The door shut quietly behind him as Won stepped out into the cold morning light. Pulling his hoodie over his head, he shoved his hands deep into his pockets and walked with purpose, his eyes scanning every corner of the street.

“Gotta be quick before someone spots me,” he thought, lips pressed in a thin line. “Who the hell was even that guy the other day?”

His pace quickened as the neighborhood stirred to life. The streets began to fill with the usual hum of traffic and low chatter, but something about it felt… wrong.

Off.

Won could feel it in the back of his neck—a tension crawling beneath his skin.

He tugged the hood lower and kept moving, trying to shake the unease.

He turned and headed down a narrower street lined with rusting fences and peeling shop signs. A small bell over a door jingled as he stepped into a tiny bakery nestled between two shuttered storefronts.

The scent of warm bread and sugar filled the air, momentarily dulling the anxiety in his chest.

Behind the counter stood an elderly woman with flour dusted on her apron. She looked up with a smile that creased the corners of her tired eyes.

“Huh.....i can't get enough of your face,” she greeted. “The usual?”

Won gave a small nod, hands still in his hoodie pockets. 

“Yeah.”

She turned with practiced ease, wrapping two rolls in a brown paper bag as Won stepped a little closer to the counter. The warmth in the air, the soft hum of the old radio playing in the corner—it was the kind of calm that made the world outside feel like a distant dream.

But even here, even for just a minute, Won couldn’t relax.

His eyes drifted toward the window, scanning the street again.

Still no one.

But the feeling hadn’t gone away.

The elderly woman handed over the small paper bag with a warm smile, her fingers gentle but firm.

“On the house today,” she said kindly. “You look like you could use it.”

Won blinked, surprised. For a moment, the usual guard in his eyes wavered.

“…Thank you,” he muttered, bowing his head slightly before taking the bag with quiet gratitude.

Stepping back outside, the cold hit him again, and the temporary comfort of the bakery faded. He clutched the bag tightly to his chest, his stomach rumbling faintly.

Michael first. Always Michael first.

Won slowed his pace and blended in, walking quickly but not hurriedly, his hood pulled low and the bread bag clutched tightly. People passed without noticing him. He kept his eyes forward, not daring to glance behind.

The city didn’t care who he was, and that usually worked in his favor.

But today… it felt like someone did care.

His worn sneakers dragged across cracked pavement as he turned down the final alley toward home.

Almost there. Just a little more.

The tension in his shoulders began to ease as he approached the rusted door of the rundown building—until he looked up.

And froze.

His breath caught in his throat.

Because someone was already there.

The door was wide open.

It creaked with every slow swing, pushed by the wind. Like something was inviting him in—or warning him to stay away.

Won froze. His heart dropped.

No... No, no, no...

His breath hitched, eyes locked on the swaying door.

The police? Did they find Michael already?

The paper bag slipped from his fingers without him realizing. It hit the ground with a soft thud, forgotten. The bread tumbled out.

Won bolted.

He didn’t even feel the pain in his legs anymore—just the thunder of his heart.

He shoved the door open with a trembling hand, the broken hinges groaning in protest.

His voice cracked, raw and frantic.

“Michael?!”

The air in the room felt heavier than it should’ve been. And then—a voice, calm and cool, sliced through the silence.

“You're back?”

Won froze. That voice. His blood turned to ice.

His head snapped toward the corner of the room, eyes wide.

Him again?!

How did he find this place?!

He took a sharp step back, ready to run or fight, every muscle coiled.

But then—

“Won...?”

A tiny, fragile voice came from behind him.

He turned, the breath caught in his throat.

Michael.

Relief crashed into him like a wave. His knees gave out before he realized it. He rushed forward, dropping beside the boy and wrapping him in a tight, desperate hug.

Michael’s arms slipped around him just as tightly, his face buried into Won’s chest. He was shaking, but he was here. He was safe.

“You’re okay,” Won whispered hoarsely, clinging to him like a lifeline. “You’re okay, right?”

Michael gave a small nod, eyes brimming with tears.

“Yes… I’m okay.”

Won exhaled shakily, forehead resting against the boy’s hair. Then he tensed again.

Behind him, quiet and observant, stood the man who had been following him.

Rocky.

His arms were folded, his expression unreadable. Calm. Calculated.

Won shifted, pulling Michael behind him slightly, protective.

He glared coldly at the man.

“Let’s talk outside" 

Without waiting for a response he stormed out of the room, barely keeping himself from slamming the door behind him. The air outside was no cooler than the fire boiling in his chest.

Footsteps followed.

Slow. Unbothered.

Rocky stepped out after him, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips as he scanned the rundown building, then looked back at Won.

“You two sure don’t look alike,” he said, eyes gleaming with casual mockery.

Won spun around, fists balled tight at his sides. “That’s none of your damn business,” he snapped. “Why are you here?”

Rocky lifted a shoulder, feigning innocence. “Just wanted to visit. Too bad you weren’t around.”

Won’s jaw clenched. His patience wore thin by the second. “How did you even find this place?”

Rocky chuckled. “James is quite useful.”

Won’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not answering my question.”

Rocky took a step closer, tilting his head slightly. “So? You’re a kidnapper too?”

The words hit like a punch.

Won stiffened. His pulse quickened, and for a second, his expression cracked—confusion, fear, anger, all flashing in his eyes at once.

“What…?”

Rocky’s smile widened, wicked and amused. He was enjoying this—poking, pressing, waiting to see how far Won would snap.

Won stood frozen, breath shallow.

What did this guy really know?

What is he getting at?! his mind screamed.

Rocky stepped in closer, his voice lowering but gaining an edge that made Won’s skin crawl. “Did you really kill that kid’s parents at your age?”

The blood drained from Won’s face.

“What are you talking about?” he whispered, recoiling like he’d been struck.

Rocky’s gaze darkened, all amusement gone now. “I’m talking about Michael.”

“No!” 

Won’s voice cracked as he shook his head fiercely, heart racing. “It’s nothing like that! I found him after it happened—he was alone!”

Rocky stood tall, arms crossed, his presence suffocating. “You realize if the police find you with him, you’re finished.”

Won bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. He couldn’t look away from Rocky’s sharp eyes—eyes that saw too much.

“Are you planning to turn me in?” he asked, voice tight with fear.

Rocky didn’t answer right away. Then, with a cold smirk, he said, “You’ll get arrested eventually if you keep hiding here.”

The words hung in the air like a noose.

And Won didn’t know if Rocky was bluffing... or already tightening the rope.

Won lowered his head, his voice trembling—but there was no hesitation in his words.

"I've been taking care of him for three years..."

Rocky raised an eyebrow, curiosity sharpening his already keen gaze.

"You mean hiding? You know that's because no one would ever think someone like you is a kidnapper."

Won’s teeth clenched at that.

"I'm not," he bit out, eyes glaring up defiantly.

Rocky didn’t back down. Instead, he leaned in closer, eyes cool and relentless as he asked,

"Then why is the kid with you?"

Won’s fists curled so tightly at his sides that his knuckles turned white. The words came out forced, brittle but honest.

"Because I helped him. He was just wandering alone that night."

There was a pause. Then Rocky folded his arms, unfazed.

"So were you."

Won flinched. His brow furrowed in confusion.

"What?"

Rocky’s expression didn’t change—calm, collected, cutting.

"What were you doing out there so late?" he asked softly. But the weight behind the question slammed into Won like a brick wall.

Won turned his head away, jaw tightening as old memories clawed their way to the surface.

"I told you... It's just the two of us," he muttered. "What, did you expect me to just sit around and wait to die?"

Rocky's eyes narrowed slightly, his tone sharpening like the edge of a blade.

"I asked what you were doing out there."

Won didn’t answer right away. The hesitation was visible, flickering behind his guarded eyes.

"I... I stole from people..." he finally admitted, his voice low. "But I'm not doing that anymore."

Rocky tilted his head, his voice dropping to a quiet, almost mocking tone.

"And how exactly are you planning to feed him now? You can barely feed yourself."

Won bit down on his lip so hard it nearly bled. Shame and frustration simmered beneath his skin.

"What's the point? You'll hand me over to the police eventually," he snapped.

But Rocky remained calm—too calm. His lips curved faintly, as if the whole conversation amused him.

"Don’t be dramatic. Did I ever say I’m here to arrest you?"

Won stared at him, eyes burning.

"Then why are you here?" he asked, voice rough.

Rocky leaned back, arms loosely crossed, one brow raised with infuriating ease.

"Need an extra hand?"

Won narrowed his eyes, suspicion lacing every word.

"Why should I trust a gangster like you?"

Rocky’s smirk deepened, colder now, darker.

"Gangster?" he echoed. "I'm not that."

Whatever he was, Won was starting to realize—Rocky was far more dangerous than just that.

Won’s brow furrowed, wary of where this was going.

"Then what are you?" he asked cautiously.

Rocky lowered his voice, dropping the casual act. His tone turned serious—cold and calculated.

"People saw me coming to your place," he said. "They’ll get suspicious. It won’t take long before rumors spread, and you won’t want that."

Won’s heart lurched in his chest.

Shit…

His mind raced with panic. It was true—word spread fast in this city, especially among the wrong crowd. If anyone so much as whispered that he was hiding a kid, it’d be over.

Frustrated, Won shoved his hands deep into his pockets, head low.

"...Let me think about it."

Rocky gave a slow shrug, like he couldn’t care less.

"Twelve hours."

Won’s head snapped up.

"What...?"

Rocky stepped back, voice sharpening.

"I'm giving you twelve hours."

Anger flared.

"Are you fucking with me right now?!" Won shouted, the tension finally boiling over.

Rocky glanced over his shoulder, completely emotionless.

"If you don't want to be arrested, you better think fast. I'm leaving."

"Hey—!" Won reached out, seething.

But Rocky was already walking away, lifting one hand in a lazy wave.

"Bye."

The sound of his footsteps faded down the street, the final nail in the coffin of Won’s nerves.

Won stood there, fists trembling, glaring after him.

"This jerk..." he growled through clenched teeth.

Storming back into the tiny apartment, his boots thudded hard against the floor. His breath was short, tight in his chest.

Then—he saw it.

Something sat on the battered table, just under the weak glow of a dusty ceiling bulb.

Won slowed, stepping closer.

A single, sleek black business card lay there. Matte finish. No name—just a symbol and a number.

His hand hovered above it, reluctant.

What the hell does he want…? he thought, dread curling in his gut like smoke.