The paper in his hand was brittle and smoke-stained. A faded logo of an old taxi company — nearly erased by time — marked the corner. But Lee Rang had followed it, piecing together half-memories and gut instincts, until it led him to this place.
A narrow, rotting staircase.A nameless building.A silence that swallowed every sound.
He climbed slowly. Each step creaked beneath his boots. At the top: a black wooden door, swollen from moisture, paint peeling like dead skin.
He raised his fist to knock.
Then came the scream.
Glass shattered inside.
Rang didn't hesitate.
He kicked the door open, his shoulder crashing through the frame as splinters flew.
Inside — chaos. A masked man crouched over her.The girl from the bar. The one he'd chosen.
A jagged wine bottle pressed to her throat. She was pinned to the floor, bleeding, terrified.
Rang's body moved before his mind could catch up.
He snatched a metal lamp from a nearby table and hurled it — it struck the man's side with a crack. The attacker cursed, turning.
They clashed violently.
Rang ducked the first swing, rammed his shoulder into the man's chest, then caught a brutal punch to the jaw.His mouth filled with blood, but he didn't fall.
Instead, he drove the man backward — straight into a bookshelf.
Glass, books, and framed photos spilled everywhere. The attacker stumbled.
Rang went for him again, but the man slipped through the fire escape, vanishing into the darkness.
The apartment fell still.
Only the sound of Seo-rin's shallow breathing filled the room.
He turned back to her.She sat against the wall, one hand clutching her side.
He dropped beside her.
"You okay?"
She nodded faintly, her lips trembling.
He tore off a strip of cloth from his shirt and gently wrapped her bleeding hand.
The silence between them was thick — not awkward, but raw.
She stared at him, disoriented, and whispered,"You came… I didn't think anyone would."
He didn't reply.
Her fingers brushed his, lightly, as if grounding herself.
Then, softly:"There's something in your eyes… like someone I used to know."
Rang blinked.
Before he could speak, she reached under a pillow and pulled out a torn notebook page."I don't remember drawing this," she said, offering it to him.
He looked.It was his face — rough in pencil, but undeniably him. The scar, the shape of his eyes. Every detail.
"Maybe I saw you once… or maybe…" she trailed off.
He stared at the sketch. His mind was still catching up.
Then his eyes wandered across the apartment — not by intention, but by instinct. His gaze stopped at something on the corner shelf.
A luxury fountain pen, black and gold, placed too neatly on a cracked porcelain stand.
His breath caught.
He had seen that pen before.
He couldn't place the memory fully — just an image.His father's hand, once upon a time, signing something by lamplight.That same gold trim. That same barrel.
He squinted at it for a second longer. Then looked away.
Seo-rin didn't seem to notice his pause.
The quiet returned.
Finally, he asked:"What's your name?"
She hesitated. Her voice lowered.
"Han Seo-rin."
He stiffened slightly.
"That's a chaebol name."
She looked away. Her tone dropped to a whisper.
"Not anymore."
Elsewhere…
In a dim room lit by blue monitors, a man watched them.
Multiple camera angles showed Rang and Seo-rin in the apartment — the fight, the blood, the closeness.
A glass of whiskey sat untouched in his hand.
A suited guard leaned forward, quiet.
"Sir… should we intervene?"
The man's voice was calm.
"No. Let them burn this story together."
Back in the apartment...
Rang had finally leaned back against the wall, exhausted, eyes half-shut.
Seo-rin sat silently, staring at the same bloodstained towel in her hand.Her gaze shifted to her wrist — a pale scar barely visible under the light.
She whispered to no one:
"You wouldn't forgive me… not if you knew who I really am."