The room was dim—curtains half drawn, air heavy with that stale, quiet room smell.
Min-jae's eyes blinked open, slow and disoriented. His head throbbed. He sat up, rubbing his temples, wincing as a sharp pain stabbed through the back of his skull.
For a second, he didn't even know where he was. Then the memories rushed back—the fight, the call, the blood… and then nothing. Just darkness.
The door creaked open.
Ivan stepped inside, looking both relieved and cautious, a tray of water and pills in his hands.
"Sir," he said, setting it down quickly. "You're awake. Thank God. How are you feeling?"
Min-jae's voice was hoarse. "Like shit," he muttered, pressing his fingers to his temple. "How long was I out?"
Ivan hesitated. "Two days, sir."
Min-jae froze mid-motion. "Two days?"
"Yes, sir."
He swung his legs off the bed, ignoring the dizziness that hit him. "What about the reports? Anything new while I was—"
