The next morning arrived with a bustling energy.
The local market was a cacophony of sound—vendors hawking their wares and the rhythmic shuffle of hundreds of feet echoing through the vast, store-lined hallways.
Navigating through the dense crowd was Haoran, a basket in hand and a thoughtful expression on his face. "Thank you very much," Haoran said with a polite bow, accepting a bundle of fresh vegetables from a regular seller.
As he stepped out of the crowded market hub, he adjusted the weight of his bags. "This should be plenty," he murmured to himself, a small smile playing on his lips. "I really hope Qixian comes home today or tomorrow. I should have everything ready to cook his favorite dishes, he must be starving for a home-cooked meal by now."
However, as Haoran walked, the loud bustle of the market began to fade into a quiet, desolate stretch of the neighborhood. The laughter and chatter were replaced by an eerie silence. Suddenly, a group of rough-looking thugs emerged from the shadows, fanning out until they had him completely circled.
"Who are you? What do you want?" Haoran asked, his voice steady despite the adrenaline spike as he took a cautious step back.
"Well, why don't you take a wild guess, pretty boy?" one of the thugs said, his laughter sounding like gravel grinding together.
Haoran's eyes narrowed as he scanned their faces. "Did you get your orders from the Zhou family?" he asked coldly.
"Oh! He's a sharp one, Boss! He guessed it on the first try!" a man in the back called out, mocking him.
Haoran clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. "I'll ask again. What do you want?"
"Straight to the point, are we?" the leader said, raising an eyebrow in mock admiration. "Fine. If you answer one simple question, we might let you walk away without a scratch. Just be honest."
Haoran remained silent, his body coiled like a spring.
"Where is that Qixian guy hiding?" the leader demanded.
Haoran's lip curled into a smirk—at this point, his biting wit was a mirror image of his twin brother. "You mean to tell me you took an order from people like them without even knowing the basics? Are you really that desperate for money, or just that incompetent?"
"You little—" The leader's face turned a deep shade of red. "Are you that eager to die?!" he roared. "Forget the questioning. Kill him! He's useless to us if he's going to be this difficult."
Haoran didn't hesitate. He carefully let his grocery bags slide to the pavement, freeing his hands.
In a flash, one of the thugs drew a knife, the glint of polished steel catching the morning sun. As the attacker lunged forward with a murderous snarl, Haoran reacted with the grace of a taekwondo black belter. He sidestepped the blade nimbly, catching the man's momentum and using it to sweep his leg, sending him crashing face-first into the concrete.
The rest of the thugs charged at once, but Haoran was a blur of motion, landing precise blocks and punishing kicks. "Did you really think it was a good idea to lay a finger on a black belt?" he taunted.
Two more thugs collapsed under his relentless assault before they could even get within striking distance. But the remaining men were fueled by desperation. One managed to slip past Haoran's guard, his blade opening a sharp gash along Haoran's ribs.
The pain was white-hot and immediate, but Haoran channeled the agony into a focused, icy rage. He launched himself back into the fray, his legs moving in a flurry of spinning kicks. In mere moments, several more thugs lay groaning and broken at his feet.
Despite his dominance, the cut on his side was bleeding heavily, beginning to soak his uniform in a deep, alarming crimson. He knew he was losing blood fast and needed to end this now. As a thug at twelve o'clock rushed him, Haoran hissed, "Aren't you all tired of losing yet?"
The attacker swung his knife in a wide arc toward Haoran's throat. Time seemed to slow down. Haoran twisted his upper body—pivoting perfectly on his back foot into a dollyo seogi stance—and drove his forearm into the man's wrist. The knife clattered uselessly to the ground.
But the fight wasn't over. Two more attackers closed in simultaneously. One swung horizontally at his chest while the other thrust upward toward his midsection. Haoran's hands moved in a blur, parrying the horizontal strike with one arm while his knee shot up like a piston, catching the second attacker squarely in the ribcage. The man's breath exploded from his lungs as he was sent flying backward, leaving Haoran standing on the center amidst the wreckage of the gang.
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"Where on earth is Haoran? Did he really head out to buy groceries by himself?" Yichen muttered, his voice echoing hollowly through the empty clinic. He paced the length of the clinic, his eyes darting toward the entrance every time the wind rattled the glass door. He had expected to find the other man busy with patient records or organizing supplies, but the silence in the clinic was starting to feel heavy and oppressive.
Nearly an hour ticked by on the wall clock, each minute stretching longer than the last. The initial annoyance at being left behind had long since curdled into a cold, gnawing dread. "Damn it, where is he?" Yichen swore under his breath, his composure finally snapping. He grabbed his jacket and bolted for the door, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs.
As he stepped out into the street, his eyes scanned the horizon with desperate intensity. "Please... just be safe," he whispered into the morning air, a silent, fervent prayer that he wasn't already too late.
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Now severely wounded and bleeding, Haoran fought with a cold, calculated precision rather than the energy of desperation. He could feel his strength waning, but his technique remained sharp. The remaining two attackers hesitated, their bravado crumbling as they looked at their group groaning in agony on the pavement. They seemed to sense the shift in the air—even injured, the man before them was a force of nature.
Haoran didn't give them a single second to reconsider their life choices. Utilizing a lethal combination of low, bone-snapping kicks and fluid spinning strikes, he managed to dismantle their formation. His ap seogi—front stance—provided a rock-solid foundation of stability as he stepped into their guard, delivering a crushing punch to one man, immediately followed by a lightning-fast high kick that connected with the man's jaw with a sickening crack.
The leader, seeing his entire gang decimated, finally turned to flee, but a lingering shred of pride made him hesitate for a fraction of a second. That hesitation was his undoing. Haoran channeled his remaining energy into a perfect flying side kick, soaring through the air and landing with such devastating force that the leader collapsed into unconsciousness before he even hit the ground.
With the threat neutralized, the adrenaline that had been keeping Haoran upright began to evaporate. His breath came in ragged gasps, and the world began to tilt dangerously. The edges of his vision grew blurry, turning the alleyway into a wash of gray and shadows.
"Haoran! Haoran!" A voice was calling his name—a frantic, desperate sound that seemed to be getting closer, yet it felt as though it were coming from the end of a long tunnel. His hearing faded into a dull hum, and his knees finally buckled.
Just as the darkness threatened to pull him under completely, he felt a pair of strong, familiar arms wrap around him.
Yichen had arrived just in time, catching Haoran before he could hit the hard concrete. "Haoran! Get a grip!" Yichen cried out, his voice cracking with a level of panic he rarely showed. He looked down at the blood soaking through Haoran's clothes and felt his own heart stop. "I've got you. Just hang on... let me take you to the hospital!"
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Sihan burst into the hospital wing, his breath coming in ragged gasps from sprinting through the corridors. He didn't stop until he reached the door to the room. "How is he? How is Haoran?" he asked, his voice trembling with exertion and fear.
"He's out of danger... the doctors said the wounds were shallow enough that they didn't hit anything critical," Yichen replied, though his own voice was heavy with exhaustion. He looked down at his blood-stained sleeves, his shoulders slumping. "I'm so sorry, Sihan. I should have gone looking for him the moment I noticed he was gone. I shouldn't have waited..."
"It wasn't your fault, Yichen. None of us could have predicted they would strike in broad daylight like this," Sihan tried to reassure his best friend, but his words felt hollow. His eyes were shimmering with unshed tears as he sank into the chair beside the bed, gently taking Haoran's pale hand in his own.