The weak glow of Seoul's neon spine bled through the blinds, striping the apartment walls in fractured colors.Lee Rang stood on the balcony, cigarette burning slow between his fingers, its ember winking like a dying star.The air was heavy, almost deliberate, as if the city itself was holding its breath.
He didn't hear footsteps.He didn't need to.
The sensation was enough—like eyes brushing against the back of his neck, patient and unblinking.He exhaled smoke into the darkness, watching it twist apart before it could reach the night.
From the corner of his eye, movement.Not loud, not fast—just a shape, tall and deliberate, across the street.For a second, the faint reflection of metal under the streetlamp caught his attention… then it was gone.
He stayed still.Whoever it was… they were better at vanishing than being seen.
Inside, the apartment was quiet in a way that felt staged.Seo-rin was on the couch, knees drawn up, pen scratching into a small, weathered notebook.The lamplight carved deep shadows under her eyes.
He stepped closer."What are you writing?"
Her hand froze mid-word."Nothing."
Rang's gaze lingered a moment longer, tracing the tension in her posture, the way her fingers shielded the page as though it carried something dangerous.
"You know someone's been watching us."Her eyes lifted slowly, meeting his. There was no denial, no surprise—only that same unreadable calm."And?"
"And nothing," he replied, voice colder than intended. "Just… wondering how long you've known."
She closed the notebook without a word and stood, retreating into the bedroom.The sound of the door shutting was sharper than it should have been.
Rang didn't notice the folded paper until his foot almost crushed it.It lay just inside the front door, the edge caught under the mat as if slid there with deliberate care.He crouched and unfolded it slowly.
No greeting.No name.
Just two words:"You're seen."
Beneath it, a location and a time—both underlined in precise, almost surgical handwriting.Tomorrow. Midnight.
His thumb pressed against the paper, smudging the ink.
Hours later, the city's hum thinned into the deep quiet of early morning.Rang sat on the floor by the low table, an untouched cup of tea cooling beside him.The paper lay open before him, daring him to believe it wasn't a trap.
The phone buzzed once.Unknown sender. No number.A message appeared in block text:
"Go… and you won't come back as the man you are now."
He stared at it until the screen went dark.
Somewhere outside, past the flicker of the streetlights, a lone silhouette stood on the rooftop opposite his building—mask glinting faintly under the moon.It didn't move.Didn't need to.
From this distance, it could watch everything.
Some traps you see coming. The real danger… is the one that's been standing in front of you all along.