The impact cracked through the compartment like thunder.
…
Kangwoo's fingers twitched.
The cold against his cheek reminded him he was still alive.
For a long moment, he couldn't move. The world tilted in and out of blur, shattered glass above, flickering light, the iron taste of blood in his mouth.
He coughed once, blood catching at his throat, then slowly lifted his head.
Then, through the haze, he found his metal-bat being held.
Kangwoo's gaze followed the trail of dust and shadow, to Seojin's shoulders.
And he smiled.
…
Sparks burst between the colliding metals, scattering orange firelight into the air.
The shockwave shuddered up the mohawk gangster's arms. His teeth clenched, muscles locking under the force, wrists shaking violently as the rod screeched, clashing against Seojin's bat.
…
From the far end, Woori watched, still cornered to the door, each breath heavy, eyes wide.
The jacket gangster bent low, snatching a metal pipe on the floor as he approached Seojin.
Woori's gaze darted sideways, to the crowbar still jammed in the glass door beside him.
The cracked glass vibrated softly with the rhythm of the train.
The jacketed only closed in more and more, gripping the metal pipe tighter.
…
To the crowbar, everything else blurred: the light, the view outside the window, the broken seats.
Only Woori's hand remained in focus, fingers curling around the handle as if the world had narrowed to that motion.
The glass spidered deeper, web after web racing outward–
and then, with one last pull.
CRASH.
Shards exploded outward, catching the light as they fell.
The glass shatterings still echoed when the jacket gangster turned.
His eyes widened… Woori was right up behind him.
Shards clinged to Woori's sleeves, he swung the crowbar down with both hands as hard as possible.
WHOOOSH…
The jacket gangster twisted, raising his metal pipe just in time.
CLANG! Sparks scattered between them. The blow knocked Woori's arms to the side, numbing his fingers.
Before he could recover, the jacket gangster's leg snapped up sideways.
THUD!
The kick crashed into Woori's ribs, sending him sprawling backward. His body hit the floor hard, rolling across broken glass.
Shards bit through his uniform, cutting lines across his palms as he tried to catch himself. He fell on the shattered doorway, scattering the fragments around him like silver dust.
The jacket gangster stepped forward, metal pipe raised again, grinning.
"Should've stayed down, Baek Woori." He mocked.
Woori coughed, pain twisting through his chest. His hand trembled as he tried to lift the crowbar again, its end scraping against the floor with a dry, dragging sound.
Behind the jacket gangster, the sound of groaning and metal screechings were heard.
…
Seojin's metal bat and the mohawk gangster's metal rod still remained clashing. Both held their breath, using every single ounce of their power.
Slowly… the mohawk's grip faltered.
His fingers slipped. The vibration numbed his hands, joints trembling as the rod began to turn in his palms. The strength in his forearms gave out slowly.
Seojin didn't relent, they pushed harder, forcing the bat down inch by inch. The pressure drove the metal rod toward the gangster's head, the sound deepening from a high scrape to a heavy groan.
The mohawk gangster's knees buckled. His breath came out in a broken gasp.
Seojin lifted the bat, stopping the clash…
The gangster exhaled shakily.
Seojin stopped attacking…?
A laugh almost breaking from the gangster's throat, he thought it was over.
The mohawk gangster's chest heaved, breathing heavily, arms trembling from the strain. His knees sank against the floor, one hand still gripping the edge of his metal rod.
But he started to realize… what seemed like mercy for him, was an attack in disguise, when he saw the shift in Seojin's stance.
Seojin was in a precise batting stance, shoulders turned–
WHOOOSH… The swing came fast, a silver blur cutting through the air, aimed straight for the side of his head.
The mohawk gangster's instincts screamed.
He jerked his arms up, dragging the metal rod across his body in defense.
But it was too late.
CLANG!
The bat slammed into the rod, not head-on this time, but off-angle, sliding across it.
The impact twisted the weapon sideways, wrenching it from his weakening grip.
The mohawk gangster's guard broke completely. His body reeled from the shock, shoulders twisting with the force.
The rod tore from his hands, spinning into the air, sparks bursting where metal scraped metal– its arc flashing past the flickering light, tumbling end over end.