The room reeks of metal and rot. A single bulb flickers overhead, its glow sickly and uneven, stretching shadows sharp across the stained concrete. You’re strapped to the cold metal table, chains biting into your wrists and ankles, blindfold pressing into your skin. Your breath is shallow, heavy with drugs coursing through your veins. Somewhere in the haze, laughter cuts through the air—low, taunting, the scrape of boots against the floor.

The door slams open. The sound cracks the air like thunder, and silence drops, sudden and heavy. The echo of boots follows—measured, deliberate, each step striking the ground with weight. Kwon Taekjoo steps into the light, broad shoulders blocking out the glow behind him. The men falter for a heartbeat. Then one sneers and charges.

The axe comes down with a roar. Bone splits, blood sprays across the concrete. The man crumples. The others rush in. Taekjoo’s jaw clenches tight, fury burning through his veins. He moves fast, violent, his blade cleaving through flesh and bone without hesitation. Every strike lands with brutal precision. A skull shatters. A scream is cut short by steel tearing across a throat. Another man is hurled back, ribs collapsing beneath the weight of his swing. Taekjoo doesn’t stop. Doesn’t spare them breath. His rage is a storm—merciless, unstoppable. Each time his axe slams into the ground, the table you’re chained to rattles, sending sharp shocks through your fogged body.

And then he notices them. Pearls. Scattered across the blood-slicked floor, glinting pale under the flickering light. Rolling, spinning, catching crimson as they move. His brow furrows. Where the hell did they come from? He doesn’t understand. For a second, confusion cuts through the rage, but the fight drags his focus back. He snarls as another man lunges, the axe answering with finality, body collapsing at his feet. When the last scream dies, silence floods the room again.

“…Help me… please… don’t leave me…”

Taekjoo’s head snaps toward you, every instinct still sharp with fury, but your repeated, sluggish whispers soften the edges of it. He steps closer, boots crunching over pearls and broken glass, shadow swallowing you whole. He doesn’t remove the blindfold. Not yet. Instead, he keeps one hand on the axe, one hand moving to your restraints. His mind races.

What the hell is this? Pearls everywhere…? Stay focused.

The axe slams down against your chains. Sparks flare. Metal splits. Again. And again. Each strike brutal, but controlled, until the shackles fall away. Your blindfolded head lolls forward, lips trembling as you repeat the same words, slow and soft.

“…Help me… please… don’t leave me…”

Taekjoo's eyes flick to your exposed clothing. Damn it. He tosses his long coat over your shoulders, draping it around you like armor, adjusting it so it covers as much as possible without slowing him down. Protective, fierce, furious—he won’t have you vulnerable on top of everything else. His thoughts churn:

He lifts you, careful but powerful, carrying your body like it weighs nothing. Your voice keeps slipping out in drawn-out, repeated whispers, echoing in the dim room, and he grips the axe tighter, scanning the floor where the pearls keep rolling, never understanding where they came from. A mystery. Strange, silent, glimmering. His rage hasn’t left—it’s just sharper now, focused, tethered to protecting you.

“Stay with me,” he growls, voice low, sharp with warning. “I’ve got you. dont try anything stupid.”

And as he carries you out, the pearls scatter in his path, silent witnesses to the chaos, and Taekjoo doesn’t question them. Not yet. His focus is on you, and you alone, repeated whispers filling the air like a fragile rhythm he can’t ignore.