[POINT OF VIEW: MR. CHOI (MANAGER) - THIRD PERSON]
Panic is an acid. It corrodes logic, dissolves rational thought, and leaves you with the single, primal instinct to run. And Mr. Choi, a man who had built his career on a foundation of glacial calm and absolute control, was running.
"MOVE!" he barked, his normally measured voice reduced to a harsh croak. "TO THE VAN! NOW!"
He pushed Min-jun, who in turn was holding a nearly catatonic Jo Yu-ri. The image from the rooftop, of the man leaping into the void as a war helicopter hunted him, was a nightmare come true that threatened to paralyze them all. But Mr. Choi was not a dreamer; he was a doer. And right now, his sole mission was to get his multi-million dollar asset out of that war zone.
They stumbled down the stairs, the sound of their frantic footsteps echoing in the silent stairwell. Lee Jung-jae, displaying a calm that could only come from being a national icon for decades, brought up the rear, making sure no one was left behind. Wi Ha-joon led the way, his detective's eyes scanning every corner, every shadow, as if expecting an enemy soldier to pop out from behind a mailbox.
They reached the black van and piled inside, a tangle of limbs and ragged breaths. Mr. Choi got behind the wheel, his usually steady hands trembling as he jammed the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life, and he pulled away with a tire-screeching peel that left a trail of burnt rubber and panic.
As they sped away, Mr. Choi was already in crisis mode. His adrenaline-flooded brain worked at dizzying speed. First: safety. Second: damage control. Third: create a narrative. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number from his emergency contact list, one only used in the worst circumstances.
"Executive Director Kim, it's Choi. We have a level one situation," he said, his voice regaining some of its professional firmness. "Yes, involving Jo Yu-ri. She's safe. But I need the Pyeongchang safe house. And I need police protection. No, not local police. I need your contact at the National Police Agency. Talk to him. Tell him it's a matter of national security involving one of the country's most important public figures. Yes, it's that serious. I'll send you the location when we're close. Be discreet. And quick."
He hung up. The first piece was in motion. He glanced in the rearview mirror. Yu-ri was huddled in the seat, staring blankly into the distance, trembling like a leaf. The looming public relations disaster was of biblical proportions, but for the first time in his career, Mr. Choi realized that this girl's safety was far more important than any contract or scandal. They had glimpsed a world that shouldn't exist, and now they had to hide from it.
[POINT OF VIEW: JO YU-RI - THIRD PERSON]
The world was a blur of lights and motion beyond the van window. Jo Yu-ri didn't feel the luxurious leather of the seat, nor did she hear the frantic conversations of her companions. She was trapped on the rooftop, in that eternal instant.
The image of him leaping into the void repeated in her mind in an endless loop. The determination on his face. The complete absence of fear. The way he had created an impossible bridge in the sky and launched himself into it without hesitation. It was the bravest, most insane act she had ever witnessed.
His last words to her echoed in the silence of her mind: "I won't bother you anymore."
It hadn't been an apology. It hadn't been an accusation. It had been a release. He was freeing her from his world, from his danger, at the cost of drawing it all to himself. The guilt she had felt before was a small hill compared to the mountain range of crushing remorse she now felt. Her call. Her stupid, selfish, terrified mistake had put him on that ledge. She had loaded the gun, and he had pulled the trigger on himself to protect her.
Min-jun put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. She registered the gesture, but it was as if it were happening to someone else. She was disassociated, floating in a sea of shock. Her career, her image, the things that had defined her until that very night, now seemed like absurd trivialities. What did a magazine cover or a box office record matter when a man was, at that very moment, fighting for his life on the city's rooftops because of her?
She realized, with a clarity that left her breathless, that the hatred she had felt for him in the alley was nothing more than the fear of a spoiled child whose perfect bubble had been pricked. He wasn't the monster. The monsters were those chasing him in that helicopter. And he... he was something else entirely. Something she couldn't define. A thief. A hero. A ghost.
[POINT OF VIEW: LEE JUNG-JAE - THIRD PERSON][LOCATION: SAFE VILLA - PYEONGCHANG-DONG, SEOUL]
The villa was an oasis of luxury and silence nestled in the hills of one of Seoul's most exclusive neighborhoods. High walls, a steel gate, and security cameras at every corner made it a modern fortress. Two unmarked police cars were discreetly parked on the street, and several men in suits with the unmistakable air of high-ranking detectives greeted them at the entrance.
Lee Jung-jae led Yu-ri inside. The place was impersonal but opulent, with marble floors, modern art on the walls, and a spectacular view of the city that now seemed menacing. It felt like a cage, even if it was a golden one.
A middle-aged detective, his face weathered by lack of sleep and too much coffee, introduced himself as Inspector Park. "We're securing the perimeter," he informed them in a calm, professional voice. "No one enters or leaves without my authorization. I'll need to take statements from everyone, one by one. We need to know exactly what happened."
As Mr. Choi began to weave a carefully edited story, Lee Jung-jae pulled Wi Ha-joon aside.
"This is bigger than we thought," Jung-jae said quietly, looking at Yu-ri, who sat motionless on a sofa. "That man... he's not a common criminal. The way he moved, his tactics... He was a soldier. Or a spy."
"Or something we don't have a category for," Ha-joon replied, his face grim. He was staring at his phone screen, his fingers moving at lightning speed. "His sacrifice bought us time. He used the chaos to ensure our escape. It wasn't impulsive; it was planned in a split second. I feel a grudging respect for him."
"Respect..." Jung-jae repeated, thoughtful. "Yes, that's it. And fear. Fear of whatever is chasing him with those kinds of resources."
It was then that Ha-joon looked up from his phone, his eyes wide. "Oh, my god..."
"What is it?" Jung Ho-yeon asked, having approached them.
"The news," Ha-joon whispered. "A news channel has a helicopter in the air. They think they're covering a high-risk police chase. They've got him. They're broadcasting it live."
Quickly, everyone gathered around him, their faces lit by the small screen's blue glow. And the outside world burst back into their safe haven.
[POINT OF VIEW: WI HA-JOON - THIRD PERSON]
The image on the screen was shaky, chaotic, shot from a news helicopter struggling to maintain focus. Below, the rooftops of Yeouido's financial district stretched out like a deadly obstacle course. And in the center of it all, there he was. A dark figure running with death-defying agility.
"...unconfirmed reports suggest the chase began after a serious altercation at the Squid Game premiere gala," a frantic news anchor's voice said. "Police have yet to make a statement, but as you can see, the suspect is displaying extraordinary skill, leaping from building to building as if he were an Olympic athlete..."
They watched, mesmerized and horrified. They saw him slide down a sloping glass roof, using the friction of his boots to control his descent. They saw him leap a six-meter chasm between two office buildings, a jump that should have been impossible.
"How... how is he doing that?" Min-jun murmured, his voice filled with awe.
Yu-ri clapped a hand over her mouth, her knuckles white. Every jump, every risky move was a stab at her conscience. He was still fighting. Still running. Because of her.
Suddenly, a second shape appeared in the sky on the screen, much larger, darker, and more menacing than the news helicopter. It was the military helicopter.
"Wait a moment...!" the anchor shouted, his professionalism broken by pure shock. "What is that? It appears to be a military helicopter! It has no markings! What is happening in downtown Seoul?!"
And then, the unthinkable happened.
From the side of the dark helicopter, flashes of light erupted. Small explosions of sparks and dust burst on the concrete around the fleeing man, forcing him to zigzag.
"THEY'RE FIRING!" the anchor screamed, his voice breaking. "My God, they're firing automatic weapons in the heart of the city! This is madness! This is a battlefield!"
In the luxurious villa, the silence was absolute. They were watching a man being hunted and executed live on television. Mr. Choi looked like he was going to vomit. Jung Ho-yeon clung to Jung-jae's arm. And Yu-ri... Yu-ri simply cried, silent tears tracing paths down her pale face, each shot on the screen reverberating like a blow to her own soul.
[POINT OF VIEW: LEO - FIRST PERSON]
The air was a whirlwind of noise and wind. The roar of Helix's helicopter at my back was a monster hot on my heels. To make matters worse, a second helicopter, a news one by the logo I saw, flanked me, its camera a cyclops eye broadcasting my more-than-likely death to the entire country. Fantastic. I was going to die and become a viral meme at the same time.
My lungs burned. My muscles screamed. One of the suppression rounds had hit too close, and a piece of concrete had opened a gash on my left arm that was bleeding profusely, staining the hoodie sleeve. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping me on my feet, the only fuel left in my nearly empty tank.
I ran along the edge of a skyscraper, the wind threatening to tear me off and send me plunging forty stories. Below, the city lights were a blurred, tempting tapestry of normalcy. A normalcy I could never have.
I knew I couldn't keep this up. You can't win a race against a flying machine that's shooting at you. I needed a change of terrain. I needed an element that would nullify their technological advantage. I needed chaos.
And then I saw it. Through a gap between the glass and steel giants, I saw a ribbon of shimmering darkness cutting the city in two. The Han River.
Wide. Deep. Dark. Cold. It was my only chance.
I changed direction, running towards the edge of the financial district, towards the bridges and parks lining the river. The gunfire intensified. They weren't aiming for my feet anymore. They were aiming for me. I felt the whizz of a bullet pass so close to my ear I could hear the air displace.
I leaped onto a lower building, rolling to absorb the impact, my knees protesting with sharp pain. I got up and kept running. Ahead of me was Mapo Bridge. My last stop.
I sprinted across the rooftop of the last building, the one directly overlooking the river. There were no more rooftops to jump to. It was the end of the line. I stopped at the very edge, my chest heaving spasmodically as I tried to catch my breath. The Helix helicopter's spotlight caught me, bleaching out the world. I could hear the distant shouts of the news anchor.
I looked down. The black water of the river looked like a bottomless abyss. A jump from this height could kill me. But staying here definitely would.
I thought, for a strange, fleeting split second, of her. Of Jo Yu-ri. I hoped she was safe. I hoped my stupid, spectacular sacrifice had amounted to something.
I took the deepest breath of my life, filling my lungs with Seoul's polluted air one last time.
And I jumped.
I launched myself into the void, arms outstretched like a bird with broken wings. The world became a symphony of wind roaring in my ears and city lights spinning in a maddened dance. I saw the helicopter pass over me, a dark eye in the sky.
And then, the water.
It wasn't a relief. It was an explosion. A solid, icy impact that stole my breath and plunged me into silent, absolute darkness. The roar of the helicopters, the gunfire, the sirens, the city lights... everything disappeared, swallowed by the Han River's freezing, black embrace.
The world went black.