(from "battery zero")
The sound hit first.
Metal grinding against metal, glass shattering like rain.
The cab flipped once—twice—and a third time before slamming through the front of a roadside café.
A chorus of screams followed, chairs skidding, coffee splashing across shattered tiles.
For a second, there was silence. Just the sound of rain tapping against broken glass.
Then—
"Cough… cough…"
Minho's eyes snapped open. His arms were wrapped around Jiru, holding him close. The kid was limp but breathing.
"Kid—hey, kid, wake up."
Minho tried to move, but a sharp pain tore through his leg. He looked down.
Twisted. Trapped beneath the crushed car door. Blood pooling fast.
He screamed, once—loud enough to silence the chaos outside.
"HELP! SOMEONE!"
No answer. Just more sirens in the distance.
He turned toward the driver—still, eyes open, lifeless.
Minho's breath hitched.
"Shit."
He remembered the vision.
He'd seen it earlier today. The boy with tired eyes—small backpack, scuffed shoes, walking alone.
And then, just as he passed Minho, he saw it.
a car crash, a drunk driver, and the boy's lifeless body as the cops pulled him from the wreck.
"I have to save him," he'd said, following quietly.
He trailed Jiru carefully until the boy entered a bus.
"Crap, I missed him," Minho muttered, snapping his head around as he'd followed a different student into the bus. "Where's the ki—"
Then, through the bus window, he spotted Jiru stopping a cab.
"Driver, stop!" Minho yelled, jumping off the bus and forcing his way through the crowded stop.
Someone shouted, "Hey! Dude, what's your problem? Chill out!"
Another voice laughed, "Asshole just cut the line!"
He ignored them all, catching the cab door just as it closed and slipping inside—
Then, the memory faded.
Back to the present.
"Stupid vision," he thought, staring at the lifeless driver beside him.
He thought he'd stopped it.
He thought he'd saved the kid.
But now—now the driver was dead, and the real crash had already happened.
Minho turned toward the shattered rearview mirror and froze.
Through the broken windshield, far down the road, another car lay crushed—smoke rising, people screaming.
Another drunk driver.
Far behind them—another mangled car. A body being pulled out.
"Damn it," he whispered. "It wasn't this driver. It was the next one."
He clenched his fist. "I messed up."
He turned back to Jiru, shaking him. "Kid. Hey! Kid, wake up!"
Jiru stirred, coughing, eyes fluttering open.
He blinked up at the young man holding him—bloodied, but smiling faintly.
"Wha—what's happening?" Jiru mumbled, voice trembling. Then he saw Minho's leg. His eyes widened. "Oh my God—your leg—YOUR LEG—HELP! SOMEONE, PLEASE!"
"Kid, calm down—hey, look at me—"
But Jiru kept screaming until Minho reached out and gently smacked the side of his head.
"OW! What was that for?!" Jiru protested, tears brimming.
"Hey! Kid, don't cry," Minho said softly. "You look ugly when you cry."
Jiru sniffled, voice breaking. "Have you seen your face, mister?"
For a second, even through the pain, Minho laughed. "Tough kid."
Jiru hiccupped. "You saved me twice. Nobody's ever done that for me before…"
"Yeah? Well," Minho said, breathing hard, chest tight, "it's worth the trouble."
"Don't say stuff like that!"
Gently, Minho lifted his hand and smacked his head again.
"Stop crying," he mumbled, "you'll flood the damn car."
"Ow! Why are you so strong even now?!"
Minho smiled faintly.
"Mister…" Jiru whispered, noticing the blood dripping from Minho's nose. He cried harder, calling for help.
People were gathering outside—screaming, calling the cops—but no one was moving closer.
"Listen," Minho said, voice low. "We don't have much time."
But Jiru kept crying. "Please, mister, stay still—someone help!"
"Kid. Listen."
Minho's breathing grew shallow. He looked down at the trembling boy and smiled faintly.
"Jiru… cough… thank you for being my last save."
"No. Don't—don't say that! You'll be fine! Please, somebody help us!"
"Stop crying," Minho muttered. "Listen."
Blood dripped steadily now. His grip on Jiru's sleeve trembled.
"Mister…" Jiru's voice cracked.
"Jiru," Minho whispered. "I'm giving this to you."
He took the boy's palm and placed his own over it. "Save others. Whatever it takes."
"I—I can't—" Jiru stammered. "Please don't—"
"Listen." Minho's eyes were glassy, but his tone stayed steady—commanding, yet warm.
"It's not easy. You'll have to sacrifice. It'll hurt. But you're kind, and you're smart, and you're meant for this. And I…"—he coughed, blood pooling at his lips—"I trust you. So promise me."
The car door beside them creaked. Officers were prying it open.
"Mister, no! Don't close your eyes!"
"Promise me," Minho rasped.
"Mister—please—"
"Jiru."
"Promise."
"I—"
"Promise!"
"I promise!" Jiru cried.
And Minho… smiled.
His head tilted back. His hand slipped from Jiru's grip.
"Mister? …Minho?"
No response.
"MINHO!"
Jiru shook him again and again, tears streaking down his face.
The officers shouted from outside, "Kid, stay still! We're getting you out!"
He couldn't stop.
"Wake up, please! Don't die!"
The words fell apart in sobs.
"Mister? Mister! MINHO!"
He shook him harder, his own hands slick with blood.
The world went quiet again—like a film with the sound cut off.
He couldn't hear the sirens. Or the shouting. Or the firefighters trying to reach in.
All he could hear was his heartbeat—loud, desperate.
Then it happened.
Like a veil being lifted over his eyes—he saw it.
On Minho's forehead, glowing faintly, was a name:
KANG MINHO.
And beneath it, was a glowing bar with four soft green segments.
"What the…" Jiru whispered, leaning closer.
He rubbed his eyes. Still there.
Minho had a battery?
But it was draining.
Slowly, the green light flickered—one bar vanished. Then another.
The third turned yellow, blinking faster.
Jiru held his breath.
"What… what is that? Why is it disappearing?"
The last turned red—blink, blink—gone.
On Minho's forehead, it now read:
KANG MINHO — 00:00:00
Minho was dead.
Before he could breathe out completely, strong hands yanked Jiru from the wreckage through the door the cops were struggling to open minutes earlier.
"Kid! Stay still!" one yelled.
The cops finally pulled him out, but his world had gone silent.
No sound. No sirens. No shouts. Just his heartbeat echoing in the hollow of his skull.
"What just happened?" His head was spinning.
Minho had a timer?
Minho… died?
No.
"Kid? Are you okay?" the cop asked.
No answer.
"Is anyone still inside?"
No answer.
"Is the other passenger alive?"
No answer.
He could see their lips moving, but the world felt far away.
Gradually, sound returned all at once—too loud, like someone turned the volume back on.
The horns. The screams. The orders. All at once.
His head spun.
"Get the kid to the ambulance!"
"He's in shock!"
"Two dead inside—the drivers were drunk!" someone shouted.
Jiru's vision blurred.
"He died," he whispered.
"He… die—"
The words barely left his lips when everything froze.
The flashing lights stopped.
The sound of sirens warped into silence.
Even the rain hung in the air like glittering glass.
Jiru blinked.
What… what's happening?
The air itself felt heavy—like time forgot to breathe.
Like a veil pulled from his eyes again, he saw it.
Glowing bars on the forehead of every person in sight—the cops, the medics, the screaming crowd.
Above the horizontal bar on were glowing names and numbers like Minho's—
CHOI DANIEL — 324:34:07
KIM YURA — 99:56:27
JASON LEE — 173:21:00
His eyes darted around, heart pounding.
"Am I… hallucinating?"
Then his gaze locked on a cop—middle-aged, walking towards where he was standing.
On his forehead read:
PARK JUNHO — 00:00:11
"eleven seconds?" Jiru thought, heart racing.
The horizontal bars flickered, disappearing one after another.
Green… green… yellow…
Red.
He looked closely again at the name and numbers on his forehead.
PARK JUNHO — 00:00:07
Then he saw something, "like an old film reel flashing in his mind."
the cop clutching his chest. Eyes wide. Collapsing forward. Right in front of Jiru.
"Kid" the man's voice jolted Jiru back to the present. "Are you alr–"
the man started to say when he suddenly dropped clutching his chest.
Jiru gasped, stumbling backward glancing at the shivering body on the floor, right in front of him.
"Someone help!" a woman screamed.
A cop rushed over, kneeling beside the man. "He's having a seizure! Get a medic over here!"
Jiru stood frozen, trembling.
His eyes following their every move.
I just saw that. I saw it before it happened.
"What… what is this?" he whispered.
His vision shook. More numbers. More lights. More bars flickering.
People screaming—or maybe that was just in his head.
Then, everything snapped back.
Sirens. Rain. Pain.
Jiru's breath caught. His chest felt tight, like the air itself had thickened.
Then, he collapsed right there on the road.
His body went limp as the medics lifted him into the ambulance.
The last thing on his mind before blacking out—
Minho's name burning across the inside of his eyelids.
KANG MINHO — 00:00:00
Medics rushed in, lifting him onto a stretcher.
Someone shouted for his parents.
Another for the police report.
---
(Somewhere across the city)
"Traffic's building up, young master," the butler said softly.
Kai didn't respond.
"Those damn earphones," the butler muttered.
"Young master?" he called again.
Kai looked, pulling one earbud out. "Yeah?" he answered softly.
"An accident ahead. Pretty bad one. We might be here for a while."
Kai leaned toward the window, glancing outside. "I don't see any—"
"Up ahead."
Through the rain-specked glass, red and blue lights flashed. Dozens of people crowded near ambulances, cop cars surrounding the site as officers tried to calm them.
The kid's uniform. The rain-soaked backpack.
Kai's heart stopped.
"Sir?" the butler asked, watching his young master through the rearview mirror. "Do you know that student?"
Kai's throat tightened. His fingers pressed against the window.
This morning. The bullies. Kai's awkward attempt to comfort him after like words could patch over bruises.
His voice came out barely a whisper as the memories flashed his mind.
"…Jiru?"
→ End of Chapter 2: The Promise.