Seojun's voice echoed in an unknown, endless jungle.
"Oryong! Jiho!"
Branches clawed at Seojun's arms as he tore through the undergrowth, lungs burning. His magenta hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, and yet he never stopped.
He kept running, feet pounding against damp earth, shadows of his friends flickering just ahead. Their laughter echoed through the trees, distorted, always out of reach.
Ever since that night, I've been chasing them.
His chest heaved, but his eyes stayed locked forward.
Answers. That's all I want. Why did it happen? Why them? Why me? But no matter how far I run, no matter how hard I reach…
The silhouettes stretched further, melting into darkness. Shadows lengthened until they seemed endless, always retreating, always one step beyond his grasp.
"Wait!" Seojun's voice cracked. He lunged forward, fingertips grazing the edge of a figure's sleeve.
And then the jungle collapsed.
The leaves, the soil, the air itself dissolved like smoke, and he fell into a pitch black void of nothingness–
Seojun landed, breathing heavily.
He was standing on the narrow edge of his apartment balcony. The rail vibrated faintly under his weight, metal groaning like it didn't trust him. A sharp wind whipped at his shirt, pressing against his back as if it wanted him to lean forward, to let gravity take him.
The wind pressed against his back like a hand, urging him forward to fall down from a 15th floor balcony.
...Another sleepless night,
His gaze traced the horizon, where the city seemed to stretch endlessly, the same way the shadows had in his dream.
Yet the distance between me and the answer… stays the same.
Seojun entered his bedroom, closing the door with a hollow click.
He pressed his palm agsinst the wall, flipping the light switch.
Click.
The bulb flickered, constantly. Seojun stared at it, hoping it doesn't go out–
POP! The light bulb shuts down as the entire room went completely dark.
"OH, COME ON!"
The next morning…
A ray of sunlight shine through the blinds, cutting across Seojun's bedroom in harsh lines. Dust floated lazily in the air, disturbed only by his uneven breathing.
He sat hunched at the edge of his bed, shoulders slumped, eyes locked on the wall in front of him.
The wall had countless newspapers, taped corner to corner, overlapped in a chaotic mosaic. The edges curled from age, ink faded in places where his fingers had traced too many times.
"INTERNATIONAL CRIME SYNDICATE STRIKES AGAIN."
"GOVERNMENTS IN PANIC AS VIOLENCE SPREADS."
"ANOTHER CITY FALLS INTO CHAOS."
Photos showed crime scenes, smoldering streets, shadowy figures blurred in grainy security footage. Maps were marked in red pen, circles and arrows stretching across continents.
Seojun scanned the wall like he had done a thousand times, connecting dots only he seemed to see. Strings of thought twisted in his head like threads of red yarn, his own attempt to tie the chaos into something that made sense.
This can't just be random. Somewhere in here… there has to be an answer.
The city buzzed faintly around him as he walked down the cracked pavement, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. Neon signs blinked tiredly above convenience stores, the smell of exhaust hanging in the air.
It all started years ago after that night. An international criminal organization crawled out of the shadows and tore the world apart piece by piece.
His gaze trailed over everyone who passed him. A woman clutching groceries, a man on his phone, a group of students minding their own business. He couldn't trust anyone.
Robberies, murders, kidnappings. You name it, they did it.
He brushed past another stranger, shoulder colliding with theirs.
The streets stopped feeling like streets and started feeling like minefields.
A gust of wind rattled a row of posters taped unevenly to a brick wall.
"MANDATORY SELF-DEFENSE TRAINING: Protect yourself. Protect your neighbors. Protect your country."
Seojun didn't bother reading. He had walked by the same message a thousand times.
The government panicked. Their genius solution? Force every teenager and adult into 'mandatory self-defense.
Instead, his eyes shifted upward. Across the street, a massive digital billboard flickered to life, blasting with noise and light. Two men stood in a cage under harsh spotlights, fists flying as the crowd around them roared. A timer counted down in the corner of the screen, flashing red numbers like a bomb.
Because nothing screams safety like teaching the entire country how to punch each other in the face.
The billboard's glow faded behind him as Seojun turned the corner and stepped onto a crowded bus. The air inside was heavy with perfume, sweat, and the faint metallic tang of coins rattling in the driver's tray.
He slid into a seat near the middle, pressing his shoulder against the window, the vibrations of the engine buzzing through the glass. Outside, the city blurred past in streaks of light and shadow, but Seojun barely saw it because his focus was fixed somewhere far in his head.
A sudden sneeze broke through the dull drone of the engine. Seojun's gaze flicked up. An office worker in a pressed suit, sitting a few seats ahead, wiped his nose with a tissue.
Next to him, a younger guy. Messy hair, scuffed jacket, the kind that people immediately judge as a delinquent. He turned his head slightly and then his voice came out flat, almost monotone, almost like he's insulting him.
"Bless you, office worker."
The man stiffened, blinking. "…Come again?"
The younger guy repeated it with the same tone. "Bless you, office worker."
The office worker's face darkened. He sat up straighter, twisting to glare at the boy. "What's that supposed to mean? You mocking me?"
His hand shot out, gripping the boy's collar, yanking him forward. The boy's head tilted back with the pull, but his face stayed blank, unreadable.
"What the hell's your problem?" the man shouted.
"…What are you talking about?"
The man's teeth gritted together as he heaved the boy up from his seat. Gasps rippled down the bus as the man's polished shoes scraped against the floor.
It was clumsy, but it was obvious what he was doing. One of those moves drilled into everyone by the state, a "standard collar grab counter." The boy's back hit the aisle with a heavy THUD, the metal floor rattling under him.
Before he could even sit up, the office worker's fist came down, cracking against his cheek again and again.
But the boy didn't even react, didn't raise his hands, didn't try to move away. He just laid there, enduring the beatdown.
…
No one in the bus moved to stop him. The passengers turned their gaze somewhere else, as if nothing is happening.
Seojun watched in silence from his seat, the rhythm of the punches blending with the hum of the engine. It was nothing new. Just another scene in a city that had already forgotten how to care.
Not my problem.
The bus screeched to a stop. Seojun stood, slipped past the chaos, and stepped off into the night. The doors closed behind him, sealing the violence away as if it had never happened.
…
Seojun blinked, his focus snapping back as he found himself standing shoulder-to-shoulder in a long row of people.
He's now in a gymnasium. Bright fluorescent lights hummed above, their glare turning the polished floor into a pale sheet. The air smelled faintly of sweat and disinfectant.
At the front of the room, an instructor moved with sharp, deliberate precision. Every gesture was calculated, every strike crisp. Beside him, another man played the role of the "attacker," lunging clumsily so the instructor could demonstrate how to counter, how to disable, how to strike back harder.
Each motion was exaggerated, broken down piece by piece. A throat grab turned into a wrist lock. A shove became an arm twist that planted the attacker face-first on the floor.
I didn't want to be here, but it's mandatory. What else can I do?
Seojun just stood there, shoulders loose, gaze locked on the instructor without so much as a blink. From the outside, it looked like he was paying close attention. In reality, his mind was a blank slate, drifting somewhere far away.
The kind of state that came when you hadn't slept in days, when exhaustion pressed so hard on your brain that thought itself just… stopped.
The instructor planted the "attacker" on the mat with a THUD that echoed across the gym. Straightening his uniform, he turned to face the rows of students.
"Do you all get it?" His voice boomed, sharp as a whip.
"Yes, sir!" the crowd shouted back in unison.
But not Seojun.
He didn't even move his mouth. His gaze stayed locked forward, unfocused, as if he were staring through the instructor rather than at him.
The instructor's head snapped toward him. He strode down the row, boots slapping the floor. "You there!"
Seojun didn't even register his voice.
The man's shadow fell across him, but Seojun stayed adrift, floating somewhere between the buzzing lights above and the numb static in his own skull.
"Hey! I'm talking to you!" the instructor barked, approaching the half-conscious Seojun.
Tap tap. The instructor lightly slapped his cheek.
Seojun's eyes finally snapping back into focus.
The row of students all stared at him, some with pity, others with the quiet relief that it hadn't been them.
The instructor loomed in front of him, face twisted with anger. "You think this is a joke?"
Seojun's lips parted, but no words came out.
The instructor sighed as he snapped his fingers at the "attacker."
"Back to position," he barked.
The man scrambled upright and resumed his stance. The instructor's eyes cut back to Seojun. "You, with me."
Before Seojun could react, a rough hand clamped onto his arm and yanked him forward. He stumbled out of line, his feet squeaking on the polished floor. The instructor dragged him toward the center mat and shoved him into place beneath the fluorescent glare.
"How about you set an example instead of being a waste of space?"
The crowd's eyes pinned him in place. Seojun could feel their stares, heavy as weights, but his mind was still fogged, half-slipping into that blank haze again.
The instructor squared up to him. "What's your name?"
Seojun hesitated, then muttered, "...Seojun."
"Ok then, Seojun."
The man's hand shot out, gripping Seojun by the collar, jerking him forward so hard his feet scraped across the mat.
"What should you do in this situation?"
Seojun's breath caught. His hand drifted upward, hesitating in midair, fingers trembling as he tried to remember what they'd been showing all class.
"I-"
The instructor didn't wait.
He hoisted Seojun up by the collar, lifted him off balance, and slammed him down onto the mat. The impact rattled through Seojun's spine, forcing the air from his lungs in a sharp grunt.
"And that," the instructor declared to the room, towering over him, "is what happens when you don't react fast enough."
Laughter rippled faintly through the line of students.
The instructor crouched slightly, extending his hand. "Get up."
Seojun stared at it for a moment as he slowly reached out, gripping the man's palm.
In an instant, his body was yanked skyward, only for the instructor to pivot and slam him down again.
This time pain ripped through his ribs as his back smacked the mat. A groan tore from his throat before he could stop it.
"And that," the instructor barked, voice cutting through the echo of the slam, "is what happens if you let your guard down."
…
The bell rang, echoing off the gym walls.
The instructor clapped his hands together. "All right, everyone. That's enough for today. See you all tomorrow."
Everyone immediately scattered, chatting and laughing as they grabbed their bags.
Seojun was still flat on the mat.
At least my suffering serves an educational purpose.
He let his body sink deeper into the padding, eyelids heavy. That's when a shadow stretched over his face.
Seojun tilted his head and found himself staring up at a girl leaning down toward him.
Her hair, tied back loosely, caught the last slant of sunlight spilling through the windows. She had sharp, elegant features softened by a warm smile, the kind of smile that made people stop in their tracks.
"Hey," she said, bowing slightly before lowering her gaze to meet his. "You all right? That looked pretty painful."
Seojun's eyes trailed down before he realized what he was staring at: the belt around her waist. Black.
His was white.
I don't know who this girl is, he thought, but that makes her my senior.
When she straightened, she extended her hand toward him. Seojun stared at it suspiciously. Is she going to slam me?
The corner of her mouth curved into a laugh, as if she had read his mind. "It's alright. I'm not going to knock you out."
Seojun hesitated, then slowly reached up. The second their palms met, he felt how light and careful her grip was compared to the instructor's earlier.
She pulled him up with ease, and for a moment, he found himself standing closer to her than he expected. Her eyes were bright too bright, contrasting his, and they seemed to cut straight through the dull haze that clung to him.
"So… Seojun, right?" she asked.
He nodded faintly. "...Yeah."
Her smile widened, soft but radiant, the kind of expression that carried its own gravity. "My name is Ahn Yura."
Seojun continued to stare, almost forgetting how to breathe for a second.
The warmth of her grip unsettled him more than the instructor's slam had. Pain he could take. This… he wasn't ready for.
When was the last time I felt this kind of warmness?
"Seojun…"
He blinked. "Huh?"
Yura tilted her head, still smiling. "You can let my hand go now."
Realization struck him, he was still holding her hand. His fingers unclenched instantly, like he'd been caught doing something wrong.
Yura only laughed again, brushing her bangs from her face.
Seojun glanced down at his empty hand, flexing his fingers slowly, as if the warmth might still be there. He didn't say anything, and neither did she.
For a moment, the noisy gym seemed to fade, the clatter of lockers, the shuffle of shoes, even the low chatter of students drifting out the door.
It was just Yura's smile, bright against the dull fluorescent lights, and his own reflection of exhaustion staring back at her.
Seojun bowd awkwardly. "…Thanks," he muttered.
Yura tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing just enough to suggest amusement. But she didn't reply, only gave him one last small, knowing smile before turning to grab her own things.
Seojun exhaled, as he turned around to grab his bag. his shoulders felt heavy, as if the simple interaction had drained more from him than the instructor's throws ever could.
Yura slung her bag over her shoulder, but instead of leaving right away like the others, she lingered near the edge of the mat. Her hand slipped inside the side pocket of her bag. She pulled out a small folded piece of paper and a pen and started writing something.
"You space out a lot," she said casually, like she'd been studying him all class.
"...Do I?" His voice came out flat.
Yura chuckled again, that same brightness that felt out of place in the dim, worn-down gym. "Mm. The kind of look people have when they're… somewhere else."
Her words sank into him, deeper than he wanted them to. Seojun dropped his eyes to the floor, not sure how to respond.
Yura bent forward slightly, enough for her hair to fall against her cheek as she looked at him. "You free tomorrow?"
Seojun got caught off guard. "...Yeah. Why?"
Instead of answering right away, she caught Seojun's hand with the other, her grip light but deliberate. Before he could pull back, she pressed a small folded slip of paper into his palm, curling his fingers around it.
She grinned, like she already knew the answer would be yes. "Let's hang out." She winked.
Seojun froze. "Huh?"
Yura straightened, slinging her bag higher on her shoulder. She gave him a little wave.
"See you tomorrow!"
Before he could even think of what to say, she turned and headed for the door, the sound of her footsteps fading against the empty gym floor.
Slowly, Seojun lowered his gaze to his hand, still curled around the slip of paper she had pressed into it. His fingers hesitated before unfolding it.
Scrawled in neat, looping handwriting was an address. A café. Nothing more, nothing less.
Seojun stared at the note, the letters swimming slightly in his tired vision. He read it once. Then again. And again.
…A café?
Seojun stood there, still on the mat, watching her go, his body aching, his mind buzzing with questions he couldn't put into words.
Why would someone like her waste her time on someone like me?