Ming You rose sharply from his chair and stepped into the adjacent kitchen. He reached his hand toward the lower cabinets, swinging open the drawers one after another. The metallic clang, the dull thud of plastic — and then, deep inside, behind the kitchenware, his fingers encountered dense rolls.
Polyethylene.
Ming You pulled one out, checked the thickness of the film, then placed the rolls on the kitchen table.
"Perfect, less time for cleaning up and fewer traces left behind…"
Ming You methodically sorted through the contents of the kitchen drawers until his fingers touched cold steel — a kitchen knife with a serrated blade and a heavy meat cleaver. In the far corner, among the kitchen utensils, a sharpener gleamed. He picked it up with a confident motion and drew it along each blade several times, carefully checking the sharpness. The blades gleamed under the light of the lamp as he ran the pad of his finger over them, assessing the quality of the sharpening.
Then he bent down, opened the very bottom drawer, and pulled out a roll of black trash bags. Counting out ten, he carefully unfolded one of them, turning it into a kind of sheath, and placed the knife and cleaver inside. He folded the edges of the bag to prevent the blades from cutting through it.
Without haste, Ming You carried the bundle to the table, after which he headed into the hallway. There, taking his backpack off the hook, he unzipped the main compartment and returned to the kitchen. Inside, he placed the rolls of polyethylene, the remaining bags, and then carefully placed the bundle with the knives, making sure everything was packed tightly and wouldn't rattle during movement.
…
The next morning at 8:44 AM;
Ming You got out of bed, his black t-shirt and sweatpants slightly wrinkled after a short rest. Without unnecessary movement, he took them off and changed into a dark turtleneck sweater and sturdy khaki-colored pants that didn't rustle when he walked. Checking his pockets, he made sure his phone was in place, then slung the backpack over his shoulders, adjusted the straps, and left the room.
In the kitchen, his gaze immediately fell on the top drawer. He opened it, and inside, among other miscellaneous items, lay a transparent bag with medical masks, black duct tape, and synthetic ropes. First, he took out one mask, folded it in half, and stuffed it into his pants pocket. After that, he shrugged off one shoulder strap of his backpack, unzipped the front pocket, and placed the ropes and duct tape inside.
Putting on his black sneakers, he paused for a second in the hallway before leaving, assessing if he had taken everything. Then, with a sharp movement, he opened the door and stepped outside.
The cold air hit his face, but he didn't slow down. Locking the door, he took out his phone, scrolled through his contacts, and pressed the only number. The dial tone sounded in the silence as he descended the stairs.
"Hello?"
"Jung Ho, can you mark me present for training? I'm working on the plan right now and can't be distracted by physical exercises."
"Okay, did you figure out the team?"
For a moment, Ming You feigned a sly grin, though he understood that feigning emotions now was pointless:
"Yeah, I did. I'll tell you the details and the plan tomorrow at school."
"Alright, I'll mark you. After all, you're the brains of the team."
Hearing the answer, Ming You hung up.
He was already walking along the sidewalk, heading towards the desired block. His pace was measured and blended in with the other pedestrians.
Reaching the basketball court, he slowed down, carefully observing what was happening. Hee Rak, dressed in athletic wear, was energetically running laps; his movements were precise and practiced to the point of automatism. He seemed completely immersed in his training, unaware of his surroundings.
Twenty minutes later, at 11:01, a group of four people approached the court. Their gait, gray-blue basketball uniforms, and demeanor identified them as a team. One of them, a tall, lanky guy with a short haircut, immediately called out to Hee Rak, clearly familiar with his habits:
"Hey, let me guess, you started training again in the morning, am I right?"
"You're damn right," answered Hee Rak, not interrupting his movement and sending the ball into the basket with a precise shot.
"Don't forget we have gym training too," remarked another one of his teammates, taking his backpack off his shoulders.
Ming You watched from a distance, leaning against the wall of a building. His gaze remained fixed on Hee Rak, but he himself was in no hurry to step into the light. He was waiting for the right moment, when Hee Rak would be alone.
Meanwhile, the team took turns throwing balls into the basket. Each player demonstrated accuracy and confidence — most of the shots found their mark, with only rare misses. However, Hee Rak's shots stood out from the rest. He hit almost flawlessly, and only one of his attempts — a risky shot from the center of the court — was unsuccessful.
After half an hour of active play, the team, tired but in high spirits, collected the balls and left the outdoor court. Their talk and laughter grew louder as they stepped onto the sidewalk.
Hee Rak's team noisily spilled out onto the street, filling the space with loud shouts and laughter. They shoved each other, waved their arms, and roared with laughter at jokes only they understood. In between, they discussed yesterday's streetball game for stakes — who messed up, who carried the team, who would have to pay up today.
Hee Rak himself walked slightly apart, not mingling with the general jostling, but smirking at their antics. From time to time, he interjected with caustic comments, provoking new bursts of laughter, or dropped sarcastic remarks that only made the guys get even more rowdy.
And on the adjacent sidewalk, keeping his distance, walked Ming You. His gaze, cold and analytical, was fixed unwaveringly on Hee Rak.
At the bus station, the company began to disperse — some, calling out loudly to each other, headed towards the subway, others clustered by the roadside, hailing taxis via an app. Hee Rak, not joining either group, lazily waved his hand in response to their farewell shouts and moved off towards home, his hands stuffed in his pockets.
Ming You, hiding in the shadow of the bus stop, watched as the other guys gradually disappeared down the side streets. Making sure no one would stay with Hee Rak, he started moving again, maintaining his distance. His steps were soundless, his gaze intent.
Hee Rak, casually kicking an empty soda can, turned from the noisy street towards the familiar basketball court. Glancing sideways at the hoops, he smirked — and walked past without stopping. He pushed open the entrance door and disappeared into the semi-darkness of the stairwell.
Ming You, slowing his pace, stopped at the edge of the court. He leaned against the fence and froze, as if rooted to the spot. His eyes slid over the glass of the entranceway, behind which Hee Rak had vanished. Wait? Not a problem. He was used to waiting. And for now — he observed.
After three hours of waiting, the door finally swung open and Hee Rak emerged from the entrance, having changed his light basketball uniform for a gray hooded sweatshirt. White earphones were in his ears, cutting him off from the outside world. His hands were stuffed in his pockets, his step quick but unhurried, as if he wasn't in a particular rush, but had no intention of dawdling either.
Ming You, who had been sitting on the curb near the basketball court until that moment, slowly pushed off from the gate and set off after him. He kept his distance, blending with the flow of pedestrians, but never lost sight of Hee Rak.
Hee Rak, stepping onto the sidewalk, slightly quickened his pace, paying no mind to the raw, damp wind. He reached the bus station where he had parted ways with his team four and a half hours earlier.
The bus stop was empty — just a couple of teenagers with headphones and a Romani woman with a cart. Hee Rak checked the schedule on the electronic board: three minutes until departure. He took out his phone, scrolled through his messages, completely unaware that behind his back, in the shadow of an advertising board, a stranger's silhouette stood frozen.
The bus pulled up with a hydraulic hiss. Hee Rak boarded first, tapped his transit card on the terminal, and moved to a window seat. A moment later, the door closed — but just before the lock clicked shut, another passenger stepped inside. A medical mask, a hood, khaki-colored pants, head lowered. Nothing unusual for cold and flu season. Ming You sat in the back, one row behind, on the aisle side. A moment later, the bus jolted and moved off.
After three stops, Hee Rak got off at the fourth. The door hissed open, and he stepped onto the sidewalk without looking back. The front platform of the bus emptied behind him, and a few seconds later, Ming You slipped out from the rear exit.
Hee Rak walked confidently, not slowing his pace. His back, straight and slightly tense, quickly receded into the flow of pedestrians. He turned the corner, heading towards the school gym.
Ming You pretended to be choosing gum at a kiosk by the stop. His fingers slid over the bright packages, but his gaze was fixed on the retreating figure. He waited until Hee Rak disappeared into the crowd at the entrance, then slowly exhaled.
Having seen him off with his eyes, Ming You turned and strode in the opposite direction. His route meandered: he wandered through the streets, peering into alleyways.
The alleys here were narrow, dirty. Ming You walked slowly, studying every corner. Something glinted in a pile of construction debris. A crowbar. Rusty, but heavy. He picked it up, assessed its weight, ran his finger along the jagged edge. He unzipped his backpack. The crowbar didn't fit entirely, so Ming You shoved it in, but the end still stuck out, blunt and threatening.
He adjusted his hood, made sure no one was watching, and moved towards the school gym, staying close to the walls as if dissolving into the grayness of the concrete.
Ming You stopped by the college fence and pressed his back against the cold metal railing. His elbow rested on a crossbar, his fingers relaxed. Now all that remained was to wait. The minutes dragged by slowly, but he didn't stir.
An hour later, when it was already dark, Hee Rak left the training hall. Ming You noticed him heading towards the bus station. This was his chance. He quickly assessed the situation:
"There's no one around who could interfere with my plan. I've killed out of despair before, but now it's time to kill for victory."
Ming You dialed a number on his phone and chose the right moment, when Hee Rak stopped and was distracted by the phone call he had just orchestrated.
"Hello? Who is this?" Hee Rak asked into the receiver.
Ming You approached from behind, and from his backpack, he pulled out the crowbar, gripping it firmly with both hands. He made a sharp, precise swing at the back of Hee Rak's head—
Thwack!
"Aghh..." — Hee Rak didn't even have time to understand what was happening and instantly lost consciousness. Ming You quickly grabbed him and, trying not to attract attention, pulled him towards a basement nearby, not far from the bus station and the place where he trained.
"Bring a knife to a gunfight... heh." — Ming You gave a sinister chuckle and carried him, like a drunk friend, towards the basement.