The aftermath of the hospital attack spread through the city like wildfire.
News outlets blasted emergency broadcasts: "Hospital shootout leaves officers dead," "Ambush on highway—suspected syndicate involvement," and "Authorities raise national threat level—Black Viper believed responsible."
Police, NSI, SWAT, and even military intelligence built a joint task force overnight.
Roadblocks were set, search teams dispatched, and politicians made public statements…while secretly panicking.
Influential figures with ties to Black Viper worked desperately behind the scenes—burning documents, silencing witnesses, and bribing whoever could be bribed.
Because if the truth surfaced, they would fall.
Black Viper Headquarters—The Serpent's Patience
Master Kurogiri Ren exhaled a slow breath of smoke, the golden pipe resting between his pale fingers.
His silver hair glowed under the lantern light, eerie and ethereal.
"Lay low," he commanded the kneeling Shadows. "Do not engage the police any further."
His voice was calm—too calm.
"But," he added softly, eyes narrowing, "continue searching for the Immortality Stone. Increase the pressure. Time is no longer our ally."
The assassins bowed, trembling.
His patience was thinning.
Back in the Bunker—A Morning of Quiet Warmth
Dahlia woke with only two hours of sleep—eyes heavy, head throbbing—but something warm drifted through the bunker: the smell of brewed coffee.
Her heart jumped.
He's awake…
She sat up quickly, hair messy, cheeks still flushed from last night's emotional storm.
Jaemin stood at the mini kitchen, moving carefully, slowly—still stiff from pain but steadier than yesterday.
He had prepared instant food on plates, and two steaming mugs waited at the counter.
"You're awake early…" Dahlia whispered.
Jaemin glanced over, eyes softening. "I didn't sleep much."
"Because of your wound?"
"Because…" he hesitated, then looked away, "…it's hard to sleep here too."
Her cheeks warmed.
They ate quietly—simple food, a cramped bunker, yet somehow it felt like the safest place in the world for a moment.
Jaemin stood in front of the LED screen shooting simulator, training with slow, deliberate motions.
Dahlia approached, hugging her elbows shyly.
"Can you… teach me?" Her voice was small, almost embarrassed.
He blinked, surprised. "You want to learn how to shoot?"
"Yes. I want to protect myself… and you."
Something in his chest tightened.
He moved behind her, close enough she could feel the warmth of his breath on her neck.
"Hold it like this," he murmured, guiding her hands.
Her pulse raced so fast she thought he might hear it.
He adjusted her elbow gently. His fingers brushed her wrist, and her heart flipped.
When he finally let go, she fired.
The recoil startled her.
Her foot stumbled over a weight on the floor.
"Dahlia—!"
He reached to catch her—pain surged through his wound—she grabbed his arm—and both of them crashed onto the floor.
Dahlia landed on top of him.
Time stopped.
Her hair brushed his cheek. His hands instinctively held her waist. Their breaths mingled, their lips inches apart.
Her heartbeat hammered against his chest.
But then—
Jaemin winced, clutching his side.
"Ah—"
"Oh my god!" she panicked, scrambling up. "I'm so sorry—your wound—does it hurt? I'm sorry!"
Jaemin caught her trembling hand, placing it gently against his side.
"It's okay…" he breathed. "It just stings. I'm fine."
Their eyes met again.
A second moment suspended in time—their faces slowly leaning closer—
…
RING! RING!
Dahlia flinched. Her soul left her body.
"…Dojoon," she groaned, glaring at her phone. "Worst timing of my life."
They separated quickly, awkward, anxious, breathless.
Dahlia answered in a flustered voice. Dojoon spoke nonstop—asking how she was, updating her about the police, and assuring her their father couldn't sleep from worry.
She also told him, quietly: "Dojoon-ah… we're in a safe place, I will text you the location. Don't tell anyone. And please… can you send some food and clothes? I have nothing here…"
Dojoon promised.
It was a long, emotional call.
Jaemin kept glancing at her.
She kept pretending not to notice.
Hours passed.
The silence grew heavier, the tension thicker.
Dahlia tossed left and right on the bed.
"Haa… the assassins can't kill me," she groaned softly, "but boredom will."
Jaemin lay on the couch, eyes closed, pretending to sleep, but he heard every small sound she made—every sigh and every whisper of her blanket.
He was awake, and so was she.
Dahlia slipped out of bed, tiptoed to the fridge, and found only bottled water and beer in cans.
She sighed and poured herself a small glass of beer, but her eyes never left Jaemin.
He looked peaceful, too peaceful for someone in pain.
She slowly walked toward him and knelt beside him on the floor, her heartbeat loud in her ears.
She gently fixed the blanket over his chest.
"…How can you sleep like this," she whispered, brushing a stray hair from his forehead, "when you're still injured?"
Her fingers traced the side of his face—cheekbone, jawline—her eyes softening.
"…Jaemin-ah… how did you grow up so handsome? I'm liking you more…"
Then a memory hit her: the moment he kissed her underwater to save her, his mouth against hers, desperate, giving her air.
Her breath trembled.
Without thinking, she leaned down and kissed him—soft, barely a touch, like a secret she'd kept for years.
For one second, she stayed there.
Then his eyes opened.
"What are you doing…?" he whispered.
She jumped back so fast the beer spilled all over her clothes.
"Oh my god—eohtokke! I… Jaemin-ah—my clothes—I have no extra—"
He stood, steadying her.
"It's okay," he murmured.
He walked to his closet, pulled out an oversized black shirt, and handed it to her.
"Here. Wear this for now. I'll get you something tomorrow."
Their fingers brushed, and her breath caught.
She walked out of the bathroom wearing his shirt—long, black, and oversized, her legs bare and pale under the dim light.
For a moment, Jaemin froze.
He swallowed hard, eyes darting away immediately.
She blushed furiously, rushing to her bed and hiding under the blanket.
He finished mopping the floor, trying to calm his racing heart.
Later that night, Dahlia crept out of bed again, searching for her earbuds on the desk.
Just as she found them, strong arms wrapped around her waist from behind.
She froze.
His breath brushed her ear.
"I tried to hold it in, Dahlia…" His voice was low and trembling. "I really did, but you're driving me crazy."
Her earbuds slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor.
She turned around slowly.
Her hands trembled as she cupped his jaw.
"I won't stop you," she whispered, "because you're driving me insane too."
Jaemin pulled her into him—their lips collided—desperate, hungry, years of longing bursting at once.
His hands slipped onto her thighs, lifted her gently onto the desk, holding her closer to him as if she might disappear again.
She gripped the hem of his shirt, taking it off. Then her fingers traced his every scar—every line and every wound he endured alone.
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
He placed her palm over his heartbeat.
"I survived fifteen years of hell because I needed to come back to you."
"Jaemin…" she whispered, voice breaking. "I waited. You remained in my heart. No single moment that I never missed you. I always believed you would return."
He kissed her again—soft at first, then deeper and fiercer, years of loneliness dissolving in one moment.
He carried her to the bed.
They fell together, breathless.
Two hearts finally breaking open.
Their whispers filled the quiet bunker: "I love you, Dahlia…" and "I love you too… always…"
The night wrapped around them—gentle, warm, full of long-awaited tenderness—as they finally surrendered to the love they held onto for fifteen years.
Meanwhile on the rooftop of an abandoned construction building, Jin stood beneath the cold moonlight, the night wind whipping through his hair as the city sprawled beneath him in fractured lights. His jaw clenched, eyes burning with a darkness far deeper than anger—something vengeful, poisoned, personal. Fingers curled around the railing, knuckles whitening, he let out a low hiss that fogged in the night air. "Hide well, Lee…" he murmured, voice dripping with venom. "We will meet again soon. And next time—" his lips twisted into a merciless smirk, "you and your girl won't stand a chance."