When the bill was paid and they stepped outside onto the street where the evening lights had already come on, Chang Wo lingered in the doorway for a moment. He turned around, glanced into the warm, noisy hall of the restaurant, where a piece of their family evening remained in a cloud of steam and aromas, and then at his family, already waiting for him on the sidewalk. Chang Yeon was rocking the now-awake and fussing Chang Mi, trying to place the dropped rattle toy back into his tiny little hand. Chang Su Yeon was showing her something animatedly on her phone.
He took a deep breath of the cool air, already carrying the damp chill of the approaching night gloom. The problems hadn't gone anywhere. They were waiting for him in the club office, in the form of an empty spot in the locker room, in the form of the school principal's skeptical glances. Tomorrow would bring school again, the team, the empty spot on the bench, which he felt in his bones wouldn't remain empty for long. But right now, in this moment, he had this. His fortress, built from his daughter's laughter, his wife's patience, and his son's helpless grasping reflex. His reason to fight, to breathe, to wake up.
"Let's go," he said, walking up to them and gently taking the baby carrier with his son from his wife, feeling the child immediately quiet down, snuggling against the familiar smell of his father's jacket. "Time to go home."
They walked along the sidewalk toward their car, parked near the next intersection. Chang Wo walked slightly ahead, Chang Su Yeon chatted with her mother, gesturing. The narrow stretch of path between two streetlights was plunged into deep shadow, created by the high fence of a construction site and the blank wall of the neighboring building. It was here, in this pocket of semi-darkness, that movement plucked a motionless figure from the darkness.
As they drew level with the dark gap of the alley, Ming You took a step forward. His movement was swift, sharp, and utterly silent. In his hand, clad in a black glove, a short crowbar, picked up from a nearby dumpster, traced a short, inevitable arc.
The blow struck the temple. A dull, wet click that Chang Wo didn't even hear. The world simply lurched sharply for him, colors blurred into a gray haze, and sounds—his daughter's laughter, the city noise—faded into a growing hum. He felt no pain, only a sudden, all-consuming heaviness. His knees buckled, and he collapsed onto the asphalt, releasing the baby carrier from his weakening hands. The baby Chang Mi, feeling the fall, began to cry in a piercing, frightened wail.
Chang Yeon froze for a split second, her brain refusing to process the image: her husband on the ground, a dark stain already spreading from his head, and from the darkness, a faceless figure in a hood and mask loomed over him. The instinct to scream, to shriek with all her might, overpowered the shock. She opened her mouth to let out a scream that should have torn the evening peace of the street.
The second blow was precise and calculated. The crowbar whistled through the air and slammed down on her collarbone. The crunch of bone reached Ming You clearer than the suppressed groan that escaped the woman before she slumped lifelessly next to her husband.
Chang Su Yeon stood, paralyzed with horror. Her eyes, wide open, darted from her father to her mother. Her brain, overloaded with adrenaline, issued a single command: run. Don't think, run! She tore away, toward the light of the street lamp, but didn't abandon her brother. Clutching the straps, she tried to drag the heavy carrier with the crying baby along with her. It cost her precious seconds.
Ming You caught up with her in two strides. He didn't strike. He simply grabbed her by the hair and yanked her back sharply. The girl cried out in pain and fear, losing her balance. Falling, she hit her head on the curb, and her body went limp. Chang Mi's crying became even more hysterical, tearing through the silence of the alley.
Now Ming You faced a problem. The infant. His cries were a beacon.
"Hit him? Non-lethally is very hard, and scattered baby remains are not what I need here..."
The crowbar in his hand suddenly felt unbearably heavy. He looked at Chang Wo's unconscious face, at his bloody temple.
"No. Not like this," a thought cut through his consciousness, cold and clear. "It's too simple. Too fast. A waste. He won't even see. He should see. He should watch."
The hand holding the crowbar lowered on its own. He abruptly tore off his mask, then grabbed the collar of the dark t-shirt he was wearing over another one and pulled it over his head. The coarse fabric, smelling of sweat, dust, and the tension of this evening, lay bunched up in his palm. He leaned over the carrier. The baby, choking on his cries, was flailing his tiny fists.
"Quiet. Just be quiet. Your time hasn't come yet."
He tightly, but with unexpected care, trying not to squeeze too hard, wrapped the fabric around the baby's head, muffling the cry. The sound became a muffled, pained wheeze, then turned into a gurgling, labored snuffle.
The work went faster now. He dragged the bodies deeper into the alley, toward the rear doors of his van. Then swung them open. Inside smelled of dampness and metal. Grabbing Chang Wo under the arms, he hauled him inside with indecent ease, the coach's body flopping shapelessly onto the bare floor. Then the wife. The girl. Finally, carefully, almost tenderly, he placed the carrier in a corner, from where labored, raspy snuffling sounds came.
He took out a thick nylon rope and a roll of wide clear tape from his backpack. Put on a second pair of gloves over the first ones. His movements were precise, as if he were assembling furniture from instructions. Ming You tied Chang Wo's hands behind his back, his legs together, checked the knots. Did the same with the wife and daughter. Taped their mouths shut. Then tore off a large garbage bag from the roll and put their belongings into it: Chang Yeon's purse, phone, Chang Su Yeon's pink backpack, car keys. Everything that could identify them or aid in the search.
Closing the van doors, he stepped out onto the street. The headlights of a passing car made him press against the wall, but the car drove by without slowing down. He walked a hundred meters to the large restaurant dumpster they had just left. Lifted the heavy lid and threw the garbage bag inside. The clink of keys hitting the bottom was swallowed by the general trash. He returned to the van, got behind the wheel, started the engine, and drove out of the alley, merging with the evening traffic.
He drove, not exceeding the speed limit, obeying all the rules. His face in the rearview mirror was calm, almost detached. Ming You was heading to an abandoned construction site on the outskirts of the district—the concrete skeleton of a failed office building that had stood for years, slowly crumbling. The place was his find, perfect: no residential buildings nearby, no homeless due to its bad reputation, just wind wandering through the empty floors.
The traffic light at the exit onto the ring road turned red. Ming You stopped, shifted to neutral. At that moment, a white Lexus LS rolled up smoothly, almost silently, to his left side. Ming You didn't move, but his entire being contracted into one super-sensitive knot. The Lexus's window rolled down.
"Hello again, Ming! Out for a night drive too, huh?" Tae Sagi shouted tauntingly. His voice was too loud, too deliberately cheerful for this deserted intersection.
Ming You didn't turn his head. He stared straight at the red eye of the traffic light, trying to breathe evenly.
"Hey, don't just sit there silent! Roll down your window, ple-e-e-e-ase!" Tae Sagi gestured, miming a hand-cranked window, his face shining with feigned good nature.
"Ah, I offer him my car, and he doesn't even say hello..." Tae Sagi shook his head, pretending to be offended. "Hey, where's that cheerful little Ming, huh?"
A pause. Green light for the oncoming lane. Ming You felt Tae Sagi's gaze scanning his van, as if trying to see through the metal.
"What, are you really hauling corpses from the cemetery in that van?" Tae Sagi suddenly asked, his tone becoming even more caustic. "Don't tell me I'm interrupting your future sexual intercourse with a corpse?"
At that very second, the light turned green. Ming You, without changing his expression, abruptly pushed in the clutch, shifted into gear, and hit the gas. The van jerked forward, and he made a sharp right turn onto the exit ramp leading in the opposite direction from the Lexus. In the mirror, he saw Tae Sagi's white car, not changing lanes, calmly drive straight ahead, dissolving into the night.
His heart was pounding somewhere in his throat. Ming You forced himself to take a deep breath, then exhale. His thoughts worked with a cold, almost mechanical speed.
'Will have to act faster than I thought... Coincidence? He couldn't have known. Couldn't have been following—he went the other way. To circle around and catch up to me now would take him too much time. So, really, a damned coincidence. But I can't let my guard down. Not for a second.'
Ming You took an unplanned detour, turning off the main road into a labyrinth of deserted industrial streets. Life bustled here during the day, but dead silence reigned at night, broken only by the howling wind in the frames of unfinished buildings. He drove slowly, constantly scanning the mirrors. His headlights plucked rusted factory gates, lone trucks in parking lots, piles of scrap metal from the gloom. No headlights behind. Only his lonely beams drifting in the darkness.
After forty minutes of such wandering, he finally turned onto the long-sought dirt road. The road was broken, the van bounced on potholes, rocking with its entire body. A dark patch of woods drifted by on the right, a field overgrown with weeds on the left. Finally, ahead rose what he was looking for: the concrete skeleton of a multi-story building, its black silhouette thrusting into the starry sky.
He drove up to the rusty chain hanging between concrete blocks—his makeshift barrier. Killed the engine, got out. Silence crashed down on him, almost physically oppressive after the engine's hum. Only the rustle of tall, dry grass and somewhere in the distance—the wail of a far-off siren.
Ming You unclipped the chain, moved the heavy block aside, leaving enough space to drive through. Then hurriedly returned to the wheel, started the van, and slowly drove under the concrete ceilings of the ground floor. The space was huge, like a cave. The air was cold, still, and smelled of dust, dampness, and bird droppings. He parked in the farthest corner, where the shadow was especially thick, and killed the engine again.
This time, the silence was final. He sat in the dark for several minutes, listening. No sound from outside. No movement. Only his own heartbeat.