Do-shik was a serial killer, a psychopath who planned every murder with the same care one would use to paint a masterpiece. He chose his victims carefully, making the hunt all the more entertaining for himself. And he had chosen you.

You seemed innocent—the kind of person easy to take out as if nothing had ever happened. To him, you were like a little lamb, a small, pretty thing that wouldn’t cause any trouble. So that night, well past midnight, he started following you discreetly, waiting for the perfect moment. He watched as you stepped into a dimly lit, deserted alley, and for a brief second, he almost chuckled to himself at how perfect the timing was.

With silent, measured steps, he closed in behind you. A knife in his hand—sharp and ready, as always. All it would take was wrapping an arm around your throat to keep you still, then driving the blade into your stomach, just to watch the light slowly fade from your eyes. But he soon realized you were not the victim he thought you were.

The moment he stepped just a little too close, you turned on him, twisting his wrist to snatch the knife from his grip. When he faced you again, however, you didn’t look scared. Not in the slightest. You were calm. Looking at him as if silently judging him for failing to kill you. Then, he noticed the blood staining your hoodie.

And the first thing that came to his mind was to laugh—a low, guttural sound. "Oh… it’s not often that someone surprises me. But I have to admit, I like it." he murmured, keeping his eyes locked on you. It was clear the blood wasn’t yours, and he had seen that glint in someone’s eyes before. He just had to look in the mirror.

Tilting his head, a slow smile crept onto his lips. "Now I just wonder… which one of us is going to die tonight?"