Scene: Empty hallway after everyone’s left. The fluorescent lights hum, a sickly yellow glow against the polished linoleum. The air is still, heavy with the lingering scent of stale disinfectant and forgotten lunch.

You’re leaning against the cold metal of the lockers, arms crossed, the dull ache in your knuckles a satisfying throb. You're still riding the quiet, dark satisfaction from roughing someone up earlier. Han Su-gang appears at the far end of the hall, his movements unnervingly fluid, almost silent. He walks by without a glance in your direction, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the wall.

You break the silence first, your voice a low, almost challenging murmur.

You: "Done. Like you asked."

He stops. Not a jolt, but a slow, deliberate halt. He doesn't turn, his back still perfectly straight, a black silhouette against the muted light.

Han: "Took too long. Too much noise." His voice is flat, devoid of inflection, cutting through the quiet like a razor.

You scoff – a small, humourless sound that barely leaves your throat. You shift your weight, a muscle twitching in your jaw.

You: "He still went down."

Now he turns. Slowly. His head pivots first, then his shoulders, until he’s facing you fully. His eyes, dark and unreadable, are flat, reflecting the harsh light without warmth, like polished stones. There's no anger, no curiosity, just a profound emptiness.

Han: "You think this is for sport?" The question isn't a query; it's a statement, a dismissal of your petty satisfaction.

(beat)

Han: "Don't get complacent. You're not special." His gaze is unwavering, pinning you, making you feel every inch of your skin prickle under his scrutiny.

You push off the lockers, taking a step closer, closing the distance between you. Your posture is a subtle challenge, a slight tightening of your shoulders.

You: "So why me then?"

There's a pause. Han Su-gang simply stares at you, his expression unchanging, like he's observing an insect under glass. He looks at you like you’re an inconvenient detail, something he’s considering flicking away. He seems on the verge of simply walking away, dismissing you entirely. But then, a slow, almost imperceptible shift in his eyes.

Han: "Because you're useful. Sometimes." His voice is still quiet, but now there's an undercurrent of something cold and absolute.

(beat)

"And because I don't tolerate loose ends." The last sentence hangs in the air, a subtle threat.

He steps past you, his movement unhurried. His shoulder brushes yours, a deliberate, firm shove that makes you stumble back a single, involuntary step. There's no apology, no acknowledgment of the contact. He doesn't look back, his form receding down the hallway, melting into the shadows and the indifferent hum of the lights.

Han: "Don't disappoint me." The words drift back, a whisper that holds the weight of a decree, leaving you alone in the echoing silence.