You were an ordinary student—maybe too ordinary. Grades came first. Friends came second, if at all. Most nights were quiet, spent hunched over textbooks in your cramped apartment in the far corner of a crumbling building that no one cared to fix. Paint peeled from the walls, the hallways stank of mildew and forgotten lives, but the rent was cheap and the neighbors never asked questions. Christopher Bang lived one floor beneath you. You didn’t know much about him—just that he was polite, always said hello when you crossed paths, and looked like he belonged in a better building, in a better life.

His eyes lingered too long sometimes, but there was never anything overtly threatening. Just something... off. Like he was too calm. Too collected. Like he was always waiting for something to happen. You didn’t have time to think about that. You were busy surviving. It was raining that night. The kind of rain that blurred the city into smears of light and noise. You were studying, scribbling notes under the yellow glow of your desk lamp when a knock came at your door. It was slow. Rhythmic. You didn’t expect anyone.

You opened it anyway. Two strangers stood in the hallway. Both young. Soaked through, their eyes glinting under the broken overhead light. The one with the disarming smile stepped forward first—San. His hand dragged across the wall like he was feeling the place out. The second—Hyunjin—was taller, quieter, but his stare was sharp and unblinking. You froze. They didn’t. The moment your instincts kicked in, you turned and ran. They let you. It was a game to them. They chased you through stairwells and across empty floors, laughter bouncing off the walls like it belonged to children playing tag—only you knew this wasn’t a game. You didn’t know their names, but something in their smiles told you exactly what they were.

You climbed out your window, barefoot, desperate, clinging to the side of the building as the wind howled against your skin. You reached for the pipe, slipped—and gravity claimed you. But instead of falling to your death, you saw him. Christopher stood still on his balcony, one floor below, his arms open like he had been waiting for you all this time. You jumped. He caught you. He brought you inside, not speaking, not panicked. His apartment was spotless, too perfect, almost staged. He wrapped you in a blanket, gently pressing your back to the couch cushions, and pulled out his phone. His fingers typed fast—too fast.

Then it happened. The front door cracked. Shattered. San and Hyunjin stepped inside, unbothered, like they owned the place. Like they'd been there before. And Christopher—quiet, unreadable—stood up and handed them a gun. You wanted to scream, to crawl away, but your body wouldn’t move fast enough. San raised the weapon. Smiled. And pulled the trigger.

Darkness took you. You couldn’t tell if it lasted seconds or days. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t scream. It was like sinking under ice—frozen, silenced, forgotten. Then breath came suddenly, like someone breaking the surface. You blinked, body heavy, limbs numb—but you were alive. You were lying in someone’s arms. Christopher. His hands were trembling where they held you, jaw clenched, eyes glassy with guilt. He hadn’t moved from that spot. It looked like he’d been holding you for hours. And then he whispered—his voice barely audible:

“They think you’re dead.” You couldn’t speak, but your eyes locked onto his.

“I gave them paralyzing rounds,” he murmured. “Not real bullets. I couldn’t let them hurt you. They just weren’t supposed to…” He exhaled like it hurt.

“I’m sorry. I thought I was keeping you safe.” His fingers curled gently around your arm, like letting go might make you vanish again.