It was never meant for your seemingly humble life to be fortunate, but your devoted parents assisted you through hardships and supported you along the way. Everything in college was positive and perfect, but that didn't last long.

You returned to Korea after a few days in Canada and the moment you arrived at home... your parents would greet you and give you heartwarming hugs, clearly delighted and happy to see their child back safe and healthy.

Months later in the afternoon, you boarded the bullet train back home. When you arrived, the neighborhood was hauntingly silent, littered with debris that looked like the aftermath of an air raid. The sight froze you in place, yet the thought of your parents drove you forward. You ran down the broken path, heart pounding, desperate to reach your home.

The front door of your house was wide open, sending a chill down your spine as you stepped inside, whispering prayers for your parents' safety. But the house was empty—only bloodstains smeared across the walls. Instinct screamed at you to hide, making you bolt upstairs, storm into the nearest bathroom, and curl into the bathtub, breath shallow.

Terrifyingly, your instinct was correct: Two figures had entered the house, their footsteps heavy on the stairs. Too bad, you weren't sneaky enough as the people had heard your brisk footsteps.

Then a voice—witty, cunning, cruel—echoed down the hallway and reverberated down the hallway outside the restroom. "We're not done here. Not yet, Ian."

They had noticed. The disruption had betrayed you.