The train attendant burst through the doorway into the next car.
Car 4.
Unaware passengers snapped their heads toward him, confused and startled.
He stumbled forward, nearly slipping on the polished floor.
Car 3.
He burst through the sliding door, almost crashing into a woman in a navy-blue service vest, another attendant.
Her eyes widened at the sight of him.
"Woori?" she stammered, startled by his unusual expression. "What happened–?"
Woori grabbed her shoulder, his voice cracking.
"...Car Seven!" he panted, chest heaving, "There's a fight— RIGHT NOW!"
She flinched. "H-how many people?"
"...More than ten–" Woori gasped, barely able to talk now, "–they're armed! Metal rods, knives… I don't know!"
The words came out too fast panickedly, but real fear always sounds messy.
She flinched. That was more than enough for protocol.
"...Police, call the police–!" he blurted. "Right now!"
She froze for a split second, before rushing for the intercom panel mounted near the door.
Woori leaned against the seat, shaking so hard his vision blurred.
…
"Attention," Seojin ordered calmly. A finger jabbed toward the far end, toward the metal-bat man. "He's with me. Make way."
The gangsters slid apart, forming a narrow corridor through the middle of the compartment. Seats loomed on either side, passengers frozen with phones raised. The metal-bat man chuckled, resting the bat on his shoulder, then stepped into the aisle beside Seojin.
Seojin's voice cut low and sharp. "Keep your eyes down."
A thumb hooked at the bat‑man's wrist. Seojin guided him silently toward the next compartment where phones hovered through the open door, people filming, capturing everything.
One brave gangster rose from the center of the aisle behind them. "That's not how it works."
Another pushed to his feet, cracking knuckles, shadows falling across the seatbacks. "We follow Oryong's orders. You're our boss only when you return."
The line fractured, some shifting closer to the walls, others hesitating mid-step.
Seojin's voice rose, pointing toward the gangsters. "Hey! You do not defy your boss!"
The metal‑bat man sighed, facepalming quietly beside them.
A laugh, thin and sharp, cut through the moment. "Do you think we're naive enough to believe what you're saying and then just let you escape so easily?"
"Men," another shouted, voice tight with rage, "eliminate him!"
They surged forward.
…
The first crowbar swung wide toward Seojin.
Their eyes tracked the arc for a brief moment.
Then, a quick glance to the side. The metal-bat man was already swinging, bat cutting through the air toward the same target.
Seojin took a step back, lifting their foot forward, wrapping their heel around the lead gangster's knee.
CRACK!
The metal-bat man's strike came from the side, catching the attacker in the jaw. The body dropped in place, folding instead of flying to the side, the crowbar slid out of his grip.
The next man stumbled over him, the crowbar sliding just past his chest as Seojin caught it mid-air.
WHAM!
The crowbar slammed across the gangster's face, a sharp crack echoing through the aisle. Blood sprayed the seats, and the man folded sideways, collapsing over the armrest.
The rest were already closing in, filling the narrow passage, weapons raised. Seojin turned, the crowbar spinning once in his grip before he hurled it down the line.
WHOOOSH! It cut through the air in a clean arc.
One man saw it coming and ducked, too late to warn the one behind him.
CLANG! The steel bar struck the second man in the temple, dropping him instantly and shoving the pack behind off balance.
Before they could recover, the metal-bat man lunged through the opening. His swing came down in a blur, the bat hammering into the lead ducking gangster's head.
CRACK! The impact echoed like a gunshot, sending him sprawling across the floor.
Then– a crowbar spun through the air, right toward the metal-bat man's face.
It came from the right. The metal-bat man lifted his weapon instinctively.
The two metals clashed mid-flight with a metallic CLANG. Sparks flew as the crowbar scraped against the bat, its path veering off course.
Seojin was in the middle of bending to grab the pipe from the unconscious gangster on the floor– Until the wind from the crowbar brushed their hood with a quick, loud WHOOSH, drawing back their hood as their short ponytail swayed from the wind.
CRACK!
Then screams were heard.
Seojin turned slightly, just enough to see the crowbar buried deep in the next compartment's glass door, the surface splintered like a spider's web. Passengers on the other side stumbled back, hands over their mouths, eyes wide with terror.
Seojin rose slowly, pipe in hand, turning back to the fight.
The metal-bat man was still fighting, bat spinning like an iron windmill, catching the dull lights each time it passed through the air. Gangsters fell back, dazed, bodies crashing into seats and walls. And one of them stood out from the crowd, locking eyes with Seojin through the metal-bat man and the gangsters, a lean man in a torn jacket.
He sprinted down the aisle, leaping off the seats. His foot crashed against the side of the metal-bat man's ribs, driving him sideways. Then, in a flash, the gangster planted a boot against the wall, pushing off into a smooth arc that carried him behind the bat-man.
–landing between Seojin and the chaos.
The train shuddered as it tore down the tracks, fluorescent lights flickering.
The gangster's breath steamed through the air; his eyes locked onto Seojin's.
He grinned, teeth blood-streaked, and clenched his fists.
Seojin narrowed their eyes beneath the mask.
For a moment, time seemed to slow down.
The shriek of metal, the rattle of wheels, the rhythm of metal against bone, every sound started to distort. The compartment behind them blurred, screams started to echo. Each vibration carried through Seojin's chest, a pulse of pressure that thudded in time with their heartbeat.
All of the acrobatic gangster's movements were centered in Seojin's concentration: Him lifting his shoulder, cracking his fingers, taking a step forward.
Seojin's gaze locked onto his, then all of the world blurred, except for the gangster.
A jagged tremor ripped through their vision, like something inside their head had finally cracked.