Han Joon-seong looked up at the woman. She looked down at him. They stood there for a few moments, just staring at each other in silence, measuring each other.
Up above, Ervin watched. Tense. His gaze fixed on her.
Curiously, something entered his mind. Her face was young — but not young in the way a teenager's face is young. It was mature. The face of a grown woman. But as Ervin studied her skin, her features, he noticed there were no fine lines, no marks of age. Her skin was still smooth, still had a healthy fullness in the right places. She looked mature, but she also had signs of being much younger. It was like she was a student who carried herself with a weight beyond her years — the kind of person who seemed older than she actually was.
Ervin noted that. Filed it away.
The executive just stared at him. Then she spoke, her voice flat:
"And why should I tell you anything?"
Ervin gave no instruction, so Auto Pilot spoke for him:
"Because if you don't, you're going to regret it."
They kept staring at each other. Measuring. The silence stretched.
Then she moved.
She stepped onto the railing of the mezzanine — and jumped.
Ervin's eyes widened. "What? What the hell is she doing?!"
She was falling. From the mezzanine to the ground floor. A distance of maybe four or five meters. Ervin calculated — that was enough to break legs. Enough to seriously injure someone.
"She's going to be badly hurt if she falls from that height!"
Han Joon-seong's body tensed, instinctively ready to move to catch her — but Ervin stopped him. 'Wait. She's my enemy. She wants to kill me. I shouldn't catch her.' Although internally struggling to make that choice, according to the System this person was here to murder him, so unfortunately, the right choice here was...
To let her fall.
The impact hit the ground with a heavy thud — *pum!* — and a cloud of dust rose up around her. Han Joon-seong's face twisted slightly, a flicker of guilt crossing his features. He felt bad for letting a woman shatter her legs.
But then the dust cleared.
And she was unscathed. Completely fine. She had landed in a superhero crouch — one knee down, one hand on the ground. Slowly, she rose. As she stood, she tossed her head back, her long black hair swaying with the motion, the red streaks catching the dim light. It gave her an aura of danger, of menace.
She looked at him. Saw the shock on his face that had bled through from Ervin's shock, and she scoffed.
"You should close your mouth before a fly gets in."
Han Joon-seong's face went flat again. Serious.
Ervin, from above, let out an imaginary sigh. He closed his imaginary eyes for a moment to recompose himself from the previous shock, to reset his mindset. Then he opened them.
And saw something coming. Fast.
His eyes snapped to it. A knife. In the time it took him to blink, she had already thrown it — and it had already crossed the distance between them. It was almost at Han Joon-seong's face.
Ervin's mental voice screamed: "DODGE!"
Han Joon-seong threw himself to the side. The knife passed by, close enough to graze his ear. It embedded itself in the concrete wall behind him with a sharp *thunk*.
Han Joon-seong stared at it. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
He looked back at her.
And another knife was already in the air.
He ducked. It flew past.
The woman reached into her belt, pulled out a fistful of knives, and smiled.
"Let's dance."
She started throwing. Fast. A barrage of blades, one after another, too fast to count. Han Joon-seong weaved, ducked, twisted — barely avoiding each one. Ervin watched, and his mind raced.
'These knives... I swear they're moving at the speed of sound. This is insane. How is this humanly possible?!'
Han Joon-seong kept dodging. Left, right, down, up. But, amazingly, he was getting tired. Each dodge took more effort. His movements were starting to slow.
Then Ervin noticed something. Among the knives flying toward them — one was aimed slightly differently. A different trajectory.
"Crap!"
Han Joon-seong moved. He pulled his foot back just in time — the knife passed through the air where his toes had been, slicing through the tip of his shoe. It stopped just before his big toe, close enough to feel the pressure, but didn't break skin.
'That was close...'
Then, without warning, Auto Pilot took over. Han Joon-seong's arm pulled back — gathering momentum — and he threw a punch forward at the same moment the woman threw one of her own at him.
Their fists met in mid-air. The impact sent a shockwave rippling outward, a burst of air that stirred the dust around them.
Ervin felt the feedback. Stress in the wrist. In the elbow. The entire arm went numb from the impact.
The woman didn't stop. She pressed forward. But Han Joon-seong's face contorted — not from pain, but from focus. He was trying to process what had just happened.
And then her other hand came up — a hand that was hidden from his view.
And she held a knife. She slashed upward, aiming to open his guts.
'Too fast. Can't dodge this.'
But Auto Pilot — reliable as ever — moved him at the last second. The blade didn't pierce his stomach. It sliced through his shirt, cutting a clean line across his chest, nicking the skin just enough to draw a thin line of blood.
Han Joon-seong looked down at the torn fabric, at the blood beading on his skin. He tensed.
'I'm not going to survive this. I can't fight this woman. This is an executive! She's too strong.'
He lifted his leg and kicked at her. She caught his foot with one hand. He pulled back, but she held on — and he slipped out of his shoe. He stumbled backward, fell, scrambled to his feet, and started running.
The woman stopped. She watched him flee, a small, amused smile curling her lips. Then she sang, her voice light and mocking:
"Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run~."
And she started chasing him.
Ervin, still floating above, began to process. 'The mission is to survive her attack. But what counts as surviving? I've already been attacked a hundred times. Does this count? But if I run away now, what stops her from coming to my apartment later?'
He overthought it. Stressed about it. She was a gangster, she carried knives, she was clearly dangerous. Nothing stopped her from just finding where he lived and killing him later. He needed to do something — at least cause some damage to her. Enough to escape. Enough to lose her.
But just running wouldn't work.
Ervin looked back. She was already gaining on him. Running at a speed that seemed superhuman. He was incredulous.
'This woman is an athlete?! How is she this fast? Han Joon-seong is an anomaly. He's strong, fast, tough. He can take punishment. But this woman is outrunning him?! If a random gangster in this city is like this... what are the real athletes like?'
He refocused. 'Calm down. Think. I'm in a department store. What can I do?'
He had an idea.
Han Joon-seong kept running, the executive close behind him. Knives flew past, aimed at his head, his shoulders, and his legs — he ducked and weaved, dodging each one by narrow margins. His eyes scanned the surroundings as he moved, searching for something.
Somewhere else in the building, Ervin had separated from Han Joon-seong. He floated through the abandoned department store, searching.
'Where is it? Where is it? Where is it?' Ervin thought, his disembodied consciousness drifting through corridors, scanning rooms. 'It has to be here. It has to be somewhere!'
He searched. Room after room. Corridor after corridor.
Then he saw it.
'Found it!'
The moment he found what he was looking for, he pulled back — snapped into Han Joon-seong's perspective.
Han Joon-seong's eyes opened. He veered sharply to the right, his feet skidding against the floor. He had to crouch to recover his balance, but he didn't stop, pushing off the ground, he launched himself in the new direction.
Two knives embedded themselves in the floor where he had been standing a moment before.
He ran. Behind him, the executive's voice murmured, low and unsettling:
"Rabbit run, rabbit run, run, run."
Unfortunately, after that little stunt, Han Joon-seong had lost too much distance, and now she had closed in to punching range.
A fist came from his right — a devastating punch aimed at his ribs. The air itself seemed to displace around her knuckles. Ervin saw it coming and knew: 'If that lands, it'll break a rib.'
Han Joon-seong threw his arm back to block. The impact landed with an audible *PAH* — his arm trembled violently, going weak for an instant from the sheer force of it.
Then she struck again. Another punch, aimed at his back.
"Why are you running?" she asked, her voice cold. "Didn't you say you wanted to save that girl?"
Han Joon-seong didn't answer. He took a step back, turned, and ran again.
Behind him, unseen by both Han Joon-seong and Ervin, her expression shifted. For just a moment, she looked disappointed, and weirdly troubled. Then she sighed and continued the chase, her face now a little more serious.
They ran through the department store, turning corners, weaving through corridors. Eventually, they reached a food court — rows of tables, empty counters, the remnants of a restaurant area.
Han Joon-seong spotted a table. He grabbed a tablecloth from one table, then another from a different table.
"Yes!" he thought, a flicker of triumph crossing his face. "Here!"
He glanced back. The woman was approaching. He sprinted toward the kitchen.
She narrowed her eyes as she watched him go.
'What is he planning?' she thought. 'Is he going to start a fire?'
She almost laughed. 'This guy is an idiot. There's no gas here. It's an abandoned building. Who would leave gas in an abandoned building?'
She walked toward the kitchen cautiously. Peered through the door.
Inside, Han Joon-seong stood with a tablecloth raised in front of him — like a matador. He swept the cloth to the side, taunting her.
She stared at him, curious. Her eyes narrowed. She said nothing.
'He's going to throw the cloth to block my vision. But how is that going to help him? He can't do any real damage.'
He charged at her. She charged at him.
'This wouldn't work either anyway,' she thought. 'But I still won't go easy on you.'
She swung her knife, aiming to slice through the cloth — fast, powerful, enough to shred it completely.
But when the blade met the fabric, there was resistance. Strange.
She looked up, confused.
Her knife had struck a fire extinguisher. She hadn't been able to stop the motion in time. The blade punctured the metal casing —
*BOOM!*
The extinguisher exploded. White powder burst outward, blinding her. Shrapnel pelted her arms and face. She was thrown back a step, coughing, her eyes stinging.
From above, Ervin watched. He pumped his imaginary fist.
"YES! It worked!"
Ervin had known there wouldn't be any gas in an abandoned building. Gas lines get shut off. But fire extinguishers? Sometimes, they get left behind. Especially if the company that owned the building still had an interest in it — if they planned to sell it, or redevelop it, or keep it standing. A building in good condition meant someone was still maintaining it. And a maintained building meant fire extinguishers.
He had gambled on that. And he had been right.
He had directed Han Joon-seong to the kitchen because that was the most likely place to find one. And there it was.
Now, as the executive staggered back, blinded by the powder, Han Joon-seong reached behind him. From the kitchen, he pulled out a second fire extinguisher.
And in his other hand — a knife.
Earlier, when he had seemed to stumble and fall, it hadn't been an accident. Han Joon-seong with Auto Pilot and Ervin didn't fall, couldn't fall by accident. He had fallen on purpose. And in that moment, he had grabbed one of her own knives — one that had embedded itself in the floor during her barrage.
Now he had it.
He charged. The extinguisher in one hand, the knife in the other. He angled his body, planted his feet, and brought the knife down against the base of the extinguisher — hard, at the perfect angle.
The pressure released like a cannon. The blast shot backward — straight at her.
She barely had time to close her eyes. Metal fragments embedded in her skin. The force sent her stumbling, falling to the ground.
With that perfect opportunity, Han Joon-seong immediately bolted without any delay.
"Go, go, go, go!" Ervin urged. "Burn the vigor! Just get there!"
He sprinted through the food court, past the tables, toward the stairs. His legs burned — the Vigor bar was dropping fast, but he didn't care. He had to reach Lee Hye-jin.
Behind him, the executive pushed herself up. Her face was a mess — red eyes, small cuts from the shrapnel, powder coating her clothes. She spat out a mouthful of foam.
'Damn you, you bastard. You piece of crap.'
She started running after him.
---
Han Joon-seong reached the stairs. Climbed. Burst into the corridor where he had first seen the guards.
There was another group of thugs there — but seemingly more loyal than the others since they had stayed.
"Hey!" one of them shouted. "It's the intruder! Where's our noona?!"
Han Joon-seong didn't stop. He marched forward, his voice low and cold:
"Get out of my way."
They trembled. But they didn't move. These were the loyal ones.
Han Joon-seong clicked his tongue.
He rushed them. Fast, brutal, efficient — a punch to the first one's face, a punch to the second, a knee to the third's stomach. He wasn't being careful anymore. He was in a hurry, so he couldn't bother to dodge, and just let them hit him — a punch to the head, another to the ribs, a kick to his leg. But attacks of this level did no damage to Han Joon-seong's body, so he absorbed them and immediately counterattacked, striking them down one after another.
Twelve of them. And in less than two minutes, all of them were on the ground.
He reached the door and tried the handle.
Locked.
He clicked his tongue again — irritation bleeding through Ervin's control. He raised his foot and kicked. The door slammed open.
Inside, Lee Hye-jin sat in a chair at a table. As he entered, though, some things went past Ervin's detection due to his anxiety — things like the room being well-ventilated, cool, not uncomfortable. She had no visible injuries. Her clothes were tidy. She looked like she had been waiting calmly.
Ervin, from above, was too focused on getting out.
Han Joon-seong walked in, without Ervin's manual manipulation of his facial expression, it had returned to his default frozen doll-like stare.
"Lee Hye-jin. Are you okay?"
She looked up at him. His eyes were glowing again — that cold white light. She shivered.
"Ah... yes. I'm okay."
He stepped closer.
"What happened? Did they hurt you? Are you in pain?"
"No, no. I'm fine. Really."
Her eyes drifted down. His shirt was torn, revealing his muscular, sculpted chest, with a thin line of blood across the skin. The muscles were defined, almost like a statue.
Her gaze lingered.
But then she noticed the blood.
"Ah! What happened to you? Are you okay?"
He didn't answer.
Behind them, Ervin felt a prickle of tension. He kept his senses focused backward, watching for the executive.
Lee Hye-jin spoke again, her voice hesitant.
"Where's... where's that woman? Where's Choi Yuna-noona?"
Han Joon-seong barely registered the question.
"Let's go."
He grabbed her, but instead of his usual princess carry, he simply threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and turned to leave.
But as he reached the doorway, he saw it — a blur of motion at the bottom of his vision.
He looked down.
And staring up at him was Choi Yuna, the Executive of Galsaek-pa. Her eyes were red and bloodshot from the extinguisher blast, her expression twisted into something cold and enraged.
She said nothing. She just kicked him in the stomach.
Han Joon-seong absorbed the blow — twisting his body to shield Lee Hye-jin from the impact. He was thrown backward, hitting the table behind him, the wood splintering under his weight.
He lowered Lee Hye-jin to the ground, positioning himself between her and the executive.
Ervin, from above, was stunned.
"How did she get here?!"
He looked around. And there it was — an open ventilation shaft in the wall, just above the door.
'She came through the vents?! Is she a goddamn lizard?!'
He stared at the sight below him — Han Joon-seong on the ground, Choi Yuna standing over him, her red eyes burning with fury.
Ervin clenched his imaginary fists.
"Alright. There's no avoiding it anymore. Direct confrontation it is."