The air outside the café was heavy with silence as Tae-min stepped into the passenger seat of the black sedan. The same moody man from earlier—tall, broad-shouldered, and perpetually frowning—sat behind the wheel. The engine rumbled to life.
"Name's Do Jin, by the way," the man said, glancing sideways as they pulled away. His voice was gruff, like gravel underfoot. "Don't forget it."
"Kang Tae-min," he replied.
"I know who you are. The boss doesn't pick randoms."
They drove for a few minutes before Do Jin spoke again. "So, where to?"
Tae-min took the burner phone from his pocket, scrolling through the notes Sang-ho had sent. A list of names, faces, and the same emojis. He paused at one name marked with a 💩.
"This one," he said.
Do Jin raised an eyebrow. "You sure? First day and you want the hardest target?"
"If I'm doing this, I'll do it right," Tae-min said simply.
A smirk tugged at Do Jin's lip. "Heh. You're either confident or suicidal. Let's see which."
They arrived at a quiet neighborhood—neatly paved roads, trimmed hedges, and the faint smell of money. The kind of place where people never locked their doors because they thought nothing could reach them.
Tae-min checked the gallery on the phone, scrolling until he found the client's picture. Choi Hyun-seok, mid-forties, hair slicked back, dressed like he'd stepped out of a luxury ad.
"Typical parasite," Do Jin muttered, looking at the photo. "Borrowed five thousand U.S. equivalent, hasn't paid a single won."
They knocked at his door. No answer.
"Figures," Do Jin sighed. "He's usually at the golf course nearby. Guy thinks he's some kind of king there."
The golf course was immaculate—rolling green hills, sunlight glinting off chrome clubs, and the laughter of rich men echoing across the fairway. Do Jin parked near the entrance while Tae-min scanned the distance.
There he was. Choi Hyun-seok. Surrounded by a few men, drink in hand, his laugh the loudest among them. He spotted the two approaching and his smile vanished.
"Well, look who it is," Choi said, lowering his glass. "Did Sang-ho send you?" His tone was mocking. "Tell your boss I don't deal with errand boys."
Do Jin took a step forward, but Tae-min lifted a hand. "We're not here to argue. You owe ₩6,800,000," he said plainly, his voice steady. "It's time to pay."
Choi scoffed, turning up his nose. "Do you have any idea who I am?"
"I don't care," Tae-min said. "Do you have the money?"
The golfer's arrogance shifted into irritation. His voice grew louder, drawing attention from the nearby players. "You think you can come here, into my club, and—"
He didn't finish. Tae-min grabbed his wrist mid-swing, twisting sharply until a loud crack filled the air. Choi's drink spilled across the grass as he yelped in pain, his gold watch flashing under the sun.
"Stop shouting," Tae-min said, his tone calm, controlled. "You're embarrassing yourself."
The onlookers froze. No one moved. The only sound was the soft rustle of wind over the grass.
Choi gasped through clenched teeth. "I-I have the money. It's… it's at home."
Tae-min released him, letting his arm hang limply. "Then let's go."
The car ride back was tense. Choi clutched his injured wrist, muttering curses under his breath. Do Jin kept glancing at Tae-min from the corner of his eye. There was no anger, no thrill, no hesitation—just efficiency.
When they arrived at Choi's large house, the man stumbled inside, motioning for them to wait. A minute passed. Then another. Tae-min's eyes narrowed.
"Something's off," he said quietly.
Do Jin nodded. "He's stalling."
Footsteps echoed from down the hall, heavier this time. Choi appeared again, his demeanor changed—no longer nervous, no longer desperate.
"I told you," he said coldly, "I don't deal with errand boys."
The glint of gold caught Tae-min's eye a fraction of a second before the pistol was drawn.
But Choi never even had the chance to aim. Tae-min lunged forward, grabbing his forearm and twisting it upward. The gun fired once, the shot hitting the ceiling, the recoil disarming Choi instantly. Tae-min drove his knee into the man's stomach, forcing him down.
"You had your chance," he said flatly.
Another twist, another sickening crack. Choi screamed, his wrist now useless. Tae-min picked up the gold-plated pistol, examined it for a second, then tossed it out the window into the yard.
He looked at the expensive gold watch glimmering on Choi's other wrist. Without a word, he took it and walked out.
Do Jin followed silently.
The pawn shop they visited was a dingy place in a quiet alley. The old owner looked at the watch with wide eyes, whispering about its worth—close to ₩55 million. Tae-min only asked for ₩6.8 million.
The owner blinked in disbelief but didn't question it. He handed the cash over, and Tae-min pocketed it.
Outside, Do Jin finally spoke. "You know you could've taken all of it, right? No one would've cared. That watch alone—forty grand easy."
"I wasn't sent to rob him," Tae-min replied simply.
Do Jin stared for a long moment, then let out a low chuckle. "You're something else, kid. Most guys would've taken the gun, the money, the house."
"I only take what's owed."
Do Jin shook his head with a grin. "Honest. Haven't seen that in this business for years." He patted Tae-min on the shoulder. "Sang-ho's gonna like you."
As they drove back, the city lights flickered across the windshield. Do Jin hummed quietly, the first time his tone wasn't coated in hostility.
And for the first time, Tae-min felt something almost foreign—recognition.
Not pride, not excitement. Just the faint spark of belonging.
But as he stared out the window, watching the glow of the streets pass by, the same question echoed in his head—steady, cold, familiar:
What's next?