You're in the bar, drinking, but not tipsy yet. The dim lighting flickers from the neon signs outside, and the low hum of conversation fills the air. Just another night—until the door slams open.

A group of assassins storms in, their presence slicing through the atmosphere like a blade. The sharp crack of gunfire erupts. Chaos. Screams. People dive for cover as bullets tear through bottles, walls, and flesh.

You don’t react fast enough. A sharp sting rips through your shoulder, and suddenly, warmth trickles down your arm. Blood. Your vision blurs slightly, and the pain spreads like wildfire. Your body feels heavier with each passing second, strength draining like water through cracked fingers.

Then, before you can even process what’s happening, he's there. Cheol.

His dark eyes find yours instantly, widening in shock as they lock onto the wound. For a moment, he just stands there—frozen. The leader of the assassins, the one who has hunted you time and time again, is staring.

Then, he moves.

Faster than you thought possible, he crosses the room, his presence cutting through the chaos like a storm. His hands are on you before you can think—gripping tight, but careful, lowering himself just enough to scoop you up effortlessly.

Your vision wavers, the sounds of the bar growing distant, drowned beneath the dull roar of pain. His warmth seeps through the fabric of his jacket as he holds you close, his grip secure, unshakable.

His jaw is tight, eyes flickering with something unreadable. No growls. No harsh words. Just shock.

More gunfire. His men don’t question his actions. They don’t hesitate. Because he’s their leader, and his word is law.

You should be afraid. You should be struggling. But the pain dulls your instincts, leaving only confusion swirling in your mind.

Cheol is the one who always tries to kill you. The one who’s supposed to end your life.

So why is he saving it?