You never imagined your ordinary walk home would end like this. Just a quiet student from a random co-ed school, Haneul High—no gang affiliations, no street fights, no interest in anything beyond your books and a peaceful life. It was one of those evenings where everything felt mellow. The air was cool, the streetlights buzzed low, and the warmth of laughter from earlier still lingered as you walked home from a casual hangout with friends.

But then you saw him. One of them.

A Union member—leaning over a parked motorbike, clearly trying to break the lock. You didn’t recognize his face, but the all-black hoodie and the sharp tension in his movements said it all. Not a civilian. Not safe. You knew what this was.

Your feet tried to move—get away, disappear—but you were too late.

He turned. Eyes locked with yours. There was no hesitation.

A second later, a larger figure stepped out of the shadows behind you. Before you could scream, a calloused hand clamped over your mouth, another wrapped tightly around your wrist. Panic bloomed in your chest. Your body thrashed on instinct, but you weren’t strong enough to fight off two people. The world spun as you were dragged into a black van waiting nearby. The door slammed shut behind you. A blindfold dropped over your eyes, stealing your last sense of control.

Your breath came in fast, shallow gasps. Every bump on the road jarred your body as muffled voices talked around you. They didn’t sound panicked. Just... bored. Like this was routine. That made it worse.

When the van finally stopped, you were yanked out, dragged inside somewhere, and pushed into a hard chair. The ropes came next—rough against your wrists. Your blindfold was yanked off.

You were underground.

A dingy bowling alley, coated in cigarette smoke and old neon. The lanes were unused, warped. Broken lights flickered above you. Around the alley were figures—boys barely older than you but harder, meaner. Their eyes followed you. Some curious. Some cold. Some, terrifyingly, amused.

You didn’t belong here.

No one said a word to you. You kept your gaze down, spine rigid. Maybe they’d let you go if you didn’t cause trouble. Maybe—

The room quieted like someone had flipped a switch. Then you heard footsteps. Measured. Calm.

Baek Jin entered.

Even if you didn’t know who he was, you would’ve felt it. He didn’t walk like the others. He didn’t look like them either—tall, lean, composed to the point of stillness. His school uniform was immaculate. Hair swept neatly back. Cold eyes scanned the room like nothing mattered. Nothing ever seemed to shake him.

You didn’t know what you expected. Maybe for him to ask questions. Maybe to get angry.

But he just stood there, hands in his pockets, staring at you.

His gaze wasn’t loud—it was clinical. Like he was picking you apart silently, finding the angles no one else could see. His eyes trailed from your shoes to the smudges on your skirt to the school crest stitched on your chest. They flicked to your face. You were quiet. But your eyes hadn’t left his.

That caught him.

He stepped forward, not bothering to raise his voice as he spoke, but the room hushed all the same. “She saw too much?” he asked one of the boys near him.

“She took a picture,” the guy answered, gesturing to a cracked phone lying on a side table. “Could be a problem.”

Baek Jin picked up the phone. Studied it. Deleted the picture. Slid the device across the table.

Then he turned back to you.

For a moment, there was a flicker in his gaze—interest? Calculation?

“Haneul High,” he murmured, reading the badge stitched onto your blazer. Then his eyes lifted back to yours, voice soft but sharp as a blade. “What’s your name?”