The sun dipped low over Haerang Province, spilling orange light across the old school grounds. Dahlia stepped outside the abandoned sports hall, the faint scent of pine following her. She thought she was alone, but she wasn't.
From between the dark trees, Lee watched her—unmoving and silent, a shadow tethered to her fate.
His hood concealed his face, but his eyes—those green eyes—never left her. He sensed her fear, her determination, her longing. Every time she came, he appeared, hidden and protecting her without a trace.
And though Dahlia did not see him, she felt him. Every hair on her arm rose, as if someone familiar lingered just out of sight.
The next morning, Dahlia pushed open the door of Coach Insung's closed-down gym. Dust coated the wooden floors, and cobwebs hung from the corner beams. Old punching bags sagged, long forgotten.
Coach Insung stood behind her with a broom. "Well," he sighed, "if we're bringing this place back to life, we have a lot to do."
Dahlia tied her hair back. "Then let's start."
They swept, wiped, repaired boards, and dragged old mats into the sunlight. Her bodyguards waited outside, unaware that an unseen shadow perched on the rooftop, silent as dusk—Lee watching her every move.
When the gym was cleaned, Coach Insung clapped his hands. "Training begins tomorrow. And Dahlia," he warned gently, "you must be ready. This won't be as easy as learning the violin."
She nodded, breathing deeply. "I'm ready."
That night, Dahlia met Dojoon at a quiet café near the station. They sat across from each other but texted under the table, just in case someone was listening.
Dahlia: One of the assassins died because the other one protected me.
Dahlia: He saved me.
Dojoon: Why would he?
Dahlia: Because… I think he knows me. Because he didn't want me dead.
Dojoon lifted his eyes. Her hands trembled above the phone.
"And…" she whispered, barely audible, "I think he might be Jaemin."
Dojoon nearly dropped his cup. "Dahlia—noona—that's impossible. Fifteen years—"
"He disappeared the same night, the same year Red did, the same year Black Viper started taking kids." Her voice cracked. "And the green eyes… Dojoon-ah, I know what I saw."
Dojoon exhaled shakily. "If he is… then he's dangerous."
"Then help me," she said firmly. "Don't treat him as my enemy. Let me find the truth first."
Slowly, painfully, Dojoon nodded. "If this is your decision… I'm with you."
Dahlia met Coach Insung again the next day. "Coach… do you still have Jaemin's old photo? When he was sixteen?"
Insung paused, eyes softening with old sadness. He walked to his drawer and pulled out a small, faded picture.
Jaemin at sixteen—bright smile, messy hair, eyes full of light. Dahlia's heart twisted.
She snapped a photo with her phone and secretly forwarded it to Dojoon.
Dahlia: Can you generate his possible face after 15 years?
Dahlia: I need it.
Dojoon: I'll do it from the station. No one will know.
Hours later, a file arrived. "Result Ready."
Dahlia opened it, and her breath disappeared.
The man in the image looked older, sharper, with cold edges sculpted by harsh years. But the eyes… those eyes…
Her heart stuttered.
Dahlia finally revealed her last request to Dojoon. Face-to-face, but still texting quietly under the table:
Dahlia: I want a confrontation.
Dahlia: A way to bring him out.
Dahlia: I know he's watching me.
Dahlia: If he sees I'm in danger… he'll appear.
Dojoon read her plan and froze. "You want to use yourself as bait? Noona, that's too—"
"Dojoon-ah," she said softly, "he saved me. Twice. He won't let anyone touch me."
Dojoon leaned back, exhaling shakily. "If you're wrong… if he doesn't show up—"
Dahlia looked him straight in the eyes. "Then whatever safety device you give me will protect me."
"Fortunately, I thought about that when I got here," he answered.
Dojoon reached into his pocket and slid a pepper spray and a small velvet box across the table. Inside: a capsule.
"This is a GPS beacon," he explained quietly. "Press the pin twice—it sends your location to my phone and alerts the station."
"Put that in your pocket always. Don't lose it. Promise me."
"I won't," Dahlia whispered.
And under the table, she typed:
Dahlia: I need three officers. They must act like perverts. They won't hurt me—just pretend.
Dahlia: He'll come. I know he will.
Dojoon answered after a long pause:
Dojoon: I'll arrange it, but I'll be nearby the whole time.
Outside the window, high on a distant rooftop, a hooded figure stood in the shadows, watching Dahlia's silhouette through the glass.
He didn't know her plan. He only knew the same silent vow he had lived by for years:
Where she walked, he followed.
Where danger lurked, he appeared.
Shadows quietly tightening around fate.