The training session was intense. So Ho and his sister stood on the court, surrounded by tall trees. The sun was already beginning to set beyond the horizon, and its last, honeyed rays illuminated their training ground, creating a warm and cozy atmosphere that felt so alien to Ming You.
So Ho, dressed in the "Yoshido" sports uniform with number 14 that the coach had issued him, wore a focused expression as he deftly spun the ball on his index finger, warming up his hand. Ming You noticed the automatic movement of his left hand — So Ho rubbed his wrist where his watch would be, checking an internal rhythm.
"Come on, So Yeon!" he shouted, winking at his sister, and the usual wariness in his gray eyes vanished for a moment, replaced by an open, almost childish excitement. "Try to get past me! I'll give you a head start — three points!"
So Yeon smiled, and her face, so similar to her brother's, lit up with playful spirit.
"A head start? You're insulting me, bro!" She bounced lightly on the spot, warming up her calves. "I'm feeling a hundred percent today!"
"We'll see," So Ho smirked, and his body instantly transformed: his back straightened, his shoulders dropped, and his gaze focused on an imaginary hoop.
He began dribbling, low and fast, the ball practically glued to his palm, bouncing with a dull, rhythmic thump. His movements were economical and precise, without a single wasted centimeter.
"I bet you can't steal the ball from me in the next two minutes."
"You're on?" So Yeon adopted a defensive stance, her eyes narrowing as they followed every wobble of the ball. "If I do, you do the dishes for the entire next week."
"Deal," So Ho nodded, a smile touching his lips. "And if you don't — you make me that protein shake with cinnamon, the one that makes my face scrunch up."
They froze for an instant, as if before a throw-off. Then So Yeon lunged. She moved not with bravado, but with the grace and strength of an experienced athlete. Her hand shot towards the ball, but So Ho, anticipating it, took a tiny step back, spun the ball behind his back, and sharply changed direction.
"Hey, not so fast?" he teased, laughing, but there was no malice in his laughter, only sporting zeal, as she nearly lost her balance from taking too wide a step.
"Ha-ha, as if!" So Yeon snorted, bouncing back and immediately refocusing. "You've gotten trickier. Feeling the influence of... that team?"
The question hung in the air and the game slowed for a second. A shadow flitted sharply across So Ho's face.
"Not their influence," he said more quietly, continuing to dribble. "Their... existence. It makes you think three steps ahead. See not just the player, but the trap. But here, with you... it's pure here."
"Here is where it should be pure," So Yeon said firmly.
She attacked again, this time using a series of quick body feints.
"Don't let them break you, Ho. Your basketball is yours. The system, the discipline... Not the crap they're pushing there."
So Ho, dodging, caught the ball and stopped for a moment.
"They're not pushing, Yeong. They... breathe it in. And that's worse. It's not a flash of rage, it's a cold, calculated confidence. And they depend on it... On him... On Ming You..."
Ming You, sitting in the shadows, heard his name. His fingers tapped silently on his knee:
"Heh-heh, interesting..."
"That guy..." So Yeon shook her head, moving closer. "I saw him once when I picked you up. Empty eyes, just like a statue. Does he scare you?"
"He doesn't scare me," So Ho answered quickly, rubbing his wrist again. "He... irritates me. Like a dirty stain on a clean parquet floor. He turns everything into a game, but only writes the rules for himself. And Chang Woo... the coach... his disappearance isn't an accident."
"You think Ming You...?" So Yeon's voice became very quiet.
"I don't think, I'm almost sure," So Ho replied just as quietly. His gaze grew heavy. "But there's no proof. Just logic. And he knows I see it. That's why he's pressing. Offering this game. It's not a chance to make a comeback, it's a noose."
"Then don't play!" burst out from So Yeon. "Leave that team, forget about it!"
"I can't," So Ho shook his head, and a familiar stubbornness flared in his eyes for Ming You to see. "If I leave, he'll break the others. Jen Ryu, Mei Yu... they won't understand what they've gotten into until it's too late. And also..." he took a deep breath. "I have to find out the truth. About the coach, about all of it. The game might be the only way to get close to it."
"This is insane, Ho! You're taking a risk!"
"Risk is part of the game," he said, and smiled again, but the smile was strained. "And I know how to play. Fairly. And maybe fairness is what he has no defense against. Alright, enough seriousness. You wanted to steal the ball, right? The two minutes are almost up."
They plunged back into the game, but the atmosphere had changed. So Ho's movements now carried not just sporting intensity, but that very cold resolve he had spoken of. So Ho wasn't just dodging; he was analyzing his sister's style, predicting, forcing her to do what was advantageous for him. He executed perfect pivots, sharp stops, and shots with his off-hand.
"That's it!" he shouted, performing a complex spin move they once considered an impossible trick together, and confidently drove to the basket for an easy layup.
"God... How did you do that?!" A sincere, admiring exclamation escaped So Yeon. She froze, staring at him. "You... you've changed over these weeks."
"Stronger?" asked So Ho, picking up the bounced ball.
"More dangerous," corrected So Yeon. "In a good way. Like a blade being sharpened on a stone."
So Ho's gaze became distant for a moment.
"A stone... yeah. He is exactly that stone."
Ming You watched, and a cold satisfaction slowly spread through his veins. This dialogue was more valuable than any surveillance. He didn't just see a target. He saw motivation, weaknesses, and most importantly — resolve:
"So Ho won't run away just like that, he'll walk into the trap because he considers it his duty... An idealist to the core... His sister, this So Yeon... Her presence makes him even more vulnerable. In the basement, under the red light, this bond could become a wonderful catalyst for fear, heh-heh."
The game resumed, now in a one-on-one streetball format. The excitement returned, laughter sounded again, but Ming You was no longer listening. He was counting. Counting down the seconds until darkness fell. Noting how So Ho, before starting each play, performed his little ritual: adjusting his armbands, taking three deep breaths.
Finally, when the sun had completely disappeared, staining the sky the color of a bruise, and dim lights flickered on over the court, So Yeon, breathing heavily, raised her hands.
"Alright, I give up! You're just a monster today. Time to go home, I still have notes to review."
"A fair victory," So Ho declared with feigned importance, wiping sweat from his brow. "Don't forget about the shake. Double cinnamon."
"You're the cinnamon," his sister retorted, but smiling. "Help me carry the bags?"
As they gathered the scattered water bottles and backpacks, Ming You silently rose from the bench. He put on a black beanie, completely covering his hair, and a medical mask. His silhouette finally dissolved into the gathering dusk.
He moved not like a shadow, but as part of the darkness, a natural extension of it. The adrenaline he had contemplated earlier wasn't "boiling." It flowed through his veins as a cold, clear current, sharpening his perception to the limit. Every sound — So Yeon's laughter, the clink of the buckle on So Ho's backpack, a distant dog's bark — occupied its distinct place in his consciousness.
So Ho, bending down to fasten his backpack, was saying something to his sister about the training schedule for tomorrow. He was relaxed, satisfied with a good workout, his thoughts already at home, with a textbook or a plan for the upcoming game.
Ming You approached from behind in absolute silence. In his hand was not a stone he had picked up near the bench.
Thud!
The first blow landed precisely on So Ho's temple. A dull, wet sound, not loud but distinct. The young man's body went limp and sank to the ground soundlessly, not having time to utter a sound.
"Ho?!" So Yeon turned at the noise of the fall, her eyes widening in incomprehension.
Thud!
The second blow was quick and precise, almost merciful in its efficiency — to the base of her skull. Her cry froze in her throat, turning into a short exhale. She collapsed next to her brother.
Ming You paused for an instant, standing over the two motionless figures, listening to the night's silence. No cries of alarm, no hurried footsteps. The sports ground was finally empty. Quickly, almost with practical care, he pressed his fingers to both their necks, checking for a pulse. Under the skin, he felt a weak but rhythmic flutter of life.
"Alive... wouldn't want the show to end before it even begins," a cold, calculating thought flashed through his head.
He wiped the stone on the hem of his sweatshirt and put it in his deep pocket. Then he took off his own beanie and carefully, even meticulously, pulled it over So Ho's head, completely covering the bloody wound on his temple.
For the next few minutes, Ming You devoted himself to a cursory but thorough reconnaissance. His gaze slid over the dark windows of the surrounding houses, stopped at solitary streetlights, searching for the black domes of cameras. Nothing.
He quickly, at a light jog, ran the entire assumed route to the van, listening and peering into every side alley, every possible vantage point. The dead-end behind the repair shop was empty; the van was where it should be. No sound of footsteps, no muffled voices from around the corner, no yellowish glow of a phone screen in the dark.
The silence and desolation were absolute. Having ensured the field was clear, he returned to the bodies, his breathing even, face calm. Now he needed to move them.
Ming You started with the girl. Lifting So Yeon, he carried her to the nearest bench and sat her down, carefully leaning her back and head against the backrest, placing her hands on her knees. He adjusted her hair and tilted her head slightly to the side — from a distance, it could look as if she had simply dozed off, tired after training.
Then he returned to So Ho. Ming You turned the young man to face away from him, bent down, hooked his arms under So Ho's knees, and hoisted him onto his back. So Ho hung on him like a lifeless burden; Ming You firmly clasped his hands under So Ho's knees, and the youth's body and head lolled limply behind his back. From the side, it could pass for an attempt to help a drunk or sleeping friend get home. It was precisely like this — as if he were carrying him piggyback — that he carried So Ho towards the dead-end.
His white van with tinted windows was waiting a five-minute walk away, behind a closed auto repair shop. Approaching the rear doors, he carefully crouched, allowing So Ho's body to slide to the ground. Opening the doors, he dragged the unconscious body inside, laying it along the left side on the bare metal floor. Then he closed the doors but didn't lock them.
With the same quick, light gait, he returned to the bench where So Yeon was "napping." Without much effort, he lifted her into his arms — her body was significantly lighter — and carried her to the van in the same way.
Ming You opened the rear doors, laid her down next to her brother, adjusting the limbs so they wouldn't hinder closing. Then he firmly slammed the door, this time turning the key in the lock until it clicked.
He walked around the van, then got into the driver's seat and inserted the key into the ignition. The engine started on the first try, and its rumble in the night silence suddenly seemed inappropriately loud to Ming You. He waited a few seconds, peering into the rearview mirrors, then smoothly pulled away from the dead-end onto the dark streets.
"Now everything will go according to plan," he whispered, looking into the rearview mirror.