His eyes moved over the room like a scanner.

Then—

There he was.

A man in a tailored suit, gold watch glimmering every time he lifted his glass. Surrounded by coworkers, bragging loudly, talking about deals, profits, and stepping on people like it meant nothing.

Rowan’s jaw tightened.

Target identified.

“Kang Jiwon,” 

he whispered under his breath.

Rowan tilted his glass slightly, watching Jiwon through the amber tint of the drink.

Arrogant. Drunk. Surrounded, but distracted. Easy to isolate.

His heartbeat slowed, the way it always did when he slipped into hunter mode.

He stood up casually, leaving a tip on the counter to avoid attention.

“Lets get this over with”. 

he murmured, slipping into the crowd.

____

The night air was cold, sharp enough to sting Rowan’s lungs as he exhaled slowly. The alley behind the bar was dim and quiet — only the distant hum of traffic and the muffled thump of music leaking through the walls.

Rowan positioned himself against the shadowed corner, hood up, hands in his pockets.

He knew Jiwon’s patterns.

He always came out after his third drink.

Right on cue, the back door creaked open.

Kang Jiwon stepped out, grumbling under his breath as he searched his pockets for a cigarette.

“Tch… damn lighter…” 

he muttered.

Rowan stepped forward silently.

“Need help with that?” 

he said, voice low and calm.

Jiwon jolted, but relaxed when he saw only a hooded man offering a lighter.

“Oh— thanks,”

Jiwon said, chuckling in relief. 

“Didn’t see you there.”

He lit the cigarette, inhaled, and leaned back against the wall.

“Crazy night, huh?” 

Jiwon added, taking a puff. 

“You drink inside?”

Rowan stepped closer — one step at a time, the alley swallowing the distance between them.

“No,” 

he said. 

“I’m here for you.”

Jiwon blinked.

“What?”

Rowan lifted his head just enough that his eyes became visible beneath the hood — cold and sharp like a wolf’s glare.

Jiwon stiffened. 

“Hey— what’s with the look? Did I— do I know you?”

“You don’t have to,” 

Rowan said. 

“You just need to remember what you did.”

Jiwon’s nervous laugh broke.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Jiwon paled. 

“Listen, if this is about money— I can pay—”

“It’s not about money,” 

Rowan cut in. 

“It’s about balance.”

Before Jiwon could call for help, Rowan’s hand shot out, gripping his collar and slamming him against the wall. The cigarette fell to the ground, ember scattering.

“P–please— I don’t understand—!”

“You don’t need to,” 

Rowan said, eyes glowing slightly under the alley light. 

“But you’ll regret everything you’ve done.”

His voice dropped to a chilling whisper.

“And you’ll never touch Leo’s family again.”

Jiwon’s breath hitched. 

“L–Leo? Who— who is—”

Rowan didn’t let him finish.

A swift hit to the side of the neck — precise, silent, lethal without being deadly.

Jiwon collapsed to the ground, unconscious but alive.

Alive long enough to wake up and remember the terror.

Rowan stood over him, chest rising slowly.

“I hate it when they plead” 

he murmured.

He pulled his hood up again and walked away, the darkness swallowing him whole.

But as he left the alley, a thought slipped in unwanted.

"Leo… you better not get close to me."

Rowan clenched his fists.

"Because I can’t promise I’ll push you away again."

_____

The next morning…

A sharp beam of sunlight cut through the apartment blinds, landing directly on Leo’s face.

He groaned and shifted—only to realize the “floor” beneath him… was actually Johan’s leg.

“Ugh— why is your leg under my head?” 

Leo muttered, pushing himself up.

Johan, still half-asleep, mumbled,

“Bro… why is your elbow in my ribs?”

On Leo’s other side, Liam sat up slowly, hair sticking in every direction.

“…Did we seriously fall asleep in the middle of the movie again?” 

Liam asked, blinking.

Leo looked around.

Popcorn bowl upside down.

Blankets thrown everywhere.

The tv still playing Netflix’s “Are you still watching?” screen.

He sighed. 

“We really knocked out, huh?”

Johan stretched and winced. 

“My back feels like it fought a ghost.”

Liam snorted. 

“Probably because you sleep like a corpse.”

“Shut up—” 

Johan started, but Leo cut in.

“We could’ve at least made it to the couch…”

Johan looked around dramatically.

“Bro, we’re literally BETWEEN the coffee table and the couch. How did we miss it?”

Leo facepalmed. 

“We were too tired to function.”

Liam checked the time on his phone. 

“It’s already 9:43. We gotta get moving if we want breakfast.”

Johan’s eyes widened. 

“Let’s hurry before your neighbors complain about Liam's starving screams.”

Liam rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the smile tugging at his lips.

“Alright, breakfast. Let’s wash up first.”

“Dibs on the bathroom!”

Johan yelled, sprinting.

Leo and Liam exchanged a look.

“…Should we trip him?” 

Liam whispered.

“…Later,” Leo replied.

They laughed and headed to make breakfast.

___

Inside Rowan’s apartment…

Rowan stood near the door, arms crossed, hood still on from last night’s mission. The faint trace of alcohol from the bar clung to him.

He exhaled slowly.

“One more.”

His revenge list lay open on the table — names crossed out in clean, deliberate strokes.

All except one.

The last name.

Rowan’s fingers brushed over it.

“Just one more… then it’s over.”

He closed his note book and headed to the bathroom.

“I should go see Grandma.”

The thought settled heavily in his chest.

“I need to tell her… my revenge is almost done".

_____

Rowan approached the old wooden house tucked behind the herbal shop. The scent of dried roots and crushed leaves drifted through the air, instantly familiar. The small wind chimes hanging by the doorway tinkled softly as he stepped closer.

He hesitated for a second.

Grandma Yun always felt everything — even things he never said aloud.

Especially things he didn’t want anyone to know.

He lifted his hand and knocked.

“Come in,” 

her voice called immediately, calm but firm.

Rowan exhaled and opened the door.

The warm glow of lantern light shifted over the room. Bundles of herbs hung from the ceiling, jars lined the shelves, and at the center sat Grandma Yun in her wooden chair, hands resting gently in her lap.

“You look tired,” 

she said.

Rowan pulled down his hood. 

“I don’t get tired.”

“That’s what you always say,” 

she murmured. 

“But your eyes betray you.”

Rowan took a slow breath.

“Grandma… there’s only one left.”

She didn’t react with surprise or relief. Instead, she nodded as if she had already known.

“The last man,?"

she said softly.

Rowan’s jaw tightened. 

“Yes.”

“You’ve crossed many names already… more than a person should ever have to.” 

Her frail hand lifted to touch his cheek. 

“Does your heart hurt yet?”

Rowan turned his gaze away, expression cold. 

“Pain keeps me focused.”

“Hmm.” 

Her voice dropped. 

“After you finish your revenge… what will become of you?”

“…Freedom,” 

Rowan answered quietly.

“Are you sure?” 

she asked. 

“Or will you be even more lost?”

Rowan looked at his hands.

“Once the last one is gone,” 

he said, voice steady, 

“I’ll know who I am again.”

Grandma studied him carefully, every wrinkle on her face deepening with concern.

“Be careful, Rowan. Revenge is a fire that does not stop burning just because you do.”

____

The sky had already darkened by the time Rowan returned to the apartment building. His hood was up, hands shoved into his pockets, expression unreadable as he stepped inside.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime.

Rowan entered, pressed his floor button, and leaned back against the wall, staring at nothing — replaying Grandma Yun’s words whether he wanted to or not.

“…be careful, Rowan.”

He exhaled sharply.

Just before the doors closed, a hand shot in to stop them.

“Wait—!”

The doors slid open again.

Leo stumbled inside, slightly breathless, carrying a bag of snacks and textbooks.

Rowan froze.

For a moment, the elevator felt too small.

Leo blinked, as if trying to place the stranger. His eyes stayed fixed on Rowan’s hooded figure.

“Oh—uh… sorry,” 

Leo said, stepping to the opposite corner. 

“Didn’t mean to almost crush on you.”

Rowan said nothing.

He didn’t trust his voice.

Leo hesitated, shifting awkwardly.

“…You’re the guy next door, right?”

His tone was casual, friendly — the way Leo always talked to strangers.

Rowan didn’t look at him. 

“Yes.”

Leo smiled politely. 

“Cool. I’m Leo.”

“I know,” 

Rowan answered before he could stop himself.

Leo blinked. 

“Huh?”

Rowan’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Idiot.

I didn't meant to say it aloud.

“I mean,” 

Rowan corrected quickly, voice smooth and cold, 

“I heard the landlord mention your name.”

Leo laughed lightly.

 “Ah, that makes sense. For a second I thought I was famous or something.”

He didn’t notice Rowan’s fists clenching inside his pockets.

Silence settled between them, comfortable for Leo, suffocating for Rowan.

Then Leo glanced at him again.

“Your voice sounds familiar. Have we met before?”

Rowan’s heart gave a violent, unexpected jolt.

Rowan kept his expression calm. 

“No.”

Leo hummed softly. 

“Maybe I’m just imagining things. My mom says I forget faces all the time.”

He grinned at him — easy, bright, completely unaware.

Rowan looked away quickly, jaw tightening.

Just then, the elevator chimed.

Leo stepped out first, adjusting his bag.

“Well… see you around, neighbor.”

Rowan didn’t move.

He just watched him walk down the hallway.

 Rowan whispered under his breath —

“…I already see you too much.”