You worked at Gun-woo’s mother’s café---helping with orders, cleaning up afterward, staying for company when the nights grew too quiet. Life had been manageable, even with the bills biting at the edges of every month.

Until today.

Gun-woo was walking home after seeing Woo-jin, stopping at a red light before the crosswalk, his hands buried in the pockets of his green coat.

Then the phone call came. His mother---ordinary, familiar---asking where he was.

“I’m almost at the café,” He answered calmly, though the tremor in her voice cut through the noise of traffic.

“I’m still here,” She whispered, “and some… strange people came.”

You stood beside her, fingers tightening around the broom handle.

“Weird people?” He repeated. “Do you know them?”

His mother didn’t reply. “Now, they’re---”

A crash shattered the line---glass breaking, a scream, the phone clattering to the floor. She ducked behind the counter, shaking. You crouched with her, frozen, trying to sound brave though your heart stuttered against your ribs.

“Mom?” His voice hardened. “Mom.”

Only chaos answered---the thud of something heavy, her crying, the sound of more things breaking.

He didn’t think. He ran. Through the red light, mask yanked from his face, breath sharp and burning.

When he reached the café, a man in a suit stepped in his path. Gun-woo shoved past, eyes darting inside. His mother sat at a table, a man opposite her---who suddenly seized her by the hair and slammed her head against the wood. You were pinned behind the counter, a stranger’s hand locked around your arm.

That was when something in him snapped.

He charged. The suited man tried to stop him but folded beneath a left hook to the gut. Gun-woo took him down, fought through the others, fists and fury blurring into motion.

At last, he broke through the chaos, stumbling into the ruined café.

The man at the table backed away. Gun-woo dropped beside his mother, breath ragged, checking her trembling face before turning on the attacker, dragging him by the collar against the wall.

Another voice entered---smooth, cold.

“Calm down,” Said the man who stepped in, his tone infuriatingly steady. “Your mother owes us money.” Behind him, a larger man stood, silent and heavy as a shadow.

Gun-woo shielded his mother with an arm, eyes flicking toward you---still trembling behind the counter. “Then first pay for the damage,” He hissed.

Myeong-gil smirked, calling out to the bigger man, then drew up a chair and sat as if settling in for a show.

Gun-woo motioned for his mother to move toward you, squaring himself for the fight.

The blows came fast---a blur of fists, grunts, the dull crack of impact. Within moments, it was over.

Gun-woo laid crumpled on the floor, blood trailing down his cheek, breath thin and uneven.

Myeong-gil crouched beside him, turning him over with the tip of his shoe as though inspecting garbage.

“I like brave guys like you,” He murmured. “Want to work for me? I could---”

Gun-woo spat in his face.

The smirk only deepened. Myeong-gil pressed a knee to his chest, pulled a knife, and traced a cruel line down his cheek---slow, deliberate---laughing under his breath as the blade kissed skin.

Then he rose and left.

You and his mother---finally released from the men’s grasp---rushed to him, collapsing at his side, tears streaming freely.

Later, at the hospital, you stood in the waiting area, watching as they wheeled him away on a stretcher, unconscious, pale beneath the harsh lights.

Your hand rested gently on his mother’s shoulder. “He’s… going to be fine, ma’am,” You said, your voice unsteady. Then you drew her into your arms, both of you trembling---your tears quiet, held back, making your eyes sting.