Kangwoo's fingers twitched.
The cold against his cheek reminded him he was still alive.
For a long moment, he couldn't move. The world tilted in and out of blur, shattered glass above, flickering light, the iron taste of blood in his mouth.
He coughed once, blood catching at his throat, then slowly lifted his head.
Then, through the haze, he found his metal-bat being held.
Seojin stood there, back turned against Kangwoo, the bat's tip touching the floor.
Kangwoo's gaze followed the trail of dust and shadow, to Seojin's shoulders.
And he smiled.
…
The train howled through the dark.
Wind screamed through the broken window, flinging cold air and dust into the carriage.
Seojin stood still, the bat hung loose at their side, its metal tip touching the floor.
Blood dripped from their chin, trailing down the cracked edge of their mask.
One drop fell, striking the floor with a faint tick.
The mohawk gangster shifted first. His breathing came rough and uneven.
"...You think you're scaring me?" he muttered, his laugh rattled like the glass under his boots.
The jacket gangster didn't move, his eyes were instead locked on Seojin, like a man watching a bomb about to explode.
The light above flickered.
When it came back, Seojin's head had tilted slightly upward, and in the half-shadow, their eyes looked hollow.
They inhaled… then exhaled…
It was as if the train's rhythm obeyed his breathing.
The mohawk lifted his metal rod and stepped forward.
Seojin began to approach too, scraping the bat faintly against the floor with a harsh metallic rasp.
Step by step, the distance closed.
…
From the far end, Woori watched, still cornered to the door, each breath heavy, eyes wide.
The jacket gangster bent low, snatching a metal pipe on the floor as he followed the mohawk's lead.
Woori's gaze darted sideways, to the crowbar still jammed in the glass door beside him.
The cracked glass vibrated softly with the rhythm of the train.
…
Back to Seojin.
The gap started to narrow.
The mohawk raised his metal rod higher, eyes flaring with a thin, nervous rage.
The jacketed one closed in from behind, gripping the.
…
To the crowbar, everything else blurred: the light, the view outside the window, the broken seats.
Only Woori's hand remained in focus, fingers curling around the handle as if the world had narrowed to that motion.
…
From behind the raised metal bat on Seojin's hands, the world narrowed to a line.
The metal rose slowly, catching the flicker of the overhead light, each reflection sliding along its edge like liquid fire.
Beyond it, the two gangsters advanced.
The mohawk's shoulders twitched with every step, metal rod raised, veins tight across his neck.
The jacketed one followed close behind, gripping the cold pipe until his knuckles blanched.
Further back, barely visible through the shifting light, stood Baek Woori.
Pressed against the fractured door, one hand trembling around the crowbar's handle.
…
Everything folded into silence.
Seojin lifted the metal bat from their side in a single, clean arc. The silver caught the flicker of the lights, reflecting it in flashes as it cut through the air.
The mohawk gangster reacted on instinct. His arms snapped up, metal rod crossing over his head.
CLANG!
The impact cracked through the compartment like thunder. Sparks burst between the colliding metals, scattering orange firelight into the air.
The shockwave shuddered up the mohawk gangster's arms. His teeth clenched, muscles locking under the force, wrists shaking violently as the rod screeched, clashing against Seojin's bat.
…
At the far end of the compartment, Woori pulled hard on the crowbar jammed in the doorframe. His knuckles white, breaths short.
The glass spidered deeper, web after web racing outward–
and then, with one last pull.
CRASH.
Shards exploded outward, catching the light as they fell.
The glass shatterings still echoed when the jacket gangster turned.
His eyes widened… Woori was right up behind him.
Shards clinged to Woori's sleeves, he swung the crowbar down with both hands as hard as possible.
WHOOOSH…
The jacket gangster twisted, raising his metal pipe just in time.
CLANG! Sparks scattered between them. The blow knocked Woori's arms to the side, numbing his fingers.
Before he could recover, the jacket gangster's leg snapped up sideways.
THUD!
The kick crashed into Woori's ribs, sending him sprawling backward. His body hit the floor hard, rolling across broken glass.
Shards bit through his uniform, cutting lines across his palms as he tried to catch himself. The wind howled through the shattered doorway, scattering the fragments around him like silver dust.
The jacket gangster stepped forward, metal pipe raised again, grinning.
"Should've stayed down, Baek Woori." He mocked.
Woori coughed, pain twisting through his chest. His hand trembled as he tried to lift the crowbar again, its end scraping against the floor with a dry, dragging sound.
Behind the jacket gangster, the sound of groaning and metal screechings were heard.
…
Seojin's metal bat and the mohawk gangster's metal rod still remained clashing. Both held their breath, using every single ounce of their power.
Slowly… the mohawk's grip faltered.
His fingers slipped. The vibration numbed his hands, joints trembling as the rod began to turn in his palms. The strength in his forearms gave out slowly.
Seojin didn't relent, they pushed harder, forcing the bat down inch by inch. The pressure drove the metal rod toward the gangster's head, the sound deepening from a high scrape to a heavy groan.
The mohawk gangster's knees buckled. His breath came out in a broken gasp.
Seojin lifted the bat, stopping the clash…
The gangster exhaled shakily.
Seojin stopped attacking…?
A laugh almost breaking from the gangster's throat, he thought it was over.
The mohawk gangster's chest heaved, breathing heavily, arms trembling from the strain. His knees sank against the floor, one hand still gripping the edge of his metal rod.
But he started to realize… what seemed like mercy for him, was an attack in disguise, when he saw the shift in Seojin's stance.
Seojin was in a precise batting stance, shoulders turned–
WHOOOSH… The swing came fast, a silver blur cutting through the air, aimed straight for the side of his head.
The mohawk gangster's instincts screamed.
He jerked his arms up, dragging the metal rod across his body in defense.
But it was too late.
CLANG!
The bat slammed into the rod, not head-on this time, but off-angle, sliding across it.
The impact twisted the weapon sideways, wrenching it from his weakening grip.
The mohawk gangster's guard broke completely. His body reeled from the shock, shoulders twisting with the force.
The rod tore from his hands, spinning into the air, sparks bursting where metal scraped metal– its arc flashing past the flickering light, tumbling end over end.
For a split second, It seemed to fly straight out of the moment–
…
A heavy THUD! echoed in the dark.
Light flickered back.
The jacket gangster hit the floor hard, a sharp grunt tearing from his throat as Woori slid behind, dodging the hit.
The metal pipe clattered, on the ground right between Woori's legs.
Woori stumbled back, chest heaving, glass crunching under his shoes.
The jacket gangster growled, and went for another swing.
But before it could land, Woori instinctively kicked the gangster's wrist, cancelling the swing. Then he quickly stood up, turned around and ran.
He bolted through the shattered doorway, boots slamming against the metal floor. The wind roared against his face as he burst into the next compartment.
Passengers gasped and shrank back, parting instinctively to make way.
Their eyes wide, their bodies pressed against the seats and walls, whispering in shock.
Woori barely heard them. He just kept running, pushing aside the passengers in the way.
"Move! MOVE!" The jacket gangster shouted, shoving past as he struggled to keep up with Woori's pace..
The people flinched away, their fear rooted deeper than instinct.
Woori's breath broke into ragged gasps as he looked at them, their pale faces flickering under the dying lights.
A bitter thought flashed through his mind.
"Aren't any of you going to help me?!"
Woori's lungs burned.
Each breath scraped against his throat as he stumbled through the aisle.
He reached the end of the compartment and grabbed the next door, rattling the handle.
Click. Click.
It was locked.
He yanked harder, slamming his palm against the glass.
"Come on, come on!" he gasped.
But the latch didn't budge. The lights above flickered, buzzing faintly as the train swayed.
He turned, pressing his back against the cold doorframe.
His chest rose and fell, breath ragged, the sound of his heartbeat drumming in his ears.
Woori's eyes darted down the aisle.
The jacket gangster was there, stopping a few meters away, the faint hum of the train filling the space between them.
"Not bad," the gangster said.
He tilted his head slightly, eyes locked on Woori.
"You're a good runner."
The words hung in the air, half praise, half threat.
Woori's breath caught. His grip on the crowbar tightened until his knuckles went white.
The cold metal pressed against his palm as sweat slid down his temple.
He clenched his teeth, breath shaking through his nose.
The realization sank in slowly… there was nowhere left to run.
He exhaled once, steadying himself.
Both hands gripped the crowbar.
He raised it, the claw pointing forward shakingly, his body positioned clumsily.
The jacket gangster chuckled. "You've got a death wish?"
Woori looked straight at the jacket gangster's eyes, shaking.
The exhaled, and stepped forward.
WHOOOSH… The gangster swung his metal pipe fast.
Woori raised the crowbar–
…
CRACK!
The mohawk gangster's head snapped sideways, the world spinning as Seojin's bat connected clean against his jaw. He stumbled behind, blood burst from his lips in a mist, his vision breaking apart into white.
Before he could even recover,
WHOOOSH…
Seojin swung again.
The bat cut through the air with a sharp whistle, a silver streak aimed straight for the side of his skull.
The mohawk gangster ducked.
The swing passed clean over his head, slicing a strand of his hair. He dropped to one knee, teeth gritted, eyes wide and burning red.
Seojin pivoted on their heel, another swing, just as fast.
The bat carved through the air again, but the mohawk gangster didn't back away.
The gangster jumped forward.
His shoulder dropped low, his body hurling forward like a battering ram.
The bat struck sideways, missing his head by inches, and slammed instead into the handle of a nearby seat.
CLANG! The seat handle became fractured in an instant.
The shock traveled up Seojin's arms…
Just as the mohawk gangster's shoulder crashed into their ribs.
THUD!
Air burst out of Seojin's lungs.
The impact sent them staggering back, boots scraping against the blood-slick floor.
Just as Seojin stumbled back, the gangster pulled away just enough to gather momentum, then charged again.
His boots slammed against the metal floor, body lunging forward with animal force.
Blood still dripped from his mouth, his breath ragged, but his eyes were wild, driven by a desperate, hateful pulse.
He threw his arm back, then swung.
A hook punch tore through the air.
Seojin lifted the metal bat in front of their face, instinctively bringing it up to block…
but the punch curved, the gangster twisted his wrist mid-swing, the arc breaking wide, slipping past the bat's guard.
WHAM!
The fist slammed square into the cracked line across Seojin's mask.
The impact rang out, echoing off the walls.
The mask split deeper, the fracture spidering outward from the impact point.
Seojin's head snapped sideways, the world jolting white for a moment.
Then gangster's gaze flicked sideways—
to the broken window.
Cold air howled through it, shards of glass still clinging to the jagged frame.
A thought flashed behind his eyes, he immediately lunged forward, grabbing Seojin by the collar before they could recover.
Seojin staggered, boots scraping against the floor, still dazed from the punch.
The gangster growled, teeth bared as he drove them to the side, shoving with all his weight.
Each shove forced Seojin closer to the broken window, boots clanging against the metal aisle.
The shattered frame rattled louder and louder, wind cutting between them like a scream.
Another push, closer and closer…
Then Seojin's heel caught on a seat handle.
Their head tilted up, before the gangster could push any further, Seojin's leg snapped forward.
THUD! A clean, explosive front kick, right into the gangster's chest.
The mohawk gangster's body shot backward, feet leaving the ground. He crashed, rolling across a table into the center row of seats, the kind that faced each other, divided by a narrow metal table bolted to the floor.
Seojin fell, collapsing into the nearest seat, the bat nearly slipped from their hand, but they tightened their grip just in time. Each breath rattled through their ribs.
The gangster landed on the seat across Seojin's
For a brief, eerie moment… They sat across from each other, like two passengers sharing the same table, both heads titled down.
Then… slowly, they lifted their heads.
The mohawk gangster's lip curled back in a crooked grin, a thin line of blood running down from the corner of his mouth. His eyes burned with raw defiance.
Seojin's eyes, half-hidden behind the fractured mask, were visible with exhaustion.
The gangster moved first.
He planted one hand on the table between them, the metal creaking under his weight.
Then the other.
With a low growl, he climbed up, dragging himself on the table separating them. The table shuddered, bolts whining as he advanced, his boots thudding against its surface.
Seojin barely moved.
Their body trembled with fatigue, breath scraping at their throat. Every motion felt delayed, like their muscles were a few seconds behind their intent.
When the gangster reached halfway across the table, Seojin raised the bat with a slow, shaky motion, the metal glinting weakly under the flickering light, and swung.
The hit was sluggish. The bat arced lazily toward the gangster.
The gangster caught it mid-swing, fingers clamping around the metal like a vice.
The bat stopped dead.
He leaned closer, his grin widening, eyes glinting through the blood and shadow.
"What's wrong," he mocked. "Out of breath already?"
He twisted the bat slightly, wrenching it out of Seojin's grasp inch by inch.
"You looked a lot scarier a minute ago."