[POINT OF VIEW: LEO - FIRST PERSON]
I observed the circus from the sky, or to be more precise, from the gravel ledge of an office building across the street. Below, Seoul held its breath. The night belonged to the premiere of the third season of Squid Game, and the city had rolled out its reddest carpet for the occasion. A swarm of camera flashes blinked like an intermittent supernova, devouring the souls of the celebrities gliding in front of them. I, meanwhile, took the last bite of a protein bar that tasted like cardboard and regret. Everyone has their luxuries in this life.
My presence here had nothing to do with the seventh art. Cinema and I had a complicated relationship; I used to live the scenes they only pretended. I was in the middle of a hunt. The target: the lost Royal Seal of the Joseon Dynasty, a priceless piece of history that a bastard with more money than scruples had decided to add to his private collection. My source, a trembling contact in the black market for antiquities, had assured me that a fragmented map leading to the seal would change hands tonight. The gala was the perfect cover. My mission, as always, was simple in theory and hell in practice: intercept that map. I don't consider myself a thief. I'm more of a historical relocation specialist. I do museums a favor, even if they don't know it yet.
My eyes, accustomed to deciphering symbols in dusty tombs, scanned the crowd with cold efficiency. It was a who's who of the Korean elite. I saw Lee Jung-jae, the great protagonist, player 456. He looked exactly like a man who's won the jackpot and realized money only buys more expensive problems. He waved to the crowd with a tired smile that didn't reach his eyes. Beside him, Jung Ho-yeon, the unforgettable player 067, was a vision in black silk, a statue of elegance who seemed to observe everything with amused detachment. Further on, Wi Ha-joon, the detective from the series, moved with sharp confidence, his suit as impeccable as his analytical gaze. It seemed even off-camera, he was looking for clues.
And then, my eyes landed on her. Jo Yu-ri. Player 222. The idol who had shot to acting stardom, the national treasure of the moment. The crowd chanted her name with an almost religious devotion. She was undeniably beautiful, with a light of her own that not even the bombardment of flashes could dim. But to me, she was just another piece of the scenery, a shining distraction in the midst of my hunt. A perfectly polished pawn on a board I couldn't care less about.
It was then that I saw him. My target. Not a movie star, but a man in an anodyne grey suit slipping through a side door of the theater with the discretion of a snake. It was him, the photo on my phone confirmed it. My heart skipped a beat, a single note of pure, clean adrenaline. I got to my feet, brushing dust off my cargo pants. The boring part of the night was over. The fun part, the dangerous part, was about to begin.
[POINT OF VIEW: JO YU-RI - THIRD PERSON]
Jo Yu-ri needed a break. Her face muscles ached from so much smiling. Smile. Pose. Wave. Turn. Repeat. The cycle was a sensory assault, a wave of light and noise that threatened to drown her. She loved her fans, loved them with gratitude that came from her soul, but sometimes, the weight of the armor that was "Jo Yu-ri, the star," felt like lead.
She exchanged a knowing glance with Ho-yeon, who responded with a subtle eyebrow arch that said, "Surviving?" Yu-ri nodded almost imperceptibly. With an apologetic smile to her manager, the ever-vigilant Mr. Choi, she moved a few feet away from the epicenter of chaos. She took refuge near the red velvet rope, seeking a single breath of night air not heavy with hairspray, expensive perfume, and the electricity of mass adulation.
It was an instant relief. The roar of the crowd faded to a dull hum. She could see Lee Jung-jae sunbae-nim talking to the director, his expression that of a veteran who had fought a thousand such media battles. She felt lucky, incredibly lucky to be part of it, of that global phenomenon. But in that moment, she only longed for a moment of silence.
A waiter with an impeccable bow tie, like a magically appearing penguin, approached her. On his silver tray, a single glass of champagne waited, its bubbles rising like tiny promises of calm. She was about to accept it, to allow herself that small luxury in the midst of the madness. A moment of normalcy in a life that had long ceased to be so.
[POINT OF VIEW: LEE JUNG-JAE - THIRD PERSON]
From his position as the sun around which the Squid Game solar system revolved, Lee Jung-jae observed his younger colleagues. He had seen Ho-yeon navigate the crowd with the grace of an international model, which she was, and Ha-joon chat with intimidating confidence. And he saw Yu-ri, stepping away from the spotlight. He felt a pang of protective affection. She was so young, and the weight of this level of fame was a beast that could devour the strongest. He remembered his own rising days, and knew how important it was to find small oases of peace in the desert of public scrutiny.
He saw a waiter offer her a drink and nodded to himself. Good for her. A moment to breathe. However, he couldn't help but feel a strange uneasiness. There was something in the air that night, a tension beneath the surface of the glamour, something he couldn't name but that made the hairs on his neck stand on end. Perhaps it was just the exhaustion of a long press tour. Or perhaps it was his instinct, the same one his character, Gi-hun, used to survive, telling him that something wasn't right.
[POINT OF VIEW: KWON - THIRD PERSON]
Sitting in the passenger seat of the black sedan, Kwon lowered his military-grade binoculars. He had tracked the target for weeks, from the ruins of a temple in Cambodia to an antique market in Istanbul. The man was a ghost, a specialist in appearing and disappearing. But this time they had him. He saw the hooded figure descend the fire escape with feline agility. Unmistakable.
"There he is," Kwon said through the communicator, his voice as cold and functional as the steel of the pistol resting in his shoulder holster. His client paid for results, not subtlety. The target had proven too elusive for a delicate approach. "Plan B is activated. Run him over. Be quick and get him out of public view. I want him alive, if possible."
The driver, a former military man with a neck as thick as a tree trunk, nodded silently. His hands gripped the steering wheel. The car's engine, a modified German model, roared, a guttural growl that swallowed the sound of fan cheers. The mission was clear. Collateral damage, as always, was an acceptable cost.
[POINT OF VIEW: LEO - FIRST PERSON]
I landed on the alley asphalt with a dull thud. My plan was a work of art in its simplicity: cross the street, blend in with the horde of fans, and disappear before the man in the grey suit knew his pocket was a little lighter. A brilliant plan. A plan that lasted exactly five seconds.
The roar of an engine made me turn my head. Black sedan. Skipping the security cordon. Tires screeching on the asphalt. And it was coming straight for me.
Shit. They had found me.
My brain processed the scene in a flurry of images. The car. The speed. The murderous intent. And then I saw her. Jo Yu-ri. Standing. Right in the trajectory. My stomach clenched. The world contracted into a tunnel that started at my eyes and ended at her vulnerable figure. There was no time to shout at her. There was no way to dodge the car and leave her unharmed. My moral code, that often flawed but persistent compass that had gotten me into more trouble than I could count, took over. I had brought this storm to her perfect night. I couldn't let it drown her.
So I did the only thing I could think of. I ran towards the danger.
The metal of the bumper was inches from pulverizing my knees when I jumped. I braced my left hand on the hot hood, using the car's momentum against me to catapult myself upward. For one glorious, terrifying instant, I flew over the windshield, seeing the driver's wide eyes. I twisted in the air, a desperate maneuver I'd practiced in worse circumstances, and braced for landing.
The impact with the ground was hard, but I flexed my knees, absorbing it, ending in a crouch inches from her incredibly expensive high heels. The car crashed into a security barrier with a metallic clang that silenced the entire street.
The silence that followed lasted a nanosecond. I got up. The air smelled of burnt rubber and panic. My gaze met hers, her eyes two wells of pure disbelief. I saw the waiter, frozen like a statue, tray still extended. And in an act of pure bravado, a reflex to take control of an uncontrollable situation, I reached out and grabbed the champagne flute. The glass was cold. The bubbles tickled my nose as I downed it in one gulp.
"Excuse me," I said, my voice strangely calm.
And then, with the taste of champagne still in my mouth, I ran.
[POINT OF VIEW: VARIOUS - THIRD PERSON]
The chaos was instant and absolute. The red carpet glamour bubble had burst. People screamed, running in all directions.
Wi Ha-joon reacted by instinct. While others saw an accident, he saw an attack. His eyes fixed on the two men emerging from the wrecked car. Their suits were cheap, ill-fitting. Their movements were economical, professional. They weren't bodyguards. They weren't paparazzi. They moved like wolves entering a sheep pen, and their only prey was the hooded man who was now running through the crowd. Ha-joon began to move, not fleeing, but skirting the chaos, trying to maintain a line of sight, his detective brain working at full speed to assemble the pieces of a puzzle that shouldn't exist.
A few meters away, Jung Ho-yeon brought a hand to her mouth. The sound of metal twisting, of glass breaking, was too real. It wasn't a studio sound effect. It was raw, unadorned violence invading her world of beauty and order. She saw the hooded man, saw his incredible acrobatics, and then saw him drag Yu-ri. Fear for her friend shook her, a cold, visceral fear that eclipsed the shock.
"Yu-ri!" shouted Lee Jung-jae, his deep voice lost in the pandemonium. His protective instinct had kicked in. He began to push his way through the panicked crowd, shoving people aside, his only goal to reach her, to protect her from what had just torn the night apart.
Mr. Choi, the manager, felt the ground open beneath his feet. He saw his client, his multi-million won asset, the face of half a dozen ad campaigns, being dragged into the darkness by a complete stranger while dangerous-looking men pursued them. He didn't see a kidnapping. He saw headlines. He saw morality clauses in contracts. He saw the end of his career in a blinding flash. "Security!" he shrieked, his voice broken by panic. "SECURITY!"
[POINT OF VIEW: LEO - FIRST PERSON]
But I was faster than them. Adrenaline was high-octane fuel in my veins. I grabbed her arm; the fabric of her dress was ridiculously soft and fragile under my calloused fingers. Her body was rigid with shock.
"Come with me if you want to live!" I barked. Yes, it was a terrible cliché, but I didn't have time to write a better script.
I dragged her away from the lights, away from the cameras, into the labyrinth of alleys that was my sanctuary in every city around the world. The echo of police sirens began to weave in the distance, a promise of a new kind of trouble I didn't have time to face. Finally, I pulled her into a dead-end alley, a small corner of the world that reeked of wet garbage and broken dreams. I gently pushed her against the brick wall, putting a finger to my lips and then a hand over her mouth to stifle any scream. I listened, my body tense. The footsteps of our pursuers passed by the alley entrance, their voices distant and furious.
For now, just for now, we were safe.
I slowly removed my hand. I expected her to crumble, to cry, to panic. But I was wrong. The shock in her eyes was replaced by a flame, a pure, icy fury that surprised me. Her body trembled, but not from fear. It was from rage.
"Who the hell do you think you are?!" she hissed, each syllable a poisoned dart. Her voice was low, controlled, which made it even more intimidating. "I almost died out there! A car was going to hit me because of you! My career, my image... everything I've worked for!"
I didn't try to defend myself. Deep down, she was right. I was the catalyst. The meteor that had just crashed into her peaceful planet.
"You have every right to hate me," I said, my voice deeper than intended, the echo of adrenaline still vibrating within me. "And you should call the police. It would be the smart thing to do. But if you do, the people chasing me will find you. I didn't ask for this. You were an accident, and I'm truly sorry. But now... now you're a witness. And to them, that makes you a loose end."
I saw how the cold, brutal logic of my words impacted the wall of her fury. I saw the doubt in her eyes. She saw I wasn't lying. The hatred didn't disappear, but it was buried under a new layer of fear, a smarter one.
I stepped back, giving her space. "Look, here's the deal," I continued, my voice now calmer. "I'm not asking you to help me. I'm not asking you to understand me. I'm just asking you to let me keep you safe. I'll hide you until this blows over. I'll make them believe they've lost your trail. And the moment it's safe for you to go back to your life, I swear on everything I hold sacred that I'll disappear. You'll never see me again. I'll be a goddamn ghost."
I paused, letting the promise, the weight of that oath, settle in the stale air between us.
"I just need you to trust me," I concluded, looking directly into her eyes. "Just for forty-eight hours."