Chapter Text
After nearly two weeks of bouncing between high end dinners and the spare energy bars he’d cram into his mouth during late night patrols, Seokju almost forgets how deliciously simple the triangle kimbap at the local convenience store is.
Both he and Ijin eat in a comfortable silence as Yeona chatters excitedly about their latest trip to America. Dayeon oohs and aahs at each story, completely enraptured. Ijin doesn’t ask any questions himself – not surprising, in and of itself – but that faint, fond smile lingers each time he glances at his sister.
Ever the doting big brother.
As if Seokju didn’t watch Ijin nearly decapitate one of the sparring dummies at their last training session.
Seokju smothers his own breathy chuckle with another sip of soda. There’s something peaceful about these low stake moments. No special assignments with potential danger lurking behind every smiling stranger. No fingers slamming against the keys as rival players launch their attacks.
His gaze wanders across the opposite street: a routine perimeter check disguised as a casual glance. The others in Team 3 insist that he should spend some time being an actual teen during these little respites, but Seokju always finds it hard to “turn off” so soon after an overseas assignment.
Every little detail is crucial when it comes to preventing tragedy.
Two trash cans, both overflowing. Perhaps the steady stream of visitors to the store is keeping employees from emptying it sooner?
A van is parked in the adjacent alleyway. Parking tickets flutter under the windshield wipers. Abandoned or left intentionally?
Two additional bodyguards stand nearby, stiff and alert with their ears angled ever so slightly towards their table. They’ll claim it’s protocol to be within earshot of their client, though Seokju half-suspects they’re nosey for teenage gossip.
When he refocuses on his friends at the table, he catches Ijin’s brief nod.
He’s probably watching the same things.
It’s reassuring to be so in tune with someone else. Especially someone who cares about Yeona’s safety, too.
Which reminds me—
Yeona launches into another story about the aquarium they visited while abroad. She pulls out her phone and starts swiping through photos. Dayeon scoots her chair closer for a better look at the fluttering jellyfish tentacles and vibrant fish scales.
Seokju takes the opportunity to lean closer to Ijin. Meeting up with the Yu siblings is more than just a social visit.
“We received several threatening letters while overseas,” Seokju murmurs, voice low. “Most were intercepted before they reached Yeona, but one still made it through.”
He grimaces at the memory: the envelope resting beside Yeona’s breakfast tray and the smile draining from her face as her eyes roved across the page. Whoever sent them had enough influence or enough desperation to get into their hotel suite.
“The identity of the sender?”
Seokju shakes his head. “We don’t know. The letters were hand delivered. Nothing from forensics – no DNA or traceable evidence. The company we were meeting claimed they had no knowledge of this.”
Ijin frowns. “What did the letters say?”
“The first few seemed harmless enough. If not for the way we found them, we would’ve assumed they were from a fan.”
A fan.
It wouldn’t be the first time – and, much to his disgust, probably not the last – they dealt with a stranger who claimed to be a “fan” of Yeona. The overly familiar tone and the fantasies always turned his stomach each time they encountered this type of situation.
“They became more hateful as time went on,” Seokju continues. “Including the one that Yeona found. Some letters even mentioned the names of those on Team 3 who accompanied us on the trip.”
Ijin’s brow furrows. “Then they must’ve been close.”
Seokju grunts. “Close enough to know who was around Yeona while we were there. Maybe close enough to know our schedule, even during our free time.”
During a venture to the local aquarium, he had been the one who spotted those damn envelopes, wedged between stuffed animals at the gift shop or left on exhibit displays. He crammed them in his pocket before Yeona noticed and subtly notified the other members of his team. Even so, he couldn’t fight the lingering unease of someone watching, circling like the dead-eyed sharks in their tanks.
After that day, the letters evolved into threats, as the cloyingly sweet words became twisted by frustration and indignation. By the last few letters, Seokju’s name appeared more frequently than Yeona’s. Whoever this person was, they knew exactly who was keeping them away from their target.
Seokju nods. “There haven’t been any letters since we’ve returned. We’re hoping this means this situation is over, but…”
Yeona laughs as she pretends to mimic the penguin trainers from the aquarium. Although she seems at ease with Dayeon, Seokju knows the shadows under her eyes aren’t solely from jetlag.
“We need to be sure,” Ijin confirms with a nod.
Seokju spares him a grateful smile. The top members of the SW security team are already on the case, but Ijin’s quiet certainty fills him with even more confidence.
Maybe because he’s close to Yeona as well.
Another pair of trained eyes and trained fists. If the stalker wants to get to Yeona, then they’ll have to get through him and Ijin, first.
“Oh! Seokju! Did you bring the souvenir we got for Dayeon?” Yeona’s grin stretches wider as she grabs Dayeon’s hand. “The otters at the aquarium were so cute. They kinda reminded me of you!”
“Mmmhmm. I brought it with me.” Seokju reaches for the bag by his ankles.
An engine rumbles to life. Still hunched over, Seokju’s attention snaps to where the abandoned van was parked. Headlights burn into eyes, momentarily blinding him, as the van tears towards them.
“Move!” Ijin reacts first. He lunges over the table and wraps his sister in a protective embrace before they both tumble to the side.
Dark spots swim in Seokju’s vision. Through the haze, he catches a glimpse of the van’s side door opening.
Shit.
He grabs Yeona’s arm and pulls her to the ground as a hailstorm of bullets soar over their heads. The windows of the convenience store shatter and several of the outdoor displays explode in a burst of gnarled metal and plastic. Seokju shrugs his jacket further over his shoulder. The loose fabric and his own torso blocks the rain of glass shards and ricocheting debris from hitting Yeona.
Yeona’s fingers tangle in his shirt. He nudges her further under the table, keeping himself between her and their assailants. His mind whirls. Is this an assassination attempt or a potential kidnapping?
The shooting stops. His ears ring from the gunfire, a painful echo reverberating through his skull.
Slowly, other sounds start to separate from the chaos.
Screaming erupts from within the convenience store. Tires squeal against pavement, accompanied by the roar of the engine. He’s distantly aware of the other bodyguards shouting, both into their phones and at him.
Yeona’s still trembling when they both inch out from under the table. Nevertheless, she nods firmly when he asks if she’s alright. He looks her over once, twice. Apart from a scraped knee, she doesn’t appear to be harmed. He climbs to his feet and helps her into the nearest chair.
He supposes he ought to sit, too, but the adrenaline jitters through his veins. It’s been some time since he’s dealt with firearms. Certainly not a common occurrence in Korea.
Whether their assailants’ goal was to kill or kidnap, having that sort of weaponry is a grim sign. He glances over his shoulder at the destroyed convenience store. The lack of concern for innocent civilians is just as daunting.
Right! Civilians!
He startles and spins to where he last saw the Yu siblings. Dayeon blinks, dazed but protected behind an upturned metal table. Ijin stands over her, glaring in the direction of where the van fled.
Seokju winces. He can’t remember the last time he saw such vivid fury on his friend’s face. If not for the tight grip Dayeon has on her brother’s jacket hem, Seokju half-wonders if Ijin would’ve chased the van down on foot.
Still, everyone looks to be safe, and their attackers are far away. Some of the pent up tension drains away as he lets out a stifled sigh. In the distance, sirens wail. It’s only a matter of time before more members of the SW security team join them.
In preparation for the inevitable questioning, Seokju runs through the attack. He doesn’t remember much before the shooting started. The flare of headlights, the screech of the tires – little flashbulb memories tangled up in broken glass and spilled cup ramen.
Hell, he isn’t even sure if the van was white or gray.
Maybe Ijin caught more details. He knew something was wrong before I did.
“Seokju?” Yeona’s face looms close. “You’re bleeding! Are you alright?” She gestures at her cheek.
“Huh?”
Seokju blinks and mirrors the motion. When he pulls his hand from his face, his fingertips glisten crimson. He traces the sting again, following along the small tear in his skin. It’s no bigger than a centimeter or two.
As the adrenaline fades, more pain radiates along his arms. He tugs on his sleeves to reveal patches where powdered glass embedded itself into the meat of his palms and the underside of his wrist. More blood dampens the once-crisp cuffs of his school jacket.
Probably from crawling on the ground.
Ijin glances his way, a brow hoisted. Apart from a smear of dust on his elbows and a sprinkle of glass in his hair, he looks completely untouched. Almost as if nothing had happened – like getting shot at was an everyday occurrence for him.
Seokju shakes his head with a rueful smile. Typical.
Honestly? Seokju thinks his pride might hurt worse than the shallow cuts.
“I’m fine. I must’ve gotten caught by some glass.” He offers a warmer smile at Yeona.
Dayeon jumps to her feet and gestures at the convenience store door. “I can go buy some bandages!”
Seokju opens his mouth to argue, because really – his injuries are mere scrapes and are the employees actually going to be able to help customers after being shot at, anyway? However, before he can stop her, she’s already rushed into the store.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Yeona asks again, her lips puckered in a frown.
Seokju frowns. This feels like some sort of role reversal. He should be the one asking that question. It’s his job to worry over her. She was the target, after all.
“Of course.”
Yeona looks skeptical. Her eyes dart from the bullet holes in the convenience store’s exterior to the shattered glass on the pavement. For a moment, she looks like she wants to say something else, but Mr. Han approaches to check her condition.
Ijin watches his sister through the broken window. Tension knots in his brow when he turns back to Seokju.
“When I find out more, you’ll be the first person I call,” Seokju tells him, answering the unspoken request.
Ijin nods.
Nothing more needs to be said.
Their texts are simple, straight-to-the-point.
Seokju starts the conversation with a single word.
Hungry?
Barely thirty seconds pass before Ijin’s response flares on his phone screen.
Yu Ijin: fifteen minutes
Seokju grabs his favorite hoodie and slips out the door immediately after getting Ijin’s text. Even so, Ijin is already at the convenience store when Seokju parks his car.
It’s not yet midnight, but the lights within the store are dimmed. The quietness feels strange, though Seokju can’t blame the store for closing early. Caution tape wraps around the bullet-mangled furniture while wooden boards replace the once sparkling windows.
Seokju flicks a glance at the nearby security camera as he approaches the store. How much time will they have before a nervous neighbor calls the police on them?
Ijin straightens up from his crouch as Seokju approaches. “The bullets have already been removed.”
“That was our team,” Seokju says. “A different section of the SW security team came by after we left. They’re still going through surveillance footage to see where the van went, but they did get some basic info from ballistics.”
“Any leads?”
Seokju crosses his arms and leans his shoulder against the pockmarked concrete wall. He waits for the trepidation or anxiety to hit him – after all, this is where he was shot at just a few hours earlier – but his nerves remain surprisingly steady.
Without Yeona or other civilians nearby, the pressure feels less intense.
“The bullets were most likely manufactured in America. The ones that hit the walls were pretty deformed, but they did manage to find a few relatively intact bullets. The specialists think they might’ve used—”
“Semi-automatic pistols. Specifically 9mm.”
Seokju blinks. “How’d you know?”
Ijin holds up his hand; copper glints in the weak streetlight glow. “One of the bullets was lodged in the metal blinds.”
Yeah, but that still doesn’t explain how you knew that.
Seokju sighs and pushes the thought away. He’s been keeping his promise to refrain from digging into Ijin’s background. This’ll just have to be another mystery.
“It appears that these guns have been used in other crimes around the world. Mostly assassinations. They must be contract killers. The bigger question is who hired them.”
Ijin hums, the tone hard to interpret.
“I don’t know if this is connected to what happened during our last trip,” Seokju adds after another stretch of silence. “We can’t ignore the possibility, though.”
From letters to bullets. The escalation is extreme.
When Seokju wrinkles his nose, the bandage on his cheek stretches taut.
“Oh, right – how’s your sister doing? I’m sure this must’ve been frightening for her.” Seokju pulls away from the wall. “Yeona was texting with her earlier, but I still wanted to check with you.”
Ijin’s gaze drops to where Dayeon was sitting earlier that day. “She says she’s fine, but I don’t want her to be in danger. We need to find who’s responsible.” His fingers curl into fists, the retrieved bullet disappearing within his palm.
Seokju sighs and scratches along the underside of his jaw. “This won’t mean much, but it looks like Dayeon was the furthest from the shooters.” He waves his arm in a loose trajectory of the bullets, sweeping from the edge of the convenience store railing to the shattered glass.
“See?” he offers with a bland smile. “She wasn’t in the line of fire at all. They shot from an angle.”
Ijin seems to consider this, looking from where the van was to where Dayeon sat. Seokju wouldn’t call his friend’s reaction relaxed, but at least some of the tension drains from his stiff shoulders.
“Right.”
“Actually, from where the bullets hit…” Seokju squints and reaches for one of the divots in the concrete. Most cluster around the area where he had been sitting. Yeona would’ve only been grazed at worst, if they hadn’t reacted sooner.
If they were trying to hit her, then their aim was really off. Seokju glances back at the street. Maybe it’s hard shooting from a moving vehicle.
He wouldn’t know. His experience with firearms is limited.
Or maybe something happened to mess them up.
He shakes his head, dismissing the thought. Proper bodyguards don’t rely on luck, and they certainly don’t underestimate those trying to harm their VIPs.
Until the situation is resolved, he’ll just have to stay vigilant.
A few days pass. No new information. No one knows if the assailants will strike again or if Yeona is the only target.
Ijin can sense the unease growing among the other bodyguards. It looms heavy, foreboding and prickling like a tropical thunderstorm on the horizon. He sees it in their tense faces, their coiled up muscles, their punches that don’t carry the same force.
Ijin doesn’t like the uncertainty either – not when Dayeon was at the center of the last attack – but he forces the discomfort away.
He follows the other members of Team 2 out the front door of the SW building. Ijin frowns. Three black cars – not the usual two – line up along the curve.
Standing nearby, Seokju lifts his hand up in a quick wave and approaches. Ijin reflexively glances around for Yeona, but she’s nowhere to be seen.
“We don’t know when the next attack will be,” Seokju explains when he gets close. “The higher ups decided that some members of Team 3 should shadow Team 2, since you’ve had more experience with firearms.”
Ijin nods. Sounds reasonable enough. After all, his job is to guard Ms. Jiye; having additional bodyguards around doesn’t change that.
“Yeona won’t be leaving the building today – something about meeting up with some of her oversea friends online – so I volunteered to join Team 2.” Seokju’s expression hardens. “I need to be prepared, too.”
Ijin nods again.
Ms. Jiye strides out of the building, followed by Mr. Park. “Let’s hurry. We’re on a tight schedule,” she calls.
A smile curls on her lips when her gaze lands on Ijin. He offers Seokju a brief wave before hurrying to the second car. As he climbs into his usual seat beside Ms. Jiye, he can hear Mr. Park directing the Team 3 newcomers on where to go.
Seokju ends up in the third car, while Mr. Han ends up in the first car. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches the third car trail close behind as they leave the SW entrance.
“I heard you were there when the gunmen shot at Yeona,” Ms. Jiye breaks the silence first. “Thank you for keeping her safe.”
Ijin turns away from the window. “Seokju did most of the work. I needed to make sure my sister was safe.”
“Ah, but in the report, Seokju said you noticed the assailants first. He might not have reacted as quickly without your warning.”
He shrugs. “We work well together.”
Ms. Jiye chuckles under her breath. Ijin doesn’t think he said anything particularly humorous. Truly, he was just telling the truth; his priority in that moment had been Dayeon’s safety.
However, he’s long since given up trying to understand the nuances to Ms. Jiye’s strange questions and insistences. They almost remind him of 003’s word games, albeit far kinder and far less bloody.
“Nevertheless, thank you for what you did.” Ms. Jiye props her chin against her fist while hiding her smile against the window. “Strangely enough, I think I’m growing rather fond of my cousin.”
Ijin considers her words for a moment longer before returning to stare out the window. Pedestrians and street signs and flashing billboards blur past in a swirl of color and light. The third car remains only a few meters behind, close enough for Ijin to catch a glimpse of the driver.
A horn blares. Ijin’s attention snaps to the intersection they just passed. Although their light flares red, a white van surges forward, nearly crashing into an oncoming car.
Ijin stiffens. He leans forward in his seat. “That white van may be the one from the previous attack,” he murmurs into Mr. Park’s ear.
“You sure?”
“Not positive, but it’s the same color and make. It’s also gaining speed.”
Mr. Park’s eyes dart to the rearview mirror. Beside him, the driver’s grip tightens around the steering wheel. The white van revs loudly as it overtakes another driver several cars behind them.
“I’ll notify the others.” Mr. Park spares Ijin a curt nod as he reaches for his phone.
Ijin settles back into his seat. One hand hovers over the release to his safety belt, while the other braces against the car door.
“Are they looking for Yeona? Or are they after another target?” Ms. Jiye murmurs, her brow furrowed.
The van jerkily swerves around another car as it accelerates to keep up with their car. Mr. Park swears under his breath.
Ijin tenses. Now the only barrier between the van is their third car. The van slows slightly, as if those inside hesitate before making their strike.
Do they know which car Ms. Jiye is in?
The uncertainty might buy them extra time.
Then, the van rams directly into the third car. Tires squeal and the windows shatter. Metal sheers with a bone-grating shrieking as the side of the car crumples. Cars on the opposite side of the road honk and swerve to escape the chaos. Pedestrians on the sidewalk scream and scatter.
Mr. Park strikes his palm against the dashboard. “Go! Go!” he shouts. “We’re almost there. We’ll have more support once we arrive.”
The driver nods and accelerates. Ijin spins in his seat, watching through the back window. He waits for the van to detach and come for them next. Instead, it continues to shove against the third car until the latter flips onto its side and skids across the sidewalk. Ijin’s fingers dig into the seat fabric.
Seokju.
Even as they round the corner and pass through another intersection, the white van doesn’t chase after them. By the time they reach their destination, they’ve completely lost the van and a dozen bodyguards wait by the curb. Ijin’s head jerks from side to side as he scours their surroundings for any potential dangers. This is the perfect setup for an ambush: the chaotic distraction and the momentary lull of safety.
Ms. Jiye shifts to stand in his direct line of vision. “Go check on your friend and the others.”
Ijin shakes his head. “I can’t leave your side. There’s still an ongoing threat.”
She gestures at the bodyguards surrounding them. “I’m at the destination. I’ll be fine for a little bit. You can come back when you’re done.”
Ijin hesitates. It only takes a few seconds for a situation to spiral or a heart to stop beating. He shouldn’t leave his post, no matter how the sound of crumpling steel refuses to fade from his memory.
“Go on, kid,” Mr. Park adds with a jerk of the head. “The others won’t be in any condition to assess the scene. You might be the best bet for determining who might’ve done this.”
It still sounds like an excuse, but Ijin can see the value in the counterargument. The sooner they know who tried to kill Yeona and Ms. Jiye, the sooner they can stop them.
It’s the only way to permanently protect the VIPs. And, consequently, his family.
“Understood.”
Ijin dips his head at Ms. Jiye and the Team 2 leader. Then, he pivots on his heel and races down the sidewalk.
When he reaches the site of the accident, the white van has already vanished. Pedestrians cluster around the overturned car, their phones aimed at the wreckage. Ijin spares them a side-eyed glance. Did any of them accidentally capture details of the attack?
He pushes through the crowd. It’s not a matter for him to investigate now. The SW security team can handle thin leads. He needs to inspect the actual scene before the authorities disrupt evidence.
The stench of spilled gasoline burns his nostrils. Glass shards coat the pavement and the sidewalk. The headlights of the damaged car still glow, even though the protective covering has been smashed. A massive dent curves into the side of the car, mangling the driver’s side and the back seat door.
A mess, certainly. But Ijin’s seen worse accidents. Survived worse, even.
He cuts straight for where Seokju sits on the edge of the curb. Seokju winces as another bodyguard shines a flashlight in his eyes, but the older man seems satisfied with what he observes. He spares Ijin a polite nod before moving to the next bodyguard.
“Are you alright?” Ijin asks as he approaches.
Seokju blinks once, twice. He grimaces while rubbing at his eyelids. Blood trickles from his dark hair, though Ijin can’t see the source of the injury. More blood stains the elbows of his white dress shirt, while his dark suit jacket has been tossed to the side.
“Yeah, I’m okay. Just a few cuts and bruises, I think.” He squints up at Ijin. “What about Ms. Jiye? Did the van come after you? We lost sight of it after the collision.”
“It didn’t. We made it to the destination safely.”
Seokju exhales and nods. “Good. I was worried they’d hit you next. They must not have realized we were the decoy.”
“Maybe.” Ijin’s gaze wanders to the wreckage.
Their windows carry a slight tint, but not enough to completely obscure the occupants. His eyes narrow, suspicion creeping in. There’s something they’re missing. Trained mercenaries or assassins wouldn’t be so reckless. Not when the real target was obviously in a different vehicle.
Could it be a warning then? A threat rather than a true assassination attempt?
It might explain why the shots on Yeona were so sloppy.
“Where were you sitting when the van hit?” Ijin asks.
“Behind the driver.”
Ijin’s brow jumps up.
Seokju lets out a humorless scoff and leans backwards. “Yeah, looks pretty bad, huh?” He tilts his head towards the sky, his expression growing distant. “I had already unbuckled so I could get a better look at the van through the back window. When Mr. Choi tried to swerve to escape them, I got knocked into the middle seat.” His forehead wrinkles. “Right before the collision happened, actually.”
Things would have turned out much worse if Seokju stayed in his original seat. Ijin’s stomach twists. It’s a different sensation than hunger, though no less hollow.
“Even though I was the closest, I wasn’t able to see anything that could help. Everything happened too fast.” Seokju shakes his head with a frustrated sigh.
“It’s likely this is the same group that targeted Yeona earlier.” Ijin’s frown grows.
First Yeona and now Ms. Jiye?
Someone is after the Chairman’s granddaughters.
The timing couldn’t be worse.
A day after the second attack, the business partners from America announce that they’ll be coming to Korea to finalize their contract. During their latest briefing, Mr. Park informs Team 2 that all members of the incoming party have been thoroughly screened and there is no evidence linking them to the recent assassination attempts.
Nevertheless, Ijin refuses to lower his guard. Not when Ms. Jiye or Yeona remain at risk. Too many coincidences in too short of time always spell disaster.
When the guests arrive, flanked by their own stern-faced security team, Ijin commits each face to memory. He doesn’t recognize anyone.
At least, no one from his days as Jin or 001.
Apart from some tense introductions, each side sizing up the other, the visit soon shifts to mundane dealings. Ms. Jiye spends most of her time in conference rooms, safely surrounded by her bodyguards.
Another day passes without incident.
Ijin is halfway through a routine perimeter sweep when he runs into Yeona and Seokju. He waits as Yeona rushes towards him, Seokju trailing a few steps behind.
“Ijin! There you are!” Yeona slows to a stop and flashes him a wide grin. “I’ve missed seeing you. How are you?”
Ijin smiles faintly. “Good. Team 2 has been busy with the ongoing negotiations with our international guests.”
Yeona’s smile falters for the briefest second. Seokju glances her way before speaking. “Has anything happened?” he asks.
Ijin shakes his head. “No. Nothing related to what happened earlier.”
“That’s good.” Yeona forces an exasperated huff. “I’ll be glad when this is over.”
Ijin’s focus shifts to their outfits. Both of them are still dressed in their school uniforms.
Unusual for this time.
“No training today?” he asks Seokju.
After all, if Ijin wasn’t assigned to active duty as a member of Team 2, he’d be halfway through sparing practice with Team 3, too.
Seokju offers a bland smile while smoothing out a crease along the gray jacket folded over his forearm. “I’m not allowed to resume training until next week. A precaution from the last attack.”
“Because you hit your head!” Yeona counters. “You should still be resting.”
Seokju’s smile curls a little higher. “I’m still cleared to accompany Yeona, but they’ve assigned extra security to compensate.” He gestures at the trio of black-suited guards hovering around them.
Ijin nods. Keeping him close will help. He’s one of the few people who’ve witnessed both attacks. He might be able to draw connections that others can’t.
Ijin’s gaze flicks to his watch. Time to keep moving.
“I should get back to work.”
Yeona deflates slightly before reviving her smile. “Of course. You’re very busy.” She pauses. Fiddles with her jacket hem. “Just make sure you’re careful, okay? I don’t want you to get hurt, too.”
“Keep us posted if anything happens,” Seokju adds.
“I will.”
Ijin offers them both a smile before continuing on his route. He winds around the left side of the building, loops through the accountant offices, and takes the stairs to the next floor. Two more floors and he’ll be back at the conference rooms.
Still, might as well check the floor where the lower executives work.
All clear.
No issues.
Nothing out of the—
The stairwell door above him slams shut, accompanied by the sound of approaching footsteps. A large man hurries past, nearly clipping Ijin on the shoulder.
“Watch where you’re going, punk,” the man grumbles under his breath.
Ijin narrows his eyes. Spoken in English. Not Korean.
The man’s light blond hair and gray-blue eyes further solidifies Ijin’s suspicions that he must be one of the American visitors.
Except…
None of the security members shared this man’s features.
Something metallic clangs in the man’s jacket when he cuts too sharp of a turn, his hip knocking against the stairwell railing.
Got you.
Ijin launches himself over the stairwell railing. He sails through the air before his heel collides with the man’s shoulder. The force of the collision knocks Ijin’s target off balance and sends him tumbling down the rest of the flight of stairs.
Ijin lands more gracefully and watches from several steps up.
“Why did you do that?” the man shouts in English. He forces a pained grimace and pantomimes an injured leg. “What’s wrong with you?”
Ijin narrows his eyes and doesn’t move. The man clicks his tongue, the helpless expression immediately dropping.
“Fucker.”
He yanks a gun from his side holster and fires at Ijin. Ijin lunges to the side. He grabs onto the stairwell railing, building on his body’s momentum, and soars towards the man. His foot strikes the man’s chest before he can knock off another shot.
The man gasps and staggers backwards, his head cracking against the concrete wall. He scrambles to aim his gun, but Ijin knocks it away and sends it skittering down the next flight of steps.
With another swear, the man lunges. Ijin ducks the swinging fist and bashes his elbow into the man’s face. Blood and frustrated curses spew from his mouth. Ijin sweeps the man’s left ankle and shoves him to the concrete.
“Who hired you?” Ijin demands. He drops onto the man, pinning him, face-first, to the ground.
The man glares at him over his shoulder. He tries to use his extra bulk to his advantage in an attempt to buck Ijin off. Ijin retaliates with a sharp knee in the man’s spine, keeping him painfully immobilized.
“Who’s the target?”
No answer. Just another stream of curses and writhing.
Stubborn… or he doesn’t understand Korean.
“Who hired you?” Ijin repeats in English. “Who’s your target?”
The man spits a glob of blood at Ijin. “Fuck you.”
Ijin snags the man’s pinky finger and squeezes, the bone buckling underneath. The man hisses in pain but offers nothing. Ijin’s eyes narrow as he snaps the next finger.
Again, nothing.
Ijin’s lips press in a thin line. The intimidation technique works on pathetic high school bullies and low-ranking gangsters, but it’ll only waste time on a trained killer.
Time for a new approach, then. He tangles his fingers in the man’s hair and slams his face once, twice into the concrete. The man groans as he slips into unconsciousness. Ijin flips him over and searches through the man’s pockets for a more useful clue.
There.
He tugs a folded photograph from the man’s breast pocket. A glimpse at the man’s true target?
Ijin unfolds the photograph, and his blood runs cold at the familiar face.
Dark hair, dark eyes. A school uniform.
Their target isn’t Ms. Jiye or Yeona.