablets and bottles of water.

“Take them while I’m still standing here,” she announces.

DO-YUN eyes the tablet suspiciously. “What is this…?”

“Medicine,” she replies.

YU-JUN squints at her like she’s offering poison. “Medication for what?”

MIN-JUN raises his hands. “Nope. Not happening. I don’t take random pills.”

A-RA rolls her eyes so hard it’s a miracle she doesn’t sprain something. “If I wanted to kill any of you, I’d have done it in the woods, buried the bodies, and blamed it on wild tigers.”

She holds out the tray again.

“You’ve been in the cold, in the rain, hiked through half a forest… take the meds. I don’t want you falling sick.”

HA-JOON takes his, eyes twinkling. “Aw, you do care.”

She glares. “I don’t want you infecting me. Now swallow.”

She tosses in one more jab for good measure.

“Plus, we’ve got work. If even one of you gets sick, the rest of us suffer.

The boys grumble but comply, popping the tablets into their mouths.

Just then, a staffer walks in with a tray of steaming soup bowls and sets them down.

“Eat,” A-RA says, barely pausing. Then she’s gone, out the door before anyone can thank her.

HA-JOON digs in with full force. The others sit down, still pretending to sulk, but clearly grateful.

Later, as the team heads out for the night, A-RA nearly collides with DO-YUN and his wife standing by the entrance.

She smiles like a fox and lifts her phone behind DO-YUN’s wife’s back—miming a photo, just enough to make DO-YUN freeze in terror.

She walks away, victorious.

YU-JUN catches up with her outside, clearly amused.

“Give him a break… just for today?”

She scoffs without missing a beat. “If it isn’t Mr. High Jump himself. Or should I say… pole vaulter without a pole?”

YU-JUN winces. “Please don’t—”

She keeps going.

“You jumped to the top of that truck in one swoop! What are you, part kangaroo? Do you have springs in your knees or were you secretly grown in the same lab as those government geese ”

She shakes her head in mock disbelief.

A cab pulls up. A-RA slides in, tossing him one last grin.

YU-JUN watches her go, half-embarrassed, half-impressed, all defeated.

He sighs… and walks off in the opposite direction, already bracing for whatever comes next.

CUT TO:MANY MANY YEARS BACK

Okay not that many...

AT AN ORPHANAGE IN THE OUTSKIRTS OF THE CITY.

The sun dips low behind the mountains, painting the orphanage walls in golden hues. The HEAD NUN stands with her hands folded tightly, eyes narrowing with reluctant resolve.

She sighs, voice soft but edged with worry.
“Alright,” she murmurs, “but if he causes too much trouble, you can bring him back. Deep down… he’s a good kid.”

The WEALTHY MAN only smiles, confident and charming.
“Don’t worry, Sister. He’ll be fine. You’ve always worried too much.”

Footsteps echo through the stone corridor as the HEAD NUN disappears briefly, then returns with TEENAGE YU-JUN, a wiry boy with guarded eyes and a permanent scowl. He slouches under the weight of a faded cloth bag slung over his shoulder, his mouth muttering complaints.

“I don’t want to go,” he grumbles, barely loud enough to hear.

NUN 2, gentle as ever, approaches and takes his arm with quiet grace. Her eyes shimmer with unspoken grief as she presses a small wooden cross into his palm.

“I know you think you don’t deserve a chance,” she whispers, “but you do. I feel it in my soul. Hold on to this—and return it to me when you come visit. Even if things don’t work out, stay alive...and return back to us.”

A single tear slips down TEENAGE YU-JUN’s cheek. He wipes it away fast, angrily, like it betrayed him.

The WEALTHY MAN opens the car door. No words. Just an expectant look.

TEENAGE YU-JUN gets in.

The engine hums to life. The car pulls away. The nuns stay behind, their figures growing smaller in the rear window until they disappear completely.

TEENAGE YU-JUN stares out the window in silence, fingers clenched tight around the wooden cross. Trees blur past. His jaw is set.

Suddenly, the car slows to a stop at a remote junction.

A black van is already waiting.

Without warning, four men in black suits rush the vehicle. The back door flings open. TEENAGE YU-JUN barely reacts before strong arms haul him out.

“Hey—what the—?!”

He struggles. Kicks. Bites. But they overpower him quickly, binding his wrists and blindfolding his eyes. Muffled yelling. A scuffle. Then stillness.

Through the blur, he hears a zipper, a heavy bag handed over. No words. The WEALTHY MAN doesn’t look back.

The car drives one way.
The van, another.

The van screeches to a halt. The air smells like rust and damp concrete. The blindfold is yanked off.

TEENAGE YU-JUN blinks against the twilight.

Men mill about, all armed, all silent. In the distance, flickering lights and the sound of shouting echo off cold steel walls.

A man steps forward—the BOSS, mid-forties, smug and amused.

He looks TEENAGE YU-JUN over like sizing up a stray dog.

“This one’s feral,” he says, grinning. “He’ll fit right in. Get him into training.”

TEENAGE YU-JUN is dragged through a maze of corridors and locked inside a cold, damp storage room. He stumbles to a corner and sinks down, breath ragged. His fingers close around the cross again.

For the first time, he looks afraid.

The next day, someone drags him from the storage room to a room with Dim lights and a makeshift boxing ring. The ring is crude—ropes tied around crates, mats stained with old blood. Young boys line the perimeter. Some watch. Others avert their eyes.

TEENAGE YU-JUN is shoved inside. Across from him stands another boy, maybe seventeen, trembling.

A shout cuts through the air.

“Fight! Winner eats. Loser sleeps hungry.”

TEENAGE YU-JUN glances around. No escape.

He studies the boy in front of him. Pale. Thin. Terrified.

He steps forward and lowers his voice.

“Fight me. I’ve already eaten.”

TEENAGE JI-HO shakes his head.

TEENAGE YU-JUN sighs and turns to the men.

“I concede. Let him eat.”

The crowd murmurs.

“Look at this hero!” one-man sneers. “That’s not how it works, kid. Either you fight—or no one eats.”

TEENAGE JU-JUN’s expression sharpens. He steps closer to the ring ropes, eyes locked on the heckler.

“If you want to train me,” he says coolly, “why put me against someone who doesn't even know how to throw a punch? That won’t make me stronger. You, though…”
He tilts his head. “You look like you’ve got experience. Want to show me something useful?”

The crowd erupts in laughter.

The BOSS, now watching from above, raises a brow.

“Get in the ring,” he says to the heckler.
“Let’s see if the boy can walk the talk.”

The man steps in. No more jokes. TEENAGE YU-JUN squares his stance.

The bell clangs—an old metal pipe slammed against a railing.

The man lunges.

TEENAGE YU-JUN dodges. Once. Twice. He takes a hit to the side—but retaliates fast, slamming his elbow into the man’s ribs. He ducks, weaves, tackles.

The ring becomes chaos. Grunts. Shouts. Blood.

TEENAGE YU-JUN lands a punch that rattles teeth. For a moment, the man stumbles.

But it doesn’t last. The man slams him down hard, knocking the wind from his lungs. TEENAGE YU-JUN gasps, bleeding, teeth gritted.

From above, the BOSS raises a hand.

“Stop. That’s enough.”

He watches TEENAGE YU-JUN, intrigued.

“Give him proper training,” he says. “He’ll make a good fit here.”

The crowd quiets. The man exits the ring, muttering curses under his breath as others mock him for nearly losing to a child.

TEENAGE YU-JUN lies there, bruised and bloodied, but his grip on the wooden cross never loosens.

TWO YEARS LATER –

Floodlights sweep across rusted metal and broken crates as officers swarm the industrial plant. Young YU-JUN darts behind a stack of steel drums, his breath sharp and shallow. Beside him, JI-HO trembles, older now, but still holding that same wide-eyed panic from years before.

“Move,” YU-JUN hisses, grabbing JI-HO’s arm. They run.

But not far.

A gruff voice barks, “Stop!”

CHIEF DETECTIVE appears like a curse. Mid-thirties. Perpetual scowl. Wedding ring long gone. He doesn’t draw his weapon—doesn’t need to. One glare, and they freeze.

Cut to the interrogation room. White walls. Harsh light. The buzzing of cheap fluorescent tubes.

YU-JUN leans back in his chair, arms crossed, jaw tight. He stares straight ahead with eyes sharp enough to cut. JI-HO can’t sit still—his leg bounces, hands fidget in his lap.

DETECTIVE ONE leans in, voice coaxing, tired. “The sooner you tell us—”

The door creaks open.

CHIEF DETECTIVE walks in, silent as a ghost. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t ask. He just pulls out the key, uncuffs them both, and jerks his thumb toward the hall.

No one questions him.

The car ride is silent. Not tense. Just… muted. The kind of silence that tastes like exhaustion and regret.

He takes them home.

His place is small. A leftover bachelor pad that’s given up on being cozy. He heads straight to the kitchen, boils water, tosses in a pack of instant noodles. YU-JUN and JI-HO stand in the living room like furniture with anxiety.

Minutes later, he drops two blankets on the couch.

“Try to run in the middle of the night,” he says without looking at them, “and I’ll catch you. And I’ll charge you both as accomplices to gang activity.”

He slurps his noodles.

Doesn’t wait for a reply.

Just keeps eating.

The TV plays reruns of something nobody’s watching.

The next morning,they wake to barking.

Not a dog—him.

CHIEF DETECTIVE stands over the couch like a thundercloud in human form. His eyes say “I warned you,” even though they haven’t done a thing.

“Up.”

No breakfast. No toothbrushes. No chance to wipe the sleep off their faces. Just shoes shoved on half-crooked and jackets pulled tight in the cold morning air.

The car smells like old coffee and stress. The silence is thicker than yesterday.

They drive.

Through the city. Past the suburbs. Into the trees where the buildings thin out and the sky grows wider. By the time the sun has fully claimed the morning, they arrive.

A military academy.

Fences tall as stories. Fields flat as shame. The place hums with structure.

A man in uniform waits at the gate, arms folded like he's seen too much and trusts too little.

CHIEF DETECTIVE speaks with him quietly. Quick exchanges. Nothing warm. Papers pass between hands.

Then, the detective turns to the boys.

“This is the best I can do.”

No long speeches. No dramatic sendoff. He walks.

JI-HO bows so fast it’s almost a seizure. “Thank you, sir! Thank you, sir! Thank you—”

The detective doesn’t stop.

Doesn’t turn around.

Doesn’t say goodbye.

Just gets into his car like they never existed.