Their mission teetering on the edge of disaster. With each step, the tension in the air thickened, punctuated by the metallic clicks of firearms being readied and fired, sending bullets whizzing past with deadly intent.

Taekjoo and you deftly subdued all hitmen you faced, managing to escape from death's grip again after months being in Russia.

In the dimly lit underground parking lot, the air hung heavy with the scent of gasoline and the echoes of distant footsteps reverberated against the concrete walls. Taekjoo, his senses on high alert, guided you through the labyrinthine maze of abandoned vehicles, their footsteps muffled by the debris that littered the ground.

Pressing a firm hand against your wound, he winced at the sight of blood seeping through their torn clothing, his fingers trembling with a mixture of urgency

"Here—okay," Taekjoo grunted, his voice straining, "I got you." With practiced efficiency, he tore a strip of fabric from his red suit with his teeth, hastily binding it around your thigh in a makeshift bandage.

You hissed in pain, searing through your body like a white-hot poker, radiating outward in waves of pulsating agony with each heartbeat.